1830
                             THE RED AND THE BLACK

                                  by Stendhal

                          translated by Charles Tergie







şiElectronically Enhanced Text (c) Copyright 1996, World Library(R)
DAK Upgraded Edition, Copyright 2000, DAK Industries 2000, Inc(R)şI

{BOOK_ONE
                               BOOK ONE
-
                         Truth, bitter truth
                                         DANTON

{BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_1
                              CHAPTER 1
                             A Small Town
-
                        Put thousands together
                          Less bad,
                        But the cage less gay.
                                           HOBBES
                                           {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_1 ^paragraph 5}
-
  THE LITTLE TOWN of Verrieres can pass for one of the prettiest in
Franche-Comte. Its white houses, with their gable roofs of red tiling,
spread over the slope of a hill, where clumps of chestnut trees mark
every indentation. The Doube flows some hundred feet below the
fortifications which the Spaniards built, now lying in ruins.
  Verrieres is sheltered on the north by a high mountain, a spur of
the Jura range. The irregular peaks of Verra are covered with snow
from the earliest frosts in October. A brook falls precipitately
from the mountain, and takes its course through Verrieres before
emptying into the Doube, supplying power to numerous saw-mills.
These form the common industry, affording to the greater portion of
the inhabitants, who are mostly of the peasant class, a certain degree
of affluence. It is not, however, the saw-mills that have enriched
this little town. It is the manufacture of print cloth called
"Mulhouse"; from that has come the general prosperity which has
rebuilt nearly every house in Verrieres since the fall of Napoleon.
  On entering the town one is deafened by the din of a crashing,
formidable-looking machine. Twenty heavy hammers, raised by means of a
wheel rotated by the stream, fall with a noise that shakes the
pavement. Each one of these hammers makes many thousands of nails a
day. To the stroke of these enormous hammers pretty little girls are
holding bits of iron which are quickly transformed into nails. This
pretentious establishment is among the things that most astonish the
traveller who comes for the first time among the mountains lying
between France and Switzerland. If the traveller asked to whom this
great nail factory belonged that is deafening the people walking in
Rue Grande, he would be answered, rather indifferently: "Oh, 'tis
the Mayor's." A hundred to one, too, if he stopped for a few moments
in this Rue Grande, which rises steeply from the banks of the Doube to
the top of the hill, he would see a tall man appear, walking with an
air of great importance. At sight of him all hats are hastily
raised. His hair is gray, and the suit he wears is gray. With his high
forehead and aquiline nose, his face altogether is not without some
regularity. He is a Knight in several Orders. One sees, too, at
first glance, that there is mingled with the dignity of mayor a sort
of solid contentment natural to a man of forty-eight or fifty. But
this contended self-complaisance, in which is seen an element of
something hard and prosaic, soon grates upon the Parisian traveller.
The impression is gathered that the sole genius of the man lies in
exacting prompt payment from his debtors, and in demurring payment
to the very last to his creditors.
  This is the Mayor of Verrieres, M. de Renal. He walks across the
street with much deliberation, and enters the Town Hall,
disappearing then from the traveller's eyes. But a hundred steps
farther, if the latter continued his walk, he would see a very
pretty house and, beyond an iron railing leading from it, a
beautiful garden. Beyond it the line of the horizon is made up of
the hills of Bourgogne, formed apparently just to please the eye. This
view is somewhat of a relief to the traveller depressed by the
atmosphere of insatiable greed surrounding him.
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_1 ^paragraph 10}
  He is informed that the house belongs to M. de Renal. It is from the
profits he made in his great nail factory that the Mayor of
Verrieres has built this beautiful stone residence, just lately
finished. The report goes that the Mayor is of an old Spanish
family; according to his own declaration, his family had been
established in the neighborhood long before the time of Louis XIV.
  Ever since 1815 he has blushed at being a manufacturer; that year
had made him Mayor of Verrieres. The terrace walls, retaining
various portions of this magnificent garden, which slopes so
beautifully from plane to plane down to the Doube, are the reward of
M. de Renal's knowledge of the iron trade. Of course, one must not
expect to find those picturesque gardens in France which surround
the manufacturing cities of Germany, like Leipzig, Frankfort, or
Nuremberg. In Franche-Comte the more walls one builds, stone on stone,
on property, the higher does he rise in the estimation of his
neighbors. M. de Renal's gardens, therefore, are a network of walls,
and these are the more admired because the ground over which they
stretch was not bought at a bargain. That saw-mill, for instance,
which, with the name Sorel in gigantic letters on a roof-board,
attracted your attention upon entering Verrieres, was six years ago
located on the very spot on which the wall of the fourth terrace is
being built in M. de Renal's gardens.
  Notwithstanding his pride, his honor the Mayor had been forced to
make many a concession to this obstinate, hard-headed peasant Sorel.
He had to pay him a pretty penny for having him move his mill away.
The public stream by which the mill was turned, M. de Renal, thanks to
strong influence in Paris, was then able to turn off in another
direction. That privilege he obtained after the elections in 182_.
  He gave Sorel four acres for one a hundred feet lower down along the
Doube. And, though the new location was far better for his fir-plank
concern, Father Sorel- so he is called since he has become rich-
knew how to extract six thousand francs in addition from the
impatience and property mania which possessed his neighbor.
  True, this transaction was criticized by the good people of the
place. Only four years afterwards, one Sunday, while M. de Renal,
adorned with the insignia of office, was returning from church, he saw
Sorel from a distance, accompanied by his three sons, smiling
blandly at him. That smile came like a stab to him, for it vividly
recalled the time when he might have driven a much better bargain.
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_1 ^paragraph 15}
  No one that builds a wall, if he wishes to receive public
consideration at Verrieres, will adopt the plans the masons bring from
Italy when, in the spring of the year, they cross the Jura Mountains
on their way to Paris. Such an innovation would bring to the imprudent
builder the reputation of "a bad head," and he would forever be lost
with the sage and prudent folk who dispense good opinion in
Franche-Comte.
  In truth, these wise people exercise a most annoying tyranny. For
that reason is life in the small towns insupportable for one who has
lived in that great republic which we call Paris. The tyranny of
public opinion- and such opinion- is as stupid in the small towns in
France as in the United States of America.

{BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_2
                              CHAPTER 2
                               A Mayor
-
    Sir, is importance of no account? The respect of drunkards, the
astonishment of children, the envy of the rich, the contempt of the
wise man.
                                                         BARNAVE
-
  FORTUNATELY for the administrative reputation of M. de Renal, a
big sustaining wall was needed for the public thoroughfare. The street
was up grade to a height of nearly a hundred feet above the banks of
the Doube. This made it one of the most picturesque views in France.
But the street was flooded every spring by the heavy rains, and then
the gulleys made it impassable. This state of affairs brought M. de
Renal to the happy necessity of immortalizing his administration by
a wall twenty feet high and between sixty and eighty fathoms long.
                                           {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_2 ^paragraph 5}
  The parapet of this wall, on account of which M. de Renal had to
make three trips to Paris- the former Minister of the Interior
having declared himself a mortal enemy of this promenade in Verrieres-
is four feet above the ground, and, as if to defy all ministers,
present and future, it is lined with blocks of cut stone.
  How often have my eyes gazed down the Doube valley, leaning on those
massive bluish-gray blocks of granite, with my thoughts far off in
dreams of Paris balls! There on the right bank stretch five or six
little vales through which the eye perceives winding, thread-like
streams. These, then, falling over cascades, rush into the Doube.
  The sun is hot in these mountains; from the torrid heat the dreaming
traveller seeks the shade of the magnificent plane trees. These,
growing in the filled-in earth behind the large sustaining wall,
bear proudly their bluish foliage. Indeed, in spite of the
opposition of the municipal council, M. de Renal had thus widened
the promenade by more than six feet; and though he is a
Conservative, and I myself a Liberal, I will not withhold from him
my need of praise. I sustain his opinion, and that of M. Valenod,
the genial Director of the Verrieres poor-house, that this terrace
might compare well with that of Saint-Germain at Laye.
  I have only one objection to the Cours de la Fidelite- this official
name is read in a dozen different places, on slabs of marble, and adds
another decoration to M. de Renal- what I find fault with in the Cours
de la Fidelite is the barbarous manner in which the plane trees have
been cut; they are trimmed away. But the Mayor's is a despotic will,
and twice a year the trees in the public places are ruthlessly
amputated. The Liberals in the town insinuate, though indeed
exaggeratingly, that the official gardener's hand cuts deeper since
the Vicar Maslon has contracted the habit of enriching himself from
the profits of sheepshearing.
  This young ecclesiastic had been sent some years before from
Besancon to keep an eye on Abbe Chelan and other curates in the
neighborhood. An old staff-surgeon of the army of Italy, who had
retired to Verrieres, having been in his life-time, like the Mayor,
first a Jacobin and then a Bonapartist, had the temerity one day to
complain of the periodic mutilation of these beautiful trees. "I
like the shade," replied M. de Renal, with a haughtiness befitting the
occasion; "I love the shade; I have my own trees trimmed with shade in
view, and I cannot conceive how a tree can be good for anything else
if it does not bring in any revenue, like the useful walnut tree,
for instance."
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_2 ^paragraph 10}
  That is the great word which decides everything in Verrieres-
"revenue." It represents the habitual thought of three-fourths of
its inhabitants. "Yield revenue" is reason enough for deciding
everything in this little town which seems so pretty to you. The
stranger on arriving might be led by the beauty of the fresh deep
valleys surrounding it to imagine that the inhabitants have an eye for
the beautiful: they speak only too often of the beauty of the
neighborhood. Indeed, it cannot be denied that they prize it highly;
but that is because it attracts strangers, and these enrich the
proprietors of the inns, and thus, through the mechanism of the
custom-house, "revenue" is produced.
  One fine autumn day M. de Renal was walking in Cours de la Fidelite,
arm in arm with his wife. While listening to her husband, who was
talking in a serious tone, Madame de Renal followed with an anxious
eye the movements of her three little boys. The eldest, who might have
been eleven years old, was approaching the parapet with a too
evident intention of mounting it. A gentle voice pronounced the name
"Adolphe," and the child then gave up his ambitious project. Madame de
Renal seemed to be a woman of thirty, but was still very pretty.
  "He will indeed be sorry for it, this fine gentleman from Paris,"
spoke M. de Renal, in an injured tone, looking paler than usual. "I am
not without some friends at the chateau." The "fine gentleman from
Paris" who seemed so odious to the Mayor of Verrieres was none other
than M. Appert, who had contrived two days before to visit not only
the Verrieres prison and poor-house, but also the hospital, which
was managed gratuitously by the Mayor and the leading citizens.
  "But," said Madame de Renal, timidly, "what harm can this Paris
gentleman do, since you are administering the affairs of the poor with
the most scrupulous honesty?"
  "He comes only to cast aspersion, and then he will have articles
inserted in the Liberal newspapers."
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_2 ^paragraph 15}
  "You never read them, my dear."
  "But people talk about these Jacobin articles. That is what is
annoying us and preventing us from doing good. As for me, I will never
forgive the curate."

{BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_3
                              CHAPTER 3
                         The Good of the Poor
-
    A pastor who is virtuous and without intrigue is a providence
for the village.
                                                          FLEURY
-
  THE CURATE of Verrieres, an old man of eighty, whom the keen
mountain air had given unbroken health and a constitution of iron, had
the privilege of visiting the prison, the hospital, and even the
poor-house at any time. It was exactly at six in the morning that M.
Appert, coming from Paris with letters of introduction to the
curate, had found it convenient to arrive at this queer little town.
He had immediately gone to the vicarage.
                                           {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_3 ^paragraph 5}
  When the curate Chelan read the letter written by Marquis de la
Mole, a peer of France and the owner of the richest estates in the
province, he remained pensive.
  "I am old and beloved here," he said to himself, and then, half
aloud: "they would not dare." Turning suddenly to the visitor from
Paris, his eyes, in spite of his great age, gleaming with the holy
light that announces the joy of doing a good but dangerous act, he
said:
  "Come with me, monsieur, and be so good as to express no opinion
of what we shall see while the warden is present, and especially not
in the presence of the overseers at the poorhouse." M. Appert, knowing
that he had to deal with a man of courage, followed the venerable
curate to the prison, the hospital, and the poor-house, asking many
questions, but never permitting himself, in spite of strange
replies, to pass a single criticism.
  The visit lasted several hours. The curate invited M. Appert to
dinner, but the latter pleaded that he had some letters to write.
He, in truth, did not wish to compromise his generous companion any
further. Towards three o'clock they went to the poorhouse again, to
finish their inspection, arriving later at the prison. There, by the
door, they found the warden, a bow-legged giant six feet tall.
  "Ah! monsieur," he said to the curate, "this gentleman is M.
Appert I see with you?"
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_3 ^paragraph 10}
  "What of it?" replied the curate.
  "Only I've received strict orders yesterday from the prefect, by a
gendarme who must have galloped the whole night, not to admit M.
Appert to the jail."
  "I do inform you, Monsieur Noiroud, that this visitor who is with me
is M. Appert. You forget that I have the right to visit the prison
at any hour, day or night, accompanied by any one I please."
  "Yes, monsieur curate," replied the warden, in a low voice,
hanging his head like a dog that is compelled to obey for fear of
the stick; "only, monsieur curate, I have a wife and children. If
I'm informed on, I'll be discharged; I have nothing to live on but
my place."
  "I should also be sorry to lose mine," said the good curate, with
increasing tremor in his voice.
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_3 ^paragraph 15}
  "What a difference!" replied the warden. "You, monsieur curate, have
an income of eight hundred francs laid up for a rainy day."
  Such are the facts which, commented upon and exaggerated in twenty
different ways, were arousing the most hateful passions in this little
town of Verrieres. Just at this moment they were serving as the text
for the little discussion between M. de Renal and his wife. The
following morning he had gone, accompanied by M. Valenod, the
poor-house Director, to the house of the curate, to show him his great
displeasure. M. Chelan was not the protege of any one; he felt the
full weight of their words.
  "Well, gentlemen, I shall be the third curate who will have been
removed from this neighborhood at the age of eighty. I have lived here
fifty-six years. I have baptized nearly all the inhabitants of this
town, which was nothing more than a village when I came here. I
marry young folks every day whose grandfathers were married by me.
Verrieres is my family; but I thought to myself, when I saw this
stranger, 'This man, coming as he does from Paris, may indeed be a
Liberal- there are only too many of them there- but what harm can he
do to our poor and to our prisoners?'"
  As M. de Renal's rebukes, and particularly M. Valenod's, became
severer, the old curate cried out, tremblingly: "Well, gentlemen, have
me removed. I will not for that reason leave the neighborhood. You
know I inherited a farm forty years ago which brings me in eight
hundred francs. I shall live on this income; I have not put by money
in my position, sirs; and that is why I am not so frightened when told
I shall lose it."
  M. de Renal lived happily with his wife, but he was on the point
of getting very angry after she had repeated timidly, "What harm can
this Paris gentleman do to the prisoners?" and he had not found a
reply. Suddenly she uttered a cry; the second one of her boys had just
mounted the parapet of the terrace and was running on it twenty feet
above the vineyard, on the other side. The fear of frightening her
child, and thereby causing him to fall, made Madame de Renal dumb.
Soon the child, merry with his prowess, remarked his mother's paleness
and, leaping down, ran to her side. He received a scolding.
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_3 ^paragraph 20}
  This little incident changed the subject of the conversation.
  "I wish decidedly to take Sorel into the house, the son of the
plank-sawyer," said M. de Renal. "He will take care of the children,
who are getting too wild for us. He is a young priest, or as much as
that; a good Latin scholar, with whom the children will make progress,
for he has a firm character, the curate said. I will give him three
hundred francs and board. I have had some doubts about his morals; for
he was the Benjamin of that old army surgeon, the member of the Legion
of Honor who came to make his home with the Sorels on the pretext that
he was their cousin. That man couldn't well be but a secret agent of
the Liberals; he would say that our mountain air was good for his
asthma, but it has not proved so. He had been in all the campaigns
with Bonaparte in Italy, and had even voted No, it is said, as to
the Empire. This Liberal taught young Sorel Latin, and has left him
a number of books he had brought with him. Really, I should never have
thought of bringing the carpenter's son near our children; but the
curate, just before the interview which has put us on the outs for
good, told me that Sorel has been studying theology for three years,
with the intention of entering the seminary; he is not, therefore, a
Liberal; and he is a Latinist.
  "This arrangement is a good one in more ways than one," continued M.
de Renal, looking diplomatically at his wife; "Valenod is very proud
of the two Norman horses he has just bought for his carriage. But he
has no tutor for his children."
  "He might take this one away from us."
  "You approve, then, of my plan?" said M. de Renal, thanking his wife
with a smile for her shrewd remark.
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_3 ^paragraph 25}
  "Oh, my dear, how quickly you make up your mind!"
  "That's because I am a man of decision, I am; and that the curate
has seen. We should not deceive ourselves; we are surrounded by
Liberals here. All these linen merchants are envying me; I am sure
of it. Two or three of them are getting rich. Well, I like very much
that they should see de Renal's children promenading under the care of
a tutor. That will be imposing. My grandfather often told me that he
had a tutor in his youth. It may cost me perhaps a hundred crowns; but
it should be included under the necessary expenses of living according
to our rank." The sudden resolution brought Madame de Renal to a new
train of thought.
  She was a tall woman, of good figure, once the belle, it is said, of
all this mountain region. There was something ingenious and youthful
in her bearing; to a Parisian that simple grace, so full of
innocence and vivacity, might have suggested something voluptuous. Had
she been aware that she had this mode of pleasing, she would have been
greatly shocked. Neither coquetry nor affectation had ever entered her
heart. M. Valenod, the rich Director of the poor, was known to have
paid her marked attention, but without success. This put a shining
mark on her virtue; for this M. Valenod, a tall, well-built man,
with a ruddy face and fine black whiskers, was one of those coarse,
bold, noisy fellows that pass for handsome men in the country.
  Madame de Renal, who was of a retiring, unobtrusive disposition, was
particularly annoyed at the restless movements and loud voice of M.
Valenod. Her indifference to what was called pleasure at Verrieres had
given her the reputation of being proud. That did not concern her in
the least; on the contrary, she was very much pleased to see that
the townspeople were coming less frequently to her house. It cannot be
denied, too, that she passed for a foolish creature in the eyes of the
women; for, without the least shrewdness in managing her husband,
she was continually missing the best opportunities for getting
beautiful bonnets from Paris or Besancon. Provided she was let alone
to walk in her pretty garden she would be perfectly content.
  Hers was an unassuming nature that would not rise even to the
point of passing judgment on her husband or of admitting that she
was not happy with him. She supposed, without ever expressing it, that
the sweetest relations do not exist between man and wife. She, indeed,
loved M. de Renal when he spoke of their plans for the children: he
had designated the eldest for the army, the second for the law, and
the youngest for the church. M. de Renal was only less disagreeable,
on the whole, than any man of her acquaintance.
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_3 ^paragraph 30}
  This marital judgment was not unfair. Through half a dozen stories
he inherited from an uncle, the Mayor of Verrieres had acquired a
reputation for wit and elegance. Old Captain Renal served before the
Revolution in an infantry regiment of the Duke of Orleans, and when he
came to Paris he was admitted to the drawing-rooms of the prince. He
saw there Madame de Montesson, the famous Madame de Genlis, M. Ducret,
the architect of the Palais Royal. All these personages appeared
only too often in M. de Renal's anecdotes. But gradually the memory of
the things that required delicacy to relate became burdensome to
him, and for some time he would repeat his anecdotes relative to the
House of Orleans only on state occasions. Moreover, as he possessed
much refinement, except when the conversation turned on money affairs,
he passed, with good reason, for the most aristocratic personage in
Verrieres.

{BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_4
                              CHAPTER 4
                          A Father and a Son
-
             And will the fault be mine if things are so?
                                                     MACHIAVELLI
-
  "MY WIFE has really a good head," said the Mayor of Verrieres next
morning when he went down to old Sorel's saw-mill; "the reason I
gave her was that it would maintain my superior rank. It never
occurred to me that if I don't take this little priest Sorel, who,
they say, knows Latin like a book, the Director of the poor-house,
that insatiable creature, might have the same idea and take him away
from me. With what an air of importance he would then talk of his
children's tutor! Will this tutor wear the cassock in my house?"
                                           {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_4 ^paragraph 5}
  M. de Renal was absorbed in this idea, when he observed from a
distance a peasant nearly six feet tall busily measuring some logs
in the towing-path by the river bank. The peasant did not seem much
pleased to see the Mayor approach him; for the logs were obstructing
the path and were laid there contrary to law.
  Father Sorel- for it was he- was greatly surprised, and even to a
greater extent pleased at M. de Renal's singular proposition with
reference to his son Julien. He was no longer listening to him with
that crestfallen air with which the cunning of these mountain burghers
clothes itself so readily. Having been serfs during the Spanish
supremacy, they still retain this characteristic of the Egyptian
fellah.
  Sorel's answer was at first only a long recital of all the
respectful formulas he knew by heart. While reciting these empty
phrases- delivered with an awkward smile that accentuated the false
and almost knavish expression of his face- the active mind of the
old peasant was busily searching for the reason that would lead so
important a man to take his scamp of a boy. He himself thought very
little of Julien, and yet M. de Renal was offering him the
unexpected sum of three hundred francs a year, besides his board and
clothes. The last stipulation, which Sorel had the genius to put in at
once, had been finally accepted by M. de Renal.
  That request came home to the Mayor with great force. "Since Sorel
is not overjoyed over my proposition, as he naturally should be, it is
clear," he said to himself, "that he has received an offer from
another direction; and where could it come from if not from
Valenod?" It was in vain that M. de Renal urged Sorel to close the
bargain at once; the old peasant's astuteness offered an effective
resistance. He wished, he said, to consult his son; as if, in the
country, a rich father would consult a son with nothing in the
world, but for pure form!
-
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_4 ^paragraph 10}
  A saw-mill run by water power consists of a shed built on the bank
of a stream. The roof is supported by a framework resting on four
large wooden posts. At a height of eight or ten feet, in the middle of
the shed, is the saw swaying up and down, while a very simple
contrivance pushes the logs before it. A wheel turned by the water
produces both these movements- that of the saw sliding up and down,
and that by which the logs are slowly brought in front of it.
  Approaching his mill, old Sorel, in stentorian tones, called for
Julien. No one answered. He could only see his eldest sons, a race
of giants, trimming fir logs with their heavy axes. They were intently
following the black lines traced over the logs; with each stroke of
the axe immense slivers were falling away. They did not hear their
father's voice. The latter therefore walked toward the shed. When he
entered, he looked in vain for Julien, who should have been at work by
the saw. He observed him five or six feet higher up, astride a beam
beneath the roof. Instead of tending to the machinery, Julien was
reading. Nothing was so exasperating to old Sorel. He could have
forgiven Julien his slight figure, which was so ill-adapted to heavy
work, and was so different from his elder sons; but this mania for
reading he despised- he himself did not know how to read.
  He called Julien two or three times, but in vain. The attention he
was giving to the book, more than the noise of the machinery,
prevented him from hearing anything. The latter, then, in spite of his
age, leaped lightly upon the shaft supporting the framework of the
saw, and from there to the horizontal beam beneath the roof. A violent
blow sent into the river the book Julien was holding; a second one,
equally violent, aimed at his head, made him lose his balance. He
was about to fall twelve or fifteen feet below, on top of the moving
machinery, where he would have been crushed, when his father caught
him with his left hand as he slipped.
  "Now, you lazy good-for-nothing! So you'll then always be reading
your damned books when you should be minding the saw? Read them at
night when you go to waste your time at the curate's!"
  Julien, though stunned by the blow, and bleeding, went to his post
of duty by the saw. There were tears in his eyes, less from physical
pain than from the loss of the book he loved.
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_4 ^paragraph 15}
  "Come down, you cur, so I can talk to you."
  The noise of the machinery prevented Julien from hearing this order.
His father, who had climbed down, went to get a pole, not wishing to
take the trouble of climbing into the rafters again; with this he
struck him on the shoulder. Hardly had Julien reached the floor,
when old Sorel, pushing him rudely before him, chased him towards
the house. "Lord knows what he is going to do with me," said the boy
to himself. Coming near the river, he looked sadly where his book
had fallen; it was "Memorial de Sainte-Helene," the book he
cherished most of all.
  His cheeks were purple and he kept his eyes on the ground. He was
a lad eighteen or nineteen years of age, small in stature, with
irregular but delicate features, and of a constitution apparently
weakly. His nose was aquiline; and his large black eyes, which in
quiet moments showed thought and vivacity, were ablaze now with the
fiercest hatred. His dark brown hair, growing very low on his
forehead, gave him a narrow brow, that in moments of anger looked
positively wicked. His face would hardly be remarked among the
infinite variety of human countenances by any feature particularly
striking. His slight, well-proportioned figure gave evidence more of
agility than of strength. From his earliest childhood his extremely
pensive air and great paleness had given his father the idea that he
would not live long, or that he would be a burden on the family. As he
was treated slightingly by all in the house, he only had hatred for
his father and brothers. He was always beaten in the Sunday games in
the public square.
  It was a year since his handsome face commenced to attract the
attention of some friendly young girls. Having been an object of
disdain to nearly every one as a weakly boy, Julien had worshipped
that old surgeon-major who dared one day to speak to the Mayor on
the subject of the plane trees.
  This army surgeon sometimes paid Father Sorel a day's wages for
his son, whom he would then teach Latin and history; that is, what
he knew of history- the campaign of 1796 in Italy. Before he died he
bequeathed to him his Cross of the Legion of Honor, the arrears on his
half-pay, and thirty or forty volumes, the most precious of which
had just gone into the public stream. This was the stream the course
of which had been changed by the authority of the Mayor.
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_4 ^paragraph 20}
  Immediately upon entering the house Julien felt his shoulders seized
by the powerful hands of his father; he trembled, expecting blows.
  "Answer me without lying," the old peasant shrieked into his ears in
his harsh voice, while turning him round with the hand, as a child
might turn a tin soldier. Julien's large black eyes, welling with
tears, were opposite the little gray eyes of the old carpenter, who
looked as if he wished to penetrate to the very bottom of his soul.

{BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_5
                              CHAPTER 5
                            A Transaction
-
                       Cunctando restituit rem.
                  (By delaying, he saved the state.)
                                                 ENNIUS
-
                                           {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_5 ^paragraph 5}
  "ANSWER ME without lying, if you can, you cur. Since when do you
know Madame de Renal? When have you spoken to her?"
  "I have never spoken to her," replied Julien. "I have never seen
this lady except in church."
  "But you have looked at her close, you brazen scamp?"
  "Never! You know that in church I see only God," answered Julien,
with what he thought enough hypocrisy to avoid a return of blows.
  "But there is something up," muttered the peasant, shrewdly. Then,
after a moment's silence: "But I'll never learn anything from you, you
damned hypocrite. Anyhow, I'm going to get rid of you; and my saw will
go the better for that. You've won over the curate or somebody else
who has got a good situation for you. Go and pack up your things,
and I'll take you to M. de Renal's, where you will teach the
children."
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_5 ^paragraph 10}
  "What shall I get for that?"
  "Your board and clothes and three hundred francs in wages."
  "I don't want to be a servant."
  "You idiot, who is talking about being a servant? Do I want my son
to be a servant?"
  "But with whom am I going to be at the table?"
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_5 ^paragraph 15}
  The question disconcerted old Sorel; he felt, if he kept on talking,
he might say something imprudent. He therefore began to storm at
Julien, pouring out upon him a veritable torrent of abuse in which the
word "gourmandizer" was most conspicuous. Then he went away to consult
his other sons.
  Julien saw these soon afterwards leaning on their axes. After
observing them for some time without being able to read anything
from their expression, he moved to the other side of the shed, so as
not to be taken by surprise. He wished to think in quiet of the
unexpected event that was changing the course of his life. But he
could not think calmly; his imagination was busy representing what
M. de Renal's house would be. All that he would rather give up, he
thought, than to come down to eating with servants. "My father would
force me to it- rather die! I have fifteen francs and eight sous saved
up, and I'll run away this very night; two days over the
cross-roads, where I need not be afraid of the guards, and I am at
Besancon. Then I'll enlist as a soldier, and, if necessary, go to
Switzerland. But then good-by to a career and to the priesthood,
that leads to everything!"
  His horror of eating with servants was not natural to Julien; he
would not have hesitated at anything equally disagreeable to get on in
the world. But this repugnance he drew from Rousseau's
"Confessions," the only book through which he looked at life. A
collection of "Bulletins de la Grande Armee" and the "Memorial de
Sainte-Helene" completed his Koran. Never did he pin his faith to
other books. Like the old army surgeon, he looked upon all other books
as a pack of lies gotten up by stupid fops just to make a noise in the
world.
  Together with an ardent disposition, Julien united such an
astounding memory as is often allied with idiocy. In order to win over
the old curate, Chelan, on whom, he saw clearly, his career more or
less depended, he had committed to memory the whole of the New
Testament in Latin. He also knew M. de Maistre's "On the Pope," and
with as little faith in the one as in the other.
  As though by agreement, Sorel and his sons avoided speaking to him
for the rest of that day. Towards evening Julien went to take his
theology lesson at the curate's; but he did not deem it prudent to say
anything of the strange proposition that had been made to his
father. "Perhaps it is only a trap," he said to himself, "I must
pretend I have forgotten it."
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_5 ^paragraph 20}
  Early next day M. de Renal sent for old Sorel. The latter, after a
delay of an hour or two, finally arrived with a hundred excuses and
salaams. Then, by urging all sorts of objections, he had the
satisfaction of knowing that his son would eat with the master and
mistress of the house, and on company days alone with the children, in
a separate room. Interposing more objections, as he perceived a
decided eagerness on the part of the Mayor, Sorel asked to see his
son's sleeping-room. It was a large, neatly furnished room, in which
the children's beds were already being brought in. That came like a
ray of light to the old peasant; he soon asked, with the utmost
assurance, to see what clothes his son would receive. M. de Renal went
to his desk and took out a hundred francs.
  "With this money your son may go to the tailor Durand and order a
black suit."
  "And if I should take him away from you," asked the peasant, who had
all at once forgotten his courtly genuflexions, "might he keep this
suit?"
  "Of course."
  "Well, then," said Sorel, drawling out his words, "It remains only
to agree about one thing- the money you are going to give him."
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_5 ^paragraph 25}
  "What!" cried M. de Renal hotly, "we agreed about that yesterday. It
is three hundred francs; I think it is a good deal, if not too much."
  "That was your offer; I don't deny it," said old Sorel, his words
coming slower than ever. Then, by a stroke of genius quite familiar to
those who know the peasants of Franche-Comte, he added, looking
steadily at M. de Renal: "We find something better elsewhere."

                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_5 ^paragraph 30}
  At these words the Mayor's face fell. He soon composed himself,
however, and entered on a profound discussion lasting over two
hours. Not a word was spoken but was carefully weighed. In the end the
astuteness of the peasant won the day- that was an article not
essential to the rich man for earning a livelihood. All the points
involved in Julien's new mode of life were carefully reviewed; not
only was his salary to be four hundred francs, but it was to be paid
monthly, in advance.
  "Very well, I will give him thirty-five francs," said M. de Renal.
  "To make it a round sum," said the peasant slyly, "a rich and
generous man like you, monsieur Mayor, will make it thirty-six
francs?"
  "Well- yes," said M. de Renal; "but let us close it."
  For once, anger lent a shade of firmness to his tone. The peasant
saw that he must not press any further. Then M. de Renal began to make
progress on his side. He would never give the thirty-six francs for
the first month to old Sorel, who was eager to get it for his son.
It was dawning on M. de Renal that he would be obliged to tell his
wife of his part in the whole transaction.
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_5 ^paragraph 35}
  "Give me back the hundred francs I gave you," he said firmly.
"Durand owes me something; I will go with your son to order the
black suit."
  After this vigorous move, Sorel prudently took recourse to his
respectful formalities; these took a good quarter of an hour. Then,
seeing that he had positively nothing more to gain, he took his leave.
His last reverence was accompanied with the words: "I will send my son
to the chateau-" so the Mayor's house was called by the officials when
they wished to please him.
  On returning to his house, Sorel looked in vain for his son.
Distrustful of what might happen, Julien had stolen out in the
middle of the night to put his books and the Cross of the Legion of
Honor where they might be safe. He had brought them to his friend, a
young wood dealer, by name of Fouque, who lived on the top of the
mountain overlooking Verrieres.
  When he appeared again, his father began by saying: "The Lord knows,
you damned good-for-nothing, if you will ever have the honor to pay me
for what I have given you these many years. There, take your rags
and go to the Mayor's."
  Julien, surprised at not receiving a blow, hurried away. But
scarcely was he out of sight of his terrible father when he began
walking very slowly. He judged it would not be amiss with his
hypocrisy if he stopped a while at the church.
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_5 ^paragraph 40}
  That word should not be surprising. Before arriving at the import of
it, the young man had covered considerable ground. In his early
childhood the long white coats and black tufted helmets of some
dragoons of the Sixth who were returning from Italy, and whom Julien
saw tying their horses to the grilled window of his father's house,
had made him wild for the army. Later he would listen with delight
to the accounts of the battles of Lodi, of Arcole, of Rivoli, which
the old army surgeon would give. He would notice with what an
impassioned look that old man would gaze at his cross.
  But when Julien was fourteen a church was building in Verrieres
that, for a small town, was indeed magnificent. Four marble columns
particularly took Julien's fancy. These later became celebrated in the
neighborhood for the mortal hatred they engendered between the justice
of the peace and the young Besancon vicar who passed for a
Congregation spy. The magistrate came near being removed; such, at
least, was the common opinion. Did he not dare to differ with the
priest who went every fortnight to Besancon, where, it was said, he
had interviews with the Bishop?
  In the meantime the magistrate- the father of a numerous family- was
handing down decisions that were seemingly unjust, and these were
all adverse to the readers of the "Constitutionel". It was only a
question, it is true, of a few francs; but one of these fines had to
be paid by a nail-maker, Julien's godfather. "What a change!" burst
out that man in mighty wrath; "and to think that for twenty years this
justice has passed for such a good man!"
  All at once Julien ceased to speak of Napoleon; he announced his
intention of becoming a priest. And he was constantly seen in his
father's mill learning by heart the Latin Bible which had been given
to him by the curate. This good old man, marvelling at his progress,
spent whole evenings instructing him in theology. Before him Julien
expressed only the most pious sentiments. Who would have thought
that his girlish face, so pale and delicate, concealed the firm
resolution to brave a thousand deaths rather than fail to make a
mark in life?
  For Julien a career meant, first of all, to leave Verrieres; he
detested the place of his birth. Everything he saw there ran counter
to his ideal. For from childhood he had had moments of great
exaltation. Later he would delightfully conjure up in his mind
beautiful Parisian women who would know and admire him some day for
his brilliant career. Why should not one of these fall in love with
him just as Bonaparte, while still poor, had been loved by the
brilliant Madame de Beauharnais? For many years Julien had not
passed a single hour without telling himself that Bonaparte, an
obscure, moneyless lieutenant, made himself master of the world by his
sword. That thought had consoled him in his griefs, which he thought
very great, and redoubled every stray joy.
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_5 ^paragraph 45}
  The building of the church and the decisions of the magistrate
came to him then as a revelation. One idea formed itself in his mind
that made him wild for weeks, finally mastering him with all the force
of a new idea in an ardent soul.
  "When Bonaparte arose, France was in dread of disaster; military
glory was necessary and fashionable. To-day one sees priests at
forty with incomes of a hundred thousand francs, or three times as
much as the famous division generals under Napoleon received. There
must be men to back them. Here is this justice of the peace, such a
fine head, and such a good old man until now, dishonoring himself
for fear of displeasing a young vicar of thirty. I will become a
priest."
  Once, when two years had elapsed after beginning his studies, he was
betrayed in the very midst of his piety by the sudden darting out of
his old flame. It was at M. Chelan's, at a dinner for the priests,
to which the good curate had invited him as a marvel of diligence.
It came into his head to praise Napoleon furiously, madly. For that he
held his right arm bent across his breast- he had dislocated it, he
said, while moving a log- and carried it in that position for two
whole months. After that self-inflicted pain he pardoned himself. That
was the young man of eighteen, so weak in appearance, looking for
all the world considerably less than seventeen years of age, who
entered the magnificent church of Verrieres with a little bundle under
his arm. It was empty, gloomy. On the occasion of some feast the
transepts had been decorated with some crimson stuff. In the
sunlight this shone with dazzling splendor, with a sort of
depressingly religious effect. Julien was ill at ease. Being alone
in the church, he sat down in a pew that looked the prettiest. It bore
the arms of M. de Renal. On the altar Julien noticed a piece of
printed paper, smoothed out as if it was meant to be read. Examining
it, he saw:
  "Details of the execution and of the last moments of Louis
Jenrel, executed at Besancon on the..." and there the paper had
been torn off. On the back there were the first two words of a line:
"The First Step."
  "Who could have put that paper there?" thought Julien. "Poor
wretch!" he added, with a sigh, "his name ends like mine"; and he
crumpled the piece of paper in his hand.
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_5 ^paragraph 50}
  On going out, Julien thought he saw some blood near the font; it was
some holy water that had been spilt, to which the reflection from
the red curtains in the windows had given the color of blood. Julien
was soon ashamed of his weakness.
  "Am I going to be a coward?" he said. "To arms!"
  That phrase, repeated so frequently in the old surgeon's recitals of
his battles, invariably had a heroic effect on Julien. He arose, and
walked rapidly towards M. de Renal's house.
  But when he saw it only twenty steps away, he was seized with
unconquerable timidity in spite of his fine resolutions. The iron
grating was open; it was so imposing: yet he must enter.
  Julien was not the only one whose heart was uneasy over his
arrival at the house. Madame de Renal, who was of an extremely timid
disposition, was greatly disconcerted over the idea that a stranger
would find it his duty to stand between herself and her children.
She was accustomed to seeing her children put to bed in her own
room. That morning she had shed many tears when she saw the little
beds carried into the tutor's room. It was in vain that she had begged
her husband to have Stanislaus-Xavier's- the youngest boy's- little
bed carried back into her own room again.
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_5 ^paragraph 55}
  Womanly delicacy was most marked in Madame de Renal. She had
formed in her mind a most disagreeable picture of a frowzy, uncouth
creature in rags, who would be snarling at her children just because
he knew Latin- a barbarous language for which her boys would be
whipped.

{BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_6
                              CHAPTER 6
                               Boredom
-
              I know no longer what I am, or what I do.
                                             MOZART, Figaro.
-
  WITH the lively grace that was so characteristic of her when she was
not in men's society, Madame de Renal had just passed through the side
door opening on the garden, when she observed near the gate the almost
childish, pale, tear-stained face of a young peasant boy. He had on
a white shirt, and carried under his arm a neat little ratteen jacket.
                                           {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_6 ^paragraph 5}
  The boy had such a fine complexion and such beautiful eyes that
something like a romantic thought came to Madame de Renal to suspect
in him only a girl in disguise, with a petition to the Mayor. Her
heart was full of pity for the poor creature at the gate, who had not,
evidently, the courage to raise his hand to the bell. Madame de Renal,
for the moment free from the disagreeable thought about tutors,
advanced a few steps towards him. Julien, with his face turned towards
the door, did not see her. He trembled all over when he heard close to
him, in a gentle voice:
  "What is it you want here, my child?"
  Julien turned quickly around. His timidity left him under the kindly
look Madame de Renal gave him. Presently, dazed by her beauty, he
forgot everything, even what had recently occurred. Madame de Renal
repeated the question.
  "I am here to be the instructor, madame," he said to her, ashamed of
the tears which he did his best to wipe away.
  Madame de Renal was dumbfounded; they were then near enough to
observe each other closely. Julien had never known a person so well
dressed, particularly a woman of such radiant beauty, to talk to
him. Madame de Renal observed the great tears on his cheeks; the
latter, though pale at first, were now crimson. She laughed
outright, and her laugh had all the abandon of a young girl. She was
now amused at herself. What, was this the tutor, the dirty, ragged
priest she imagined, who would abuse her children? She could not at
first wholly grasp the situation.
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_6 ^paragraph 10}
  "Why, monsieur," she gasped, "you know Latin?" This word
"monsieur" astonished Julien so much that he had difficulty about
collecting his thoughts.
  "Yes, madame," he replied, shyly.
  She was so happy that she hardly dared add:
  "You will not, then, scold the poor children too much?"
  "I scold them?" asked Julien in astonishment; "why?"
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_6 ^paragraph 15}
  "Then you will be good to them, monsieur," she added, after a
moment's silence, in a quavering voice, "will you promise me?"
  To hear himself called "monsieur" again seriously, and by a lady
so beautifully dressed, was above all Julien's expectations; in all
the air castles he had built in his youth he had been convinced that
no fine lady would deign to notice him until he had on a smart
uniform. Madame de Renal, on her part, was completely taken by
surprise by Julien's fine complexion and large black eyes and black
curly hair, curling more than usual after the refreshing plunge he had
given his head in the public fountain on the way. To her great joy,
she was beholding the reserve of a young girl in this dreaded tutor
whose severity she had been fearing so much for her poor children. For
such a peaceful soul as Madame de Renal's, the contrast between what
she had feared and what she saw marked a great event. Gradually she
overcame her surprise, and then she wondered why she should be
standing near the door of her house so close to this half-clad young
man.
  "Come in, monsieur," she said, somewhat embarrassed.
  In all her life a pleasant sensation had never before affected
Madame de Renal to such a great extent. Never before had such a
pleasing apparition succeeded such disquieting fears. Her pretty
children, upon whom she had bestowed such loving care, would not now
fall into the hands of a dirty priest and scold. Arrived scarcely in
the hall, she turned to look at Julien again, who was timidly
following. His astonishment at beholding such a well-appointed house
seemed so pretty to Madame de Renal. She could not believe her eyes:
she thought then that he should by all means be dressed in black.
  "But is it true, monsieur," she said to him, stopping for an instant
in as much dread of being deceived as she was happy in her belief, "is
it true you know Latin?" The words wounded Julien's pride and
dispelled the charm in which he had been living for some moments.
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_6 ^paragraph 20}
  "Yes, madame," he replied, endeavoring to assume an injured tone, "I
know Latin as much as the curate; and sometimes, even, he is kind
enough to say that I know more."
  Madame de Renal noticed that Julien had somewhat of a temper. He had
stopped two steps behind her. Approaching him, she said:
  "You will not, the first few days, whip my boys? Even when they
don't know their lessons?"
  The gentle, half-pleading tone of the beautiful woman made Julien
immediately forget what was due to his reputation as a Latin
scholar. Madame de Renal's face was near his own; he inhaled the
perfume of a woman's summer garments- an astonishing thing for a
poor peasant. Julien blushed deeply, saying falteringly:
  "Have no fear, madame; I will obey you in everything."
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_6 ^paragraph 25}
  It was at this moment, when the fear for her children was wholly
removed, that Madame de Renal was struck by Julien's extreme beauty.
Neither the femininity of his features nor his embarrassment seemed
absurd to this timid woman. A virile air, which is commonly regarded
as essential to masculine beauty, would have disconcerted her.
  "How old are you, monsieur?" she asked Julien.
  "I shall soon be nineteen."
  "My eldest son is eleven," replied Madame de Renal, wholly
reassured; "he will be almost a companion for you. You can talk
sense to him. Once his father punished him, and the child was sick for
a week; and yet it was only a light tap."
  "How different with me!" thought Julien; "it was only yesterday my
father beat me. How happy these rich people are!"
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_6 ^paragraph 30}
  Already Madame de Renal was eager to catch the slightest shade of
meaning in the tutor's mind. Mistaking his sad expression for
embarrassment, she asked, with the intention of encouraging him:
  "What is your name?"
  There was a grace in tone and accent of which Julien felt the
whole charm, though unable to account for it.
  "I am called Julien Sorel, madame. I am so afraid in coming to a
strange house the first time in my life; I have need of your
indulgence and your pardon for many things the first few days. I
have never been at college; I have been too poor. I have never
spoken to any men except my cousin, the army surgeon of the Legion
of Honor, and the curate, M. Chelan. He will give you a good account
of me. My brothers have always beaten me; don't believe them if they
say anything bad about me. Please overlook my mistakes, madame; I will
never have any but good intentions."
  Julien became reassured during his long speech and had been
carefully observing Madame de Renal. Such is the effect of perfect
grace, especially when the person it adorns is unaware of it, that
Julien, who prided himself on his knowledge of feminine beauty,
would have sworn at that moment that she was only twenty. For an
instant he had the daring idea of kissing her hand; but he was
afraid of his bold desire. Presently, however, he began saying to
himself: "It would be cowardly to refrain from doing what can be
useful to me, in removing the contempt of this beautiful lady for a
poor workman, just taken from the mill." Perhaps Julien was a little
encouraged by the phrase "pretty boy," which he had been hearing for
six months on Sundays from the mouths of some young girls. While he
was debating with himself, Madame de Renal was addressing him a few
words about the way to begin with the children. The violent conflict
in which Julien was engaged made him very pale again, and he said in a
constrained tone:
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_6 ^paragraph 35}
  "Never, madame, will I strike your children; I swear it before God."
And in saying these words he took Madame de Renal's hand and brought
it to his lips. She was first startled by the movement, then
dumbfounded. As it was very warm, her arm was bare under her shawl,
and Julien's action in bringing the hand to his lips had entirely
uncovered it. She took herself severely to task; it seemed to her that
she was not showing herself indignant enough.
  M. de Renal, who had heard them talking, then came out of his
room. With the same majestic, magisterial tone he used in performing
weddings in the town hall, he said to Julien:
  "I want to speak to you before the children see you."
  He called Julien into a room, detaining also his wife, who wished to
leave them together. When the door had been closed, M. de Renal seated
himself with great pomp.
  "The curate has told me that you are a good young man. Everybody
here will treat you with respect; and, if you give me satisfaction,
I will help you to a little start. I desire that you see neither
relatives nor friends; their bearing is not suitable for my
children. Here are thirty-six francs for the first month; but I want
your word of honor that not a centime of this goes to your father." M.
de Renal was angry at the old man, who had shown himself more astute
in the transaction.
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_6 ^paragraph 40}
  "Now, monsieur- for everybody here has orders from me to call
you monsieur, and you shall see the advantage of entering properly
into a good family- now, monsieur, it is not proper that the
children should see you in a jacket. Have the servants seen him?"
asked M. de Renal of his wife.
  "No, dear," she replied, absent-mindedly.
  "So much the better. Put this on," he said to the surprised young
man, handing him a long coat; "we will now go to Durand, the
tailor's."
  An hour later, when M. de Renal returned with the tutor all in
black, he found his wife seated in the same place. She felt a quieting
effect in Julien's presence; in looking him over she forgot to be
afraid. Julien was not thinking of her; in spite of his distrust of
men and of fate, his soul at that moment was like a child's. It seemed
to him as if he had lived years since he stood trembling in the church
three hours before. He remarked Madame de Renal's cool demeanor; he
felt she was angry at him for his daring kiss on her hand. But the
proud feeling which the contact of different clothes from what he
had been accustomed to wearing gave him made him lose his equipoise;
and he was so eager to hide his joy that every movement of his
became brusque and ludicrous. Madame de Renal stared at him in
astonishment.
  "Serious, monsieur," M. de Renal said to him, "be serious, if you
desire the respect of my children and my servants."
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_6 ^paragraph 45}
  "Monsieur," replied Julien, "I am spoiled by these new clothes. As a
poor peasant I have worn only jackets. With your leave I will retire
to my room for a while."
  "What do you think of this new acquisition?" asked M. de Renal of
his wife.
  Something like instinct, of which Madame de Renal was certainly
not aware, made her disguise the truth to her husband.
  "I am not as charmed with this peasant as you are; your kindness
will make him impertinent, and you will be obliged to send him away in
less than a month."
  "Oh, well, we shall see. It will cost me about a hundred francs,
that's about all, and Verrieres will then have frequently seen M. de
Renal's children with a tutor. That I should never obtain if I allowed
Julien to be dressed in workmen's clothes. In sending him away, I
should certainly take back the black suit I have just ordered for
him at the tailor's. He would only take with him what I got for him
ready-made, which I have already given to him."
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_6 ^paragraph 50}
  The hour Julien spent in his room seemed only a minute to Madame
de Renal. The children, to whom the tutor's arrival had been
announced, were overwhelming their mother with all manner of
questions. At length Julien appeared. He was a different man. It would
have been wrong to say he was serious; he was the very incarnation
of gravity. Being introduced to the children, he began to speak to
them in a manner that astonished M. de Renal himself
  "I am here, gentlemen," he said to them in conclusion of his speech,
"to teach you Latin. You know what it is to recite a lesson. Here is
the Holy Bible," he said, holding out a little black volume; "it is
particularly the history of our Lord Jesus Christ; that part is called
the New Testament. I shall have you often recite your lesson; let me
recite mine." Adolphe, the eldest boy, had taken the book. "Open it
anywhere," continued Julien, "and give me only the first word in the
line. I will recite from this book, which should regulate every
one's conduct, until you stop me."
  Adolphe opened the book, read a word, and Julien recited the whole
page as if he were speaking French. M. de Renal looked triumphantly at
his wife. The children, seeing their parents' astonishment, opened
their eyes wide also. A servant came to the door, but Julien continued
to deliver in Latin. The servant stood stock-still for a minute and
then fled. Presently the maid and the cook came to the door. Adolphe
had then opened the book in eight different places, and Julien was
continuing with uninterrupted fluency. "Oh, Lord, the pretty little
priest!" cried the pious cook.
  M. de Renal's self-esteem was becoming acutely sensitive; far from
thinking of examining the teacher, he was busy himself scraping up a
few Latin words. He at last found himself equal to the task of quoting
a verse from Horace. Julien knew only Bible Latin. He replied,
contracting his brows: "The holy ministry to which I will devote
myself forbids me reading such a profane poet."
  M. de Renal now cited a fairly large number of lines which he said
were from Horace. He explained to the children who Horace was, but
they kept admiringly gazing at Julien without giving their father
the least attention.
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_6 ^paragraph 55}
  The servants being at the door, Julien concluded to make the most of
the moment. "Let Master Stanislaus-Xavier," he said to the youngest
boy, "indicate a passage from the Holy Book." Little Stanislaus, proud
of the distinction, stumbled over the first word of a line, and Julien
reeled off the whole page. As if nothing should be wanting to M. de
Renal's triumph, there entered, while Julien was reciting, M. Valenod,
the owner of the beautiful Norman horses, and M. Charcot de
Maugiron, the sub-prefect of the department. This scene earned for
Julien the appellation of "monsieur"; the servants themselves did
not dare refuse it to him.
  In the evening all Verrieres came to M. de Renal's house to see
the prodigy. Julien coolly kept every one at a distance. His
reputation spread so rapidly in the town that M. de Renal, fearing
lest some one might take him away, proposed to him a few days later to
sign a two years' contract.
  "No, monsieur," answered Julien, coolly; "if you wished to send me
away I should be obliged to go. A contract that is binding on me and
not on you is not just. I refuse."
  Julien knew so well how to conduct himself that in less than a month
after his arrival M. de Renal himself respected him. As the curate was
in disfavor with de Renal and Valenod, there was no one to tell of
Julien's old passion for Napoleon. On that subject he always spoke
with holy horror.

{BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_7
                              CHAPTER 7
                         Elective Affinities
-
        They know how to touch the heart only by offending it.
                                                  A CONTEMPORARY
-
  THE CHILDREN adored him, though he himself did not love them. His
thoughts were elsewhere. Whatever the little rogues might do, he never
became impatient. Cool, just, dispassionate, he was a model of a
teacher. He became endeared to all because he in some way relieved the
monotony in the house. He himself entertained only hatred for the high
society to which he had come; he was at the foot of the table, to be
sure- and that perhaps could explain his hatred. At certain dinners,
when company was present, he restrained his abhorrence for his
surroundings only with great difficulty. One day- it was the day of
Saint Louis- M. Valenod held forth at great length, and Julien was
on the point of betraying himself. He fled to the garden, saying he
wished to see the children. "What tributes to probity!" he thought.
"One would think it is the only virtue. Yet what respect, what
scraping homage this man receives, who has most likely doubled and
trebled his fortune at the expense of the poor! I wager he makes money
even out of the foundling funds, those poor little creatures whose
misery is more sacred than any one's. Ah, monsters, monsters! And I,
too, I am a sort of a foundling, hated by my father, by my brothers,
by my whole family."
                                           {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_7 ^paragraph 5}
  A few days before, while walking alone in the little wood Belvedere,
that overlooked the Cours de la Fidelite, Julien, carrying his
little breviary in his hand, had tried in vain to avoid meeting his
two brothers, whom he saw approaching along a solitary path. The
jealousy of these coarse fellows was so greatly aroused by his fine
black coat and generally neat appearance, but more than all by his
evident contempt for them, that they had fallen upon him and left
him bleeding and insensible. Madame de Renal, who was walking with
M. Valenod and the sub-prefect, happened to come by chance into this
little place of wood. She found Julien lying on the ground; she
thought he was dead. Her shock was so great as to make Valenod
jealous.
  He was alarmed too soon.
  Julien thought Madame de Renal very pretty, but because of this very
beauty he hated her. He deemed her the first stumbling block to his
career. He spoke to her as little as possible, in order to forget
the feeling by which he had been led the first day to kiss her hand.
  Elisa, Madame de Renal's maid, did not lose any time in falling in
love with the young teacher. She spoke frequently of him to her
mistress. Miss Elisa's love made an enemy for him of one of the
valets. One day he heard that man say to her: "You don't want to
talk to me any more since this dirty teacher has come to the house.
Julien did not deserve that insult; for he took especial pains with
his person, though that was more or less instinctive with the handsome
fellow. M. Valenod's hatred for him also increased. He said publicly
that such flirting was not proper for a young priest.
  Madame de Renal noticed that Julien was speaking quite often to
Elisa; she learned that those conversations were caused by Julien's
poverty. Having only a few changes of linen, he was compelled to
have it washed frequently outside, and for these little cares Elisa
made herself invaluable. This extreme poverty touched Madame de Renal,
who had never suspected it. She had a mind to make him a present or
two, but she did not dare. This inner check was her first painful
sensation caused by Julien. Up to this time Julien's name and a
feeling of pure, ideal joy had been one and the same with her.
Tormented by Julien's poverty, Madame de Renal ventured to speak to
her husband about making him a gift of linen.
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_7 ^paragraph 10}
  "What nonsense!" he answered. "Why give presents to a man with
whom we are perfectly satisfied and who serves us well? No, if he
slighted his work we should stimulate his zeal."
  Madame de Renal was humiliated by his view of it; before Julien's
arrival she would not have noticed it. She never observed the spotless
cleanliness of the young theologian's poor shift without asking
herself, "How can the young man do it?"
  And gradually she came to regard him tenderly.
  Madame de Renal was one of those women who might easily be called
foolish after only a fortnight's acquaintance. Of the real world she
had no knowledge, and her propensity for conversation was slight. With
a faint touch of aloofness in her bearing, she paid but little
attention to the gross persons in whose sphere chance had cast her
life. Her unaffected, lively temperament might have been brought out
to an advantage even by the shallowest kind of an education; but being
an heiress, she had been reared by the pious Sisters of the Sacred
Heart of Jesus, who were animated by a violent hatred of the French,
the enemies of the Jesuits. Madame de Renal had enough good sense soon
to forget all that she had learned in the convent as something absurd;
but she put nothing in its place, and remained ignorant. The fulsome
flatteries which she received as the heiress of a great fortune, as
well as her passionate religious devotion, made her live a wholly
inner life. With what appeared as unconditional yielding, which
husbands in Verrieres cited as an example for their wives, and
formed the pride of M. de Renal, the habitual state of her mind was
virtually the effect of a proud spirit.
-
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_7 ^paragraph 15}
  Up to the arrival of Julien she had not paid the least attention
to any one but her children. Their little ailments, their little
griefs, their little joys had filled up her entire soul, which had
adored only God- when she was at the Sacred Heart in Besancon.
  Without caring to speak of it to any one, when one of her boys had
fever, she felt as if the child were dead. A loud burst of laughter
and a shrug of the shoulders, accompanied with a trite maxim about a
woman's nonsense, had constantly greeted such confidences, when from
sheer need of expression she would impart them to her husband during
the first years of their married life. This sort of pleasantry,
especially when it concerned her children, was like a dagger in Madame
de Renal's heart. That was what she found in the place of the
importunate and honeyed flatteries in the Jesuit convent in her
girlhood. Her education was really made up of chagrin. Too proud to
speak of her disappointments even to her friend Madame Derville, she
imagined all men were like her husband, or M. Valenod, or the
sub-prefect Charcot de Maugiron. The coarseness and brutal
insensibility to everything that did not concern money or station or
the Cross, the blind hatred for every manifestation of reason that
opposed their wishes, seemed natural to the sex, like the wearing of
boots.
  After long years Madame de Renal had not yet accustomed herself to
the mercenary people in the midst of whom she had to live. Hence the
success of the little peasant Julien. She found in the sympathy of his
noble, proud soul exquisite joy, and this was heightened by the
charm of novelty. Madame de Renal soon overlooked his extreme
inexperience-an additional grace in her eyes- and his rude manners,
which she succeeded in correcting. She found he was worth listening to
even when he spoke of the commonest things, as of a dog that had
been run over by a peasant's cart while he was crossing the street.
Her husband would only have laughed at the cruel spectacle, but she
saw Julien's finely arched eyebrows contract with pain. Little by
little, generosity, humaneness, nobility of soul seemed to exist
only in the young priest. For him alone she had all the sympathy and
admiration which those virtues enkindle in generous hearts.
  In Paris, Julien's attitude toward Madame de Renal would have been
much simplified; but in Paris love is the offspring only of novels.
The young preceptor and the timid mistress would have been enlightened
as to their mutual relation by three or four romances. Those works
of fiction would have outlined for them their respective parts and
would have given them a model for their imitation; and that model
Julien would have been forced to follow, through sheer vanity,
sooner or later, though it might have been devoid of pleasure, and
even positively irksome.
  In a little town in the Aveyron or in the Pyrenees the slightest
incident would have been made decisive by the heat of the climate.
Under our darker skies a poor young man who is ambitious only
because he has a delicate desire for some pleasures money can buy,
sees, without borrowing anything from the novels, a sincerely good
woman of thirty, every day occupied with her children. Everything is
slow, gradual in the province; it is more natural.
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_7 ^paragraph 20}
  Often, thinking of the young teacher's poverty, Madame de Renal
would be moved to tears. Julien surprised her one day while she was
crying. "Oh, madame, has anything happened?"
 "No, 'mon ami,'" she replied. "Call the children. Let us take a
walk together."
  She took his arm, and in a way rather singular to Julien. It was the
first time she had called him "mon ami." At the conclusion of the walk
Julien remarked that she was blushing very deeply. She talked rather
hesitatingly.
  "You may have been told," she said, without looking at him, "I am
the sole heiress of a rich aunt who lives at Besancon. She
overwhelms me with presents. My sons are doing nicely-
astonishingly- I would ask you to accept a little present as a token
of my gratitude. It is only a matter of a few louis- for linen.
But-" she added, blushing more deeply, and coming to an abrupt stop.
  "What, madame?" said Julien.
  "It would be useless," she continued, lowering her head, "to speak
to my husband about it."
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_7 ^paragraph 25}
  "I am small, madame, but I am not low," replied Julien, stopping
short, his eyes ablaze with anger, and drawing himself up to his
full height. "It is because you have not reflected. I should be
lower than a valet if I put myself in a position of hiding from M.
de Renal anything concerning my money."
  Madame de Renal was dumbfounded.
  "His honor the Mayor," continued Julien, "has given me thirty-five
francs five times since I came to the house. I am ready to show my
expense book to M. de Renal, and, as far as that is concerned, even to
M. Valenod, who hates me."
  Madame de Renal remained pale and trembling.
  And the walk ended without a renewal of the conversation. Love for
Madame de Renal became more and more impossible for the proud
Julien. As for her, she respected him, she admired him. On the pretext
of removing the humiliation which she had caused him, she permitted
herself the tenderest attention. It brought happiness for an entire
week to Madame de Renal. Its effect was in part to appease Julien's
anger; but he was far from seeing anything in it that could resemble
personal feeling.
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_7 ^paragraph 30}
  "See," he said to himself, "how these rich people act; they
humiliate one, and then they think they can remedy everything with a
little nonsense."
  Madame de Renal's heart was too frank and too innocent not to speak,
in spite of her resolutions, of the offer she had made to Julien,
and of the way she had been repulsed. "What!" replied M. de Renal
angrily, "could you tolerate a refusal on the part of a domestic?" And
when Madame de Renal objected to that word, he said: "I speak, madame,
like the late Prince de Conde. When he presented his chamberlain to
his second wife, 'All these people,' he said to her, 'are our
domestics.' I have read you this passage from the 'Memoirs de
Bensenval,' a work that is indispensable for people of quality.
Every one in your house who is not of noble birth and who receives
wages is your domestic. I am going to say two words to this Monsieur
Julien and give him a hundred francs."
  "Oh, my dear," said Madame de Renal, trembling, "don't do it in
the presence of the servants."
  "No; they might be jealous, and with reason," replied her husband,
as he walked away, thinking of the large sum.
  Madame de Renal sank into a chair, despairing. "He is going to
humiliate Julien, and through my fault," she said, hiding her face
in her hands. She resolved never again to impart a confidence to him.
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_7 ^paragraph 35}
  When she saw Julien again, she trembled all over. She was so
miserable that she could not utter a single word. In her despair she
had taken his hands and pressed them.
  "Ah, well, 'mon ami,'" she said at last, "are you satisfied with
my husband?"
  "Why shouldn't I be?" replied Julien, with a bitter smile; "yes,
he has given me a hundred francs."
  Madame de Renal looked at him, puzzled.
  "Give me your arm," she said, with a suggestion of courage in her
tone which he had not before remarked.
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_7 ^paragraph 40}
  She ventured to walk as far as the book-store in Verrieres with him,
regardless of the bookseller's reputation as a Liberal. There she
bought some books for the children. But the books were those which she
knew Julien wanted. While Madame de Renal was happy in thus making
reparation to Julien, he was marvelling over the number of books in
the store. He had never dared enter so profane a place; his heart beat
violently. Far from trying to divine what was passing in her mind,
he was dreaming only of what chance a young theological student
would have of getting some of those books. Finally it occurred to
him that with a little address it would be possible to persuade M.
de Renal that he needed the history of the celebrated men of the
province for subjects of composition for the boys. After a month of
study, Julien saw his plans succeed to such an extent that he
ventured, in speaking to M. de Renal, to mention something even that
was very painful to the Mayor. That was nothing less than to
contribute to a Liberal's income with a newspaper subscription. M.
de Renal fully agreed with him that it would be wise to give his
eldest son a glance into the many works which he might hear
mentioned in conversation when he entered the military school; but
Julien saw his honor the Mayor very obstinate about going any farther.
He suspected a secret reason, but he could not guess what it was.
  "I was thinking, monsieur," he said to him one day, "that it would
be very inconvenient to have a gentleman's name such as Renal on the
stationer's soiled ledger." M. de Renal's brow cleared. "It would also
be a rather awkward thing," continued Julien, in his humblest tone,
"for a poor theological student if it were discovered that his name
was on the ledger of a stationer who loaned books; the Liberals
would accuse me of having asked for the most infamous works. Who knows
but they might go to the length of writing after my name the titles of
the most abominable books!" But Julien then tacked; he saw the Mayor's
face assume an expression of embarrassment and anger. Julien ceased
speaking. "I have got my man," he said to himself.
  A few days later the eldest boy, asking about a book advertised in
the "Quotidienne," in M. de Renal's presence, Julien said: "In order
to remove an occasion of triumph for the Jacobin party, and at the
same time to have the means of answering Master Adolphe, a
subscription might be taken from the stationer's through one of the
servants."
  "That is not a bad idea," said M. de Renal, visibly very glad.
  "Yet it must be specified," said Julien, with a grave, sad tone so
becoming to certain people when they are succeeding in their
undertakings, "It must be specified that the servant shall not take
out a novel. Once in the house, these dangerous books would corrupt
madame's servants."
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_7 ^paragraph 45}
  "You are forgetting the political pamphlets," said M. de Renal,
haughtily, intending to smother the admiration which the tutor's
uncompromising suggestion had won from the children.
  Julien's life was thus a series of little intrigues, and the success
of these occupied his mind much more than the marked preference for
him which he could not but read in Madame de Renal.
  The moral elevation in which he had passed his life was renewed in
the house of the Mayor of Verrieres. There, as at his father's
saw-mill, he cordially despised the men around him, and was despised
in turn. Every day he saw in the conversation of the sub-prefect, of
Valenod, and others, how little their ideas corresponded with the
truth. His own comment was always, "What knaves or what fools!" The
humor of it was that with all his pride he understood absolutely
nothing at times what was said.
  In all his life he had never spoken with sincerity except to the
army sergeant; the few ideas that one had concerned only Napoleon's
Italian campaign, and surgery. His youthful courage jested over the
details of painful operations. He would say, "I shouldn't have
flinched."
  The first time Madame de Renal tried to engage him in a conversation
outside of the children's education, he began to speak of surgical
operations; she blanched, and begged him to stop.
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_7 ^paragraph 50}
  Julien did not know anything else; and so, passing whole days with
Madame de Renal, the most singular silence would ensue when they found
themselves alone. In the drawing-room she found that in spite of his
humble demeanor he would look with a certain air of intellectual
superiority at her visitors. When she was alone with him for an
instant, she would see how embarrassed he became. She was uneasy;
her womanly instinct told her that this embarrassment was not the
effect of any tender sentiment.
  According to the peculiar notions he had of polite society-
perhaps such as he found in conversation with the army surgeon- Julien
would feel humiliated whenever there was a lull in the conversation
while he was in a woman's company, as if the silence were his fault.
This sensation was a hundred times more painful in a tete-a-tete.
His imagination, stored with most exaggerated quixotic notions of what
a man should say when alone with a woman, offered him only
preposterous ideas in his dilemma. His head soared high among the
clouds, yet he could not relieve the painful silence. As a
consequence, his bearing became more brusque during the long walks
he took with Madame de Renal and the children. He had utter contempt
for himself. If by some ill-chance he was compelled to speak, he would
express the most ridiculous ideas. To complete his misery he himself
was aware of his absurdity, and grossly exaggerated it. But what he
did not see was the expression of his eyes: they were so beautiful,
and reflected a soul so ardent, that, like good deeds, they gave a
charming sense of something they did not possess. Madame de Renal
observed that when he was alone with her, he would never say
anything pleasant except when brought out of himself by something
unforeseen; he would never think of turning a compliment. As her
friends and family did not spoil her with new or brilliant ideas,
she enjoyed immensely the sparks which Julien from time to time
would emit.
  Madame de Renal, the heiress of her rich, pious aunt, was married at
the age of sixteen, but had never in her life experienced anything
that in the least resembled love. Her confessor, the good old curate
Chelan, once hinted about Valenod's attentions to her, and he conjured
up in her mind then, while on the subject of love, such an unholy
picture, that the word meant for her only the most unbridled
license. She imagined that the love she read of in the few books which
chance threw in her way was exceptional and extraordinary. Thanks to
such ignorance, Madame de Renal, rapt up in Julien, was supremely
happy; not the least self-reproach entered her heart.

{BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_8
                              CHAPTER 8
                            Little Events
-
          Then there were sighs, the deeper for suppression,
                 And stolen glances, sweeter for the theft,
          And burning blushes, though for no transgression.
                                    DON JUAN, canto I, stanza 74
                                           {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_8 ^paragraph 5}
-
  THE SWEETNESS of life which Madame de Renal owed partly to her
disposition, and partly to her present happiness, was not a little
diminished when she came to think of her maid Elisa. That girl, who
had just come into an inheritance, went to confession to the curate
Chelan, and had avowed her intention of marrying Julien. The curate
found real joy in the happiness of this friend of his, and he was
greatly surprised when Julien announced his resolution that he would
not think of mademoiselle Elisa's offer.
  "Take care, my son, as to what is passing in your heart," said the
curate, contracting his brows; "I congratulate you on your choice of
vocation if it is to that alone you owe your contempt for a competence
which is more than sufficient. It is fifty-six years since I am curate
of Verrieres, and yet, to all appearances, I am about to be removed.
It is annoying to me, though I have an income of eight hundred livres.
I make you acquainted with these facts in order that you might not
entertain any illusions about what you may expect when you become a
priest. If you think of truckling to men of power, your eternal
damnation is assured. You might make a career, but you will have to
oppress the wretched and to cater to the sub-prefect and the great man
the Mayor, and minister to their passions. Such conduct, which the
world calls tact, might not be absolutely incompatible with
salvation in the long run; but in our station one must make his choice
between making his fortune in this world or in the next; there is no
other alternative. Come, now, my son, think over it, and come back
in three days with a definite answer. I behold with pain a dark
passion at the bottom of your heart, which does not show me the
moderation and the perfect abnegation of earthly goods essential to
the priesthood. I augur well of you, but let me say," added the good
curate, with tears in his eyes, "I tremble for your salvation as a
priest."
  Julien was ashamed of his emotion; for the first time in his life he
saw himself loved, and he wept for joy. He took a walk in the woods
lying above Verrieres to hide his tears.
  "How queer I am!" he said to himself "I feel that I should give my
life a hundred times for the curate Chelan, and he has just made me
out a fool. It is he above all that it is important for me to fool,
and he has found me out. The secret ardor of which he speaks is my
ambition to make a mark. He believes me utterly unworthy to become a
priest, and that, too, when the sacrifice of an income of fifty
louis was intended to give him a most exalted notion of my piety and
inclination. In the future," continued Julien, "I will rely only on
those things in my character of which I am sure. Who would have told
me that I should find pleasure in shedding tears or that I should love
the one who proves to me that I am only a fool?"
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_8 ^paragraph 10}
  Three days later Julien found a pretext which might have fortified
him from the very first. This pretext was a calumny, but- what of
it? He confessed to the curate, with much hesitation, that something
which he could not disclose, because it would damage a third party,
forced him suddenly to renounce the proposal- a defamation of
Elisa's character. Chelan noticed something altogether too worldly
in his manner, something entirely different from what he should have
liked to see in a young Levite.
  "My son," he said to him again, "try to be a good, estimable, and
accomplished bourgeois rather than an uninspired priest." Julien
replied with a great show of earnestness; the young seminarist's words
were fervent; but the tone, the ill-concealed gleam in the eye,
alarmed the good Chelan. It was an earnest of no mean ability; the
words of cunning, prudent hypocrisy came with great fluency. As to
tone and gesture he showed that he had lived only with peasants, and
great models had not come within the sphere of his vision. He had
not the opportunity of hearing orators admirable alike for their
delivery as for their eloquence.
  Madame de Renal was surprised to find that the new fortune of her
maid was not making that girl any happier. She saw her going
continually to the curate, and returning from him with tears in her
eyes. At last Elisa herself spoke to her of her marriage proposal.
  Madame de Renal thought she would succumb. A sort of fever robbed
her of her sleep; she lived only when she saw either the maid or
Julien under her eyes. She could only think of them and of the
happiness they would find in their little home. A small household
managed on an income of fifty louis was painted by her with the most
ravishing colors. Julien might very easily become an attorney at Bray,
the sub-prefecture two leagues from Verrieres- and- in that case she
would see him sometimes.
  Madame de Renal believed she would go mad. She complained to her
husband, and then really fell sick. The same evening her maid came
to wait on her. She noticed that the latter had been crying. She hated
Elisa at that moment, and was treating her with little kindness. She
was quick, however, in making reparation, and then Elisa's tears
fell faster. She said that if her mistress would permit she would tell
her of her trouble.
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_8 ^paragraph 15}
  "Go ahead," replied Madame de Renal.
  "Oh, madame, he refuses me; some wicked people must have told
tales on me, and he believes them."
  "Who refuses you?" asked Madame de Renal, scarcely daring to
breathe.
  "Who, madame, who, if not this M. Julien?" replied the maid,
sobbing. "The curate has not been able to win him over. The curate
thinks that he should not refuse a good girl because she is only a
maid. After all, Julien's father is only a carpenter, and he
himself-how did he earn a living before coming here?"
  Madame de Renal was no longer listening; her great joy bereft her
almost of her reason. She had it repeated to her several times that
Julien had declined in a manner not calculated to show a change of
purpose.
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_8 ^paragraph 20}
  "I will make a final effort," she said to her maid; "I will speak
myself to M. Julien."
  Next day, after breakfast, Madame de Renal gave herself up to the
delight of pleading the cause of her rival, and of seeing Elisa's hand
and fortune firmly refused, for a whole hour. From mere
monosyllables Julien passed little by little to a long and spirited
reply to Madame de Renal's representations. She could not stem the
tide of happiness that inundated her heart after so many days of
anguish. She fainted away. When she came to and had been brought to
her room, she sent every one out. She was wildly agitated.
  "Is it right that I should love Julien?" she asked herself.
  This discovery at any other time would have plunged her into remorse
and would have made her perfectly wretched; but now it appeared to her
only as a singular phenomenon. Worn out by all that she had
experienced, she was insensible to all self-reproach.
  Madame de Renal wished to go about her work, but from sheer
exhaustion she fell into a profound slumber. When she awoke she was
not frightened at herself in the least.
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_8 ^paragraph 25}
  She was too happy to take anything amiss. Naive, innocent, the
good woman had never tortured her soul to question a new happiness
or a new grief. Having been absorbed before Julien's arrival in that
mass of work which, outside of Paris, falls to the lot of every good
housewife, Madame de Renal used to think of passion as one might think
of the lottery- a delusion, a pleasure sought by fools.
  The dinner bell rang; Madame de Renal blushed when she heard
Julien's voice as he was bringing in the children. Adroit, since she
commenced to love, in explaining her heightened color, she
complained of a frightful headache.
  "That's how women are," said M. de Renal, with a loud laugh.
"There is always something to fix in those machines."
  Although accustomed to that sort of raillery, the tone grated on
Madame de Renal. To divert her attention she looked at Julien. That
one, if he had been the ugliest of men, would have pleased her at that
moment.
  Industrious in his imitation of the ways of the nobility, M. de
Renal had moved in the beginning of spring to Vergy, a village made
famous by the tragic adventure of Gabrielle. A few hundred paces
from the picturesque ruins of an ancient Gothic church was M. de
Renal's cottage, a four-towered affair, with a little garden around it
that was laid out after the manner of the one in the Tuileries, with
boxwood hedges, and walks lined with chestnut trees. An adjoining
field studded with apple trees served as a promenade. At one end of
the orchard stood a dozen magnificent walnut trees; their immense
foliage rose to a height of twenty-four feet.
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_8 ^paragraph 30}
  "Each of these damned walnuts," M. de Renal would say when his
wife admired them, "costs me half an acre in farming; nothing can grow
in their shade."
  The country was new to Madame de Renal. Her admiration passed even
to the ecstatic. The feeling which was now dominating her gave her
courage and resolution. The day after their arrival at Vergy, Madame
de Renal hired workmen at her own expense while her husband was away
on official business. Julien had given her the idea of a little sanded
path around the orchard to the walnut trees that would permit the
children to walk in the morning without their feet becoming wet from
the dew. This idea was put into execution in less than twenty-four
hours after being conceived. Madame de Renal gayly passed the whole
day with Julien, directing the workmen.
  When the Mayor returned from town, he was greatly surprised at
finding a walk had been laid out. His arrival also surprised Madame de
Renal; she had utterly forgotten that he existed. For two months after
that he spoke in the most aggrieved fashion of the hardihood with
which such an important alteration had been made without
consulting him; but as Madame de Renal had had it done at her own
expense, he was somewhat consoled.
  She passed the days running with the children in the orchard chasing
butterflies. They had made nets of some light gauze for the capture of
these poor lepidoptera. That barbarous word Julien had taught her;
for she had ordered from Besancon the fine work of Godart, and
Julien had told her of the singular habits of these insects. These
were pitilessly transfixed on pins and placed on a large card made for
that purpose by Julien. It served as a subject of conversation between
him and Madame de Renal. He was no longer exposed to the cruel torture
he had suffered from silence. They talked unceasingly and
animatedly, always on indifferent topics. This active, busy, gay
life was pleasant to all except to mademoiselle Elisa, who found
herself overburdened with work. Never during the carnival, she would
say, when the ball took place at Verrieres, had madame paid so much
attention to her toilet. She dressed two and three times a day.
  It must be said that Madame de Renal, who had a beautiful skin, wore
no dresses which left her arms or breast too much exposed. She was a
beautiful woman, and her style of dressing was exceedingly becoming.
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_8 ^paragraph 35}
  "Never have you been so young, madame," said some friends of
hers who had come to dine at Vergy.
  Singularly enough- something that may receive little credence-
Madame de Renal was painstaking about her dress wholly without any
distinct motive. She simply took pleasure in it, and, with no ulterior
thought, she passed all the time, when she was not chasing butterflies
with her children, making herself gowns. Her single trip to
Verrieres was occasioned by a desire to buy some new summer dress
goods which had just come from Mulhouse. She was accompanied on her
return by a young woman, a relative of hers. Since her marriage Madame
de Renal had become very intimate with Madame Derville, who had
formerly been her companion at the Sacred Heart.
  Madame Derville laughed considerably at what she called her cousin's
foolish ideas. "Really, I should never think of such things," she
said. Such unexpected sallies as would have been called bright in
Paris, Madame de Renal was ashamed of as a piece of folly when she was
alone with her husband. But Madame Derville's presence gave her
courage. At first she would express herself rather timidly; but when
the women were alone for a long time, Madame de Renal would become
greatly animated, and a long forenoon would pass like a moment and
leave the two friends bright and gay. During this visit, Madame
Derville found her cousin less gay than usual, but much happier.
  Julien, on his part, was living a child's life. Since their coming
to the country he was as happy in the butterfly chase as his pupils.
With constraint and plotting removed, with no men around him, and with
no fears any more of Madame de Renal, he gave himself up to the pure
pleasure of existence.
  When Madame Derville came, he looked upon her as his friend; he
hastened to show her the view to be had at the foot of the new walk
under the large walnut trees, equal, if not superior, to the most
beautiful in Switzerland or by the Italian lakes. By climbing the
steep bank rising a few feet farther away, a great precipice could
be seen, fringed with oak saplings, stretching clear to the river.
It was to the top of these perpendicular rocks where the happy, free
Julien, feeling as if he were master of the domain, conducted the
two friends, enjoying hugely their admiration of the beautiful
scenery.
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_8 ^paragraph 40}
  "It is like Mozart's music to me," Madame Derville said.
  His brothers' jealousy and the presence of his despotic father had
spoiled for Julien the country in the neighborhood of Verrieres. At
Vergy he did not find any of these; for the first time in his life
he could not see an enemy. When M. de Renal went to town, and that was
often, he could read. Soon, in place of reading at night, he could
give himself up to sleep, though still taking care to hide his light
under a vase. During the day, between the children's lessons, he would
go to these rocks with a book which formed the guide of his life and
the object of his affections. He found in it at once happiness, joy,
and exaltation.
  Certain things which Napoleon said of women, and several discussions
on the merits of fiction in his reign, gave him then for the first
time ideas which young men of his age would have known long before.
  The summer heat came on apace. The evenings were then regularly
passed under a large lime tree a few steps from the house. The
darkness there was profound. One evening, while Julien was conversing,
and enjoying the pleasure of talking well before young women, he
touched, in making a gesture, Madame de Renal's hand resting on the
back of one of the painted garden chairs. The hand was quickly
withdrawn, but Julien thought that it was his duty to bring it about
so that the hand would not be withdrawn when he touched it. The idea
of this duty, and of ridicule, or, rather, of a feeling of inferiority
if he failed to perform it, took away all his pleasure.

{BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_9
                              CHAPTER 9
                      An Evening in the Country
-
               Monsieur Guerin's Dido, a lovely sketch.
                                                 STROMBECK
-
  HIS EXPRESSION the next day, when he saw Madame de Renal again,
was strange. He looked upon her as an enemy with whom he was about
to struggle. His look, so different from the night before, almost made
Madame de Renal hysterical. She had been kind to him, and he seemed
angry. She could not remove her eyes from him.
                                           {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_9 ^paragraph 5}
  Madame Derville's presence caused Julien to speak less, and to
occupy himself more with what he had in his heart. His sole concern
all that day was to fortify himself with the reading of his inspired
book. This imparted new strength to his soul. He greatly shortened the
children's lessons, and then, when Madame de Renal's presence came
to recall him to his battle for glory, he decided that it was
absolutely necessary that she should allow her hand that night to rest
in his.
  As the sun set and the hour of decisive battle approached,
Julien's heart beat most violently. Night came. He observed, with a
joy that removed a great weight from his heart, that the night would
be very dark. The sky, heavy with great clouds, seemed, together
with a very warm wind, to announce a storm. The two cousins came out
very late. Everything they did that night appeared most singular to
Julien. Yet they liked the weather, which for certain delicate souls
seems to increase the pleasure of loving. They soon sat down; Madame
de Renal by the side of Julien, and Madame Derville near her.
Preoccupied with what he was about to do, Julien had nothing to say,
and the conversation lagged.
  "Shall I then tremble and be discouraged before my first duel?" he
said to himself. For, distrusting himself and others, he recognized
only too well his own state of mind. In his mortal anguish all dangers
would have seemed preferable. How often did he not wish that something
might happen that would compel Madame de Renal to leave the garden and
return to the house! The inner conflict in which Julien was engaged
was too great to leave his voice steady. Soon, too, Madame de
Renal's voice quavered, though Julien did not notice it. The
dreadful combat in which his duty and timidity had become involved was
too painful to permit him to notice anything outside of himself. The
cottage clock had just struck a quarter to ten, and he had not yet
accomplished anything. Julien, mortified over his cowardice, said to
himself, "When ten o'clock strikes, I will do what I said all this
whole day I would do, or I will go to my room and blow my brains out!"
  After another period of anxiety, during which the excess of
emotion made Julien almost mad, ten o'clock struck. Every stroke of
the clock reverberated in his heart, producing an effect as of
physical contact.
  At last, when the last stroke was still heard, he stretched out
his hand and seized Madame de Renal's. It was quickly withdrawn.
Julien, without knowing what he was doing, seized it again. Although
moved himself, he was struck by the icy coldness of the hand he
took; he pressed it convulsively. Another effort was made to
withdraw it, but finally the hand remained in his.
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_9 ^paragraph 10}
  His heart was filled with joy; not that he loved Madame de Renal,
but it was an end to his frightful torture. In order that Madame
Derville might not suspect anything, he thought he would begin to
speak. His voice now rang out clear and strong. Madame de Renal, on
the other hand, betrayed so much emotion that her friend, who
thought she was ill, proposed to return to the house. Julien scented
danger. "If Madame de Renal" he argued, "went back to the house I
should be in the same horrible position in which I passed the whole
day. I have not held her hand long enough to see any advantage that
I have gained." While Madame de Renal was considering the idea of
returning to the drawing-room, Julien was tightly pressing the hand
that was now abandoned in his. Madame de Renal, who had already seated
herself again, said faintly:
  "I feel, indeed, a little ill; but the open air will do me good."
  These words confirmed Julien's happiness, which at that moment was
great indeed. He spoke on; he forgot even to dissemble. Indeed, he
appeared most agreeable to the two friends who were listening to
him. Nevertheless, there was still a want of courage in the
eloquence that came to him all at once. He was in mortal dread lest
Madame Derville, feeling the rising wind which presaged a storm, might
be inclined to return to the house by herself, he would then remain
alone with Madame de Renal. He was possessed of sufficient blind
courage for spontaneous action, but he felt that it was now beyond him
to say the simplest word to her. However lightly he might bear his
self-reproach, he was, after all, to be beaten, and the advantage
which he had just acquired would forthwith disappear.
  Happily for him, that night his lively, dashing conversation found
grace with Madame Derville, who very often found it as insipid as a
child's. As for Madame de Renal, with her hand resting in Julien's,
she was not thinking of anything. She seemed only to have a
delicious sense of living. The hours passed under that grand lime
tree- said to have been planted by Charles the Bold- were for her
one long delight. She listened with rapture to the rustling of the
wind in the thick foliage and to the scattering drops on the leaves.
Julien did not remark a certain circumstance that would have greatly
reassured him: Madame de Renal, who had been obliged to withdraw her
hand to help her cousin pick up a vase of flowers that had been
overturned by the wind near by, was hardly seated again before she
gave him her hand without the least hesitancy, as if the matter had
long been agreed upon.
  Midnight had long struck, and it became necessary to leave the
garden. They separated, and Madame de Renal, on retiring, had such
transports of love that she did not make herself a single reproach.
Happiness allowed her even no sleep.
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_9 ^paragraph 15}
  On the other hand, a leaden slumber took possession of Julien,
fatigued as he was from the warfare which all that day timidity and
pride had waged in his heart.
  Next morning he arose at five o'clock, and- what might have been
cruel for Madame de Renal if she had known it- he scarcely gave her
a thought. He had done his duty. Filled with happiness over this
feeling, he locked himself in his room and gave himself up with
renewed pleasure to the reading of his hero's exploits. By the time
breakfast was served he had forgotten, in the reading of the records
of the Grand Army, all his conquests of the night before. He said to
himself lightly, as he went down to the drawing-room, "I must never
tell the woman I love her."
  Instead of looks expressive of love which he expected to meet, he
encountered the frowning face of M. de Renal. The latter, on his
arrival from Verrieres two hours before, had not concealed his great
displeasure at the fact that Julien had spent the entire morning
without attending to the children. No one could be more disagreeable
than this overbearing man in an angry mood when he had the means of
showing it. Each sharp word her husband uttered sent a pang to
Madame de Renal's heart. As for Julien, he was so deeply plunged in
ecstasy, and so greatly occupied with the great things that had passed
before his eyes for several hours, that he could hardly concentrate
his attention on M. de Renal's tirade. At last he said, brusquely:
  "I was sick."
  The tone of this reply would have piqued a much less sensitive man
than the Mayor of Verrieres. The latter had a mind to reply to
Julien by throwing him out of doors; he was restrained only by his
rule of never doing anything hastily.
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_9 ^paragraph 20}
  "The young fool," he said to himself, "has in a way established
himself in my house. Valenod might take him, or he might marry
Elisa, and in either case he would have his laugh on me, after all."
  Despite the wisdom of these reflections, M. de Renal's anger burst
out in a torrent of words that finally enraged Julien. Madame de Renal
was on the point of bursting into tears. Hardly was breakfast over
when she asked Julien to give her his arm for a walk. She leaned on
him then with most marked friendliness. To all that she would say,
Julien could only reply in a suppressed voice:
  "That is what rich people are!"
  M. de Renal was then walking very close to them, and his presence
increased Julien's anger. Then for the first time he felt that
Madame de Renal was leaning on him. The sensation caused him horror.
He repulsed her violently, disengaging his arm.
  Fortunately M. de Renal did not notice this new piece of
impertinence; it was noticed only by Madame Derville. Her friend burst
into tears. At that moment M. de Renal was throwing stones at a little
peasant girl who was walking over a corner of the orchard.
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_9 ^paragraph 25}
  "Monsieur Julien, please restrain yourself; you must know that we
all have our moods," said Madame Derville, quickly.
  Julien gazed at her coldly, with eyes expressive of the most
sovereign disdain. His look surprised Madame Derville, and it would
have surprised her still more had she divined its real meaning. She
would have seen there something like a vague desire for atrocious
vengeance. It is without doubt such moments of humiliation that have
made the Robespierres.
  "Your Julien is very violent; he frightens me," said Madame Derville
to her cousin in a whisper.
  "He is right to be angry," the other replied. "After the astonishing
progress which the children have made, what difference does it make if
he passes a morning without teaching them? Really, men are hard."
For the first time in her life Madame de Renal had a feeling of
resentment against her husband.
-
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_9 ^paragraph 30}
  Julien was about to give vent to the great hatred he entertained for
the rich. Happily, M. de Renal, having called his gardener, was
occupied with him in barring the little path around the orchard with
fagots. Julien did not respond in the slightest to the kindly
attentions of which he was the object for the remainder of the walk.
For hardly had M. de Renal disappeared when both women, pretending
to be tired, asked each an arm. Between these two women, whose
cheeks were red with embarrassment caused by the disagreeable
incident, the pallor and gloom of Julien's face formed a strange
contrast. He despised these women and all their tender sentiments.
  "Oh," he said to himself, "not five hundred francs to finish my
studies! How I should like to send these people walking!" Absorbed
in these gloomy reflections, what little he deigned to hear of the
kind words of the two friends irritated him as being devoid of
sense, vapid; in a word, feminine.
  Just to be speaking and to keep up a lively conversation it occurred
to Madame de Renal to say that her husband had come from Verrieres
because he had made a bargain with one of the farmers for May straw.
(In that neighborhood mattresses are filled with May straw.)
  "My husband will not join us," said Madame de Renal. "With his
gardener and his man he is going to be busy filling the mattresses
in the house. This morning he put straw in all the beds on the first
floor; he is now on the second."
  Julien changed color. He gave Madame de Renal a wild look and took
her aside, Madame Derville permitting them to withdraw.
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_9 ^paragraph 35}
  "Save me!" cried Julien. "You alone can do it; for you know that the
valet has a mortal hatred for me. I must confess to you I have a
portrait, madame; I have hidden it in the mattress."
  "You have a portrait?" asked Madame de Renal, scarcely able to
stand.
  Her look of dejection was perceived by Julien, who immediately
profited by it.
  "I have another favor to ask of you, madame: I beg you not to look
at that portrait; it is a secret."
  "A secret?" repeated Madame de Renal, faintly.
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_9 ^paragraph 40}
  Though raised among purse-proud people who were sensible only to
money interests, love had already made her heart generous. In spite of
being cruelly wounded, it was with the simplest devotion that Madame
de Renal asked the necessary questions of Julien in order to acquit
herself of the commission.
  "So, then," she murmured as she was walking away, "it is a little
round box of soft black cardboard?"
  "Yes, madame," answered Julien in that hard tone which danger
imparts to men.
  She went up to the second story, with a pallor as if she were
going to her death. To complete her misery she felt as if she were
about to faint; but the necessity of rendering that service to
Julien gave her strength.
  "I must get that box," she said to herself, walking faster.
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_9 ^paragraph 45}
  She heard her husband talking to the valet in Julien's very room.
Fortunately they passed into the children's apartment. She raised
the mattress and thrust her hand into the straw with such violence
as to scratch her fingers. Of this she was not aware, though usually
sensitive to such little pains; for almost at the same time she felt
the polished surface of the box. She seized it and disappeared.
  Hardly was she delivered from the fear of being surprised by her
husband than the horror which the box caused her nearly made her ill.
  "Julien, then, is in love, and I hold here the portrait of the woman
he loves!"
  Seated on a chair in the hall leading to that room, Madame de
Renal was a prey to all the horrors of jealousy. Her great lack of
experience at that moment was again useful to her; astonishment was
tempering her grief. Julien appeared, seized the box without
thanking her, without a word, and ran into his room, where, making a
light, he proceeded immediately to burn it. He was pale, exhausted. He
exaggerated the greatness of the risk he had run.
  "Napoleon's picture," he said to himself, shaking his head, "found
hidden in the room of a man who professes such a mortal hatred for the
usurper; found by M. de Renal, such an extremist, and so angry! And to
cap the imprudence, on the back of the portrait, lines written in my
own handwriting, to leave no doubt of the greatness of my
admiration; and every one of those transports of admiration is
dated! There is one from day before yesterday. My whole reputation
is spoiled, ruined, in a moment," Julien said to himself, seeing the
box burn, "and my reputation is all I have. I live on nothing else;
and yet, what a life! Good Lord!"
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_9 ^paragraph 50}
  An hour later his fatigue and the pity he felt for himself
softened him a little. He met Madame de Renal, and taking her hand,
kissed it with more sincerity than he had ever used. She blushed
with happiness, though at the same instant she rudely repulsed him.
Julien's pride, wounded only so recently, made him at this moment
positively foolish. He saw in Madame de Renal only a rich woman; he
dropped her hand with disdain and walked away. He walked to the
garden, absorbed in thought, a bitter smile playing on his lips.
  "I walk here calmly like a man that is master of his time. I am
not attending to the children. I am exposing myself to humiliation
from M. de Renal, and he would be in the right!" He walked quickly
to the children's room.
  The caresses of the youngest boy, whom he loved very dearly,
calmed somewhat his boiling passion. "This one does not despise me
yet," thought Julien. But soon he blamed the calming of his anger as a
new weakness. "These children pet me as they would a dog they had
bought yesterday."

{BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_10
                              CHAPTER 10
                  A Great Heart and a Small Fortune
-
              But passion most dissembles, yet betrays,
              Even by its darkness; as the blackest sky
              Foretells the heaviest tempest.
                                    DON JUAN, canto I, stanza 73
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_10 ^paragraph 5}
-
  M. DE RENAL, after going through all the rooms, returned to the
children's apartment, with the servants carrying the mattresses. The
sudden entrance of the man was the last straw with Julien. Paler and
gloomier than usual, he made a rush towards him. M. de Renal stopped
and looked at his servants.
  "Monsieur," said Julien to him, "do you think that your children
would have made as much progress with any other tutor? If not,"
continued Julien, without giving M. de Renal time to reply, "how
dare you tell me I'm neglecting them?"
  M. de Renal, hardly recovered from his fright, concluded, from the
strange tone which he saw the little peasant assume, that the latter
had a better offer up his sleeve and was going to leave. Julien,
with increasing anger as he went on, added:
  "I can live without you, sir!"
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_10 ^paragraph 10}
  "I am sorry to see you so angry," replied M. de Renal, faltering a
little. The servants were only ten feet away, arranging the beds.
  "I don't care, sir," Julien answered. "Think of the insulting
words you addressed to me, and before ladies, too."
  M. de Renal knew only too well what Julien wanted, and his heart was
rent with a fearful struggle. Then Julien, fairly beside himself
with anger, cried out:
  "I know where to go, sir, when I leave you."
  On hearing this M. de Renal saw Julien already installed at the
house of M. Valenod.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_10 ^paragraph 15}
  "Oh, well, monsieur," he said, sighing, in a tone that might have
been occasioned by a surgeon during a most painful operation, "well,
you shall have what you want. Beginning with day after to-morrow,
which is the first of the month, I shall give you fifty francs a
month."
  Julien was amazed; he almost burst out laughing- all his anger
suddenly disappeared.
  "I haven't enough contempt for this brute," he said to himself,
"that's without doubt the greatest apology such a low nature could
make."
  The children, who had been witnessing this scene with open mouths,
ran into the garden to tell their mother that M. Julien was very
angry, but was going to get fifty francs a month.
  Julien followed them mechanically, without even looking at M. de
Renal, who was indeed very angry.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_10 ^paragraph 20}
  "There's a hundred and sixty-eight francs," the Mayor said to
himself, "that Valenod has cost me. I will tell him a word or two
about his little scheme for maintaining the foundlings."
  A minute later Julien went up to M. de Renal, saying:
  "I want to go to confession to M. Chelan. I have the honor to inform
you that I will be absent for a few hours."
  "Oh, my dear Julien," M. de Renal said, with the falsest kind of a
laugh, "all day if you like; all of to-morrow, my dear friend. Take
the gardener's horse if you are going to Verrieres."
  "There he goes," said M. de Renal to himself, "to give his reply
to Valenod. He has not promised anything; but let the young man's head
cool off a little!"
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_10 ^paragraph 25}
  Julien slipped away quickly, and entered the thick wood lying
between Vergy and Verrieres. He did not wish to come so soon to M.
Chelan. Before entering on a new scene of hypocrisy, he thought he
would peer into his own heart to know the varied feelings that were
moving him.
  "I have won a battle," he whispered to himself as soon as he was
in the wood, when he thought no one could see him. "Yes, I have won
a battle."
  That thought made his position roseate, and imparted to his soul a
great tranquillity.
  "Here I am with an income of fifty francs a month. M. de Renal
must be very much afraid. But of what?"
  The thought that he had been able to frighten a man of means and
power, who had an hour before thrown him into a violent rage, made
Julien's soul serene again. For the moment he was almost impressed
by the ravishing beauty of the primeval forest. Enormous blocks of
living rock lay here and there along the mountain side. There grew
alongside tall beech trees, as high almost as those rocks, whose
shade, three feet away from where the heat of the sun was almost
intolerable, lent a delicious freshness.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_10 ^paragraph 30}
  Julien took breath for a moment in the shade of these great rocks
and then started to go up higher. By a narrow, unfrequented path, used
only by the goat shepherds, he soon found himself upon an immense
rock, where he was sure of being all alone. That physical position
made him smile; it pictured to him the moral plane he was burning to
reach. The pure air of those high mountains imparted serenity to his
soul, even joy. The Mayor of Verrieres was the representative in his
eyes of all the rich and the insolent on the face of the earth; yet
Julien felt that the hatred by which he had been moved, had, in
spite of its violence, nothing of the personal in it. If he had ceased
to see M. de Renal he would have forgotten him in a week- him, his
house, his dogs, his children- all.
  "I have forced him, I don't know how, to make the greatest
sacrifice. Yes, more than fifty crowns a year! Only a moment before, I
escaped the greatest danger. That's two victories in one day; the
second one doesn't amount to much; but I'll find out how it came
about. But to-morrow is time enough for that difficulty."
  Julien, standing upright on the high rock, looked at the sky,
where an August sun was blazing. Grasshoppers were chirping in the
field below. He saw at his feet twenty leagues of country. A hawk he
had noticed, after leaving the high crags overhead, was describing
in silence its widening circles. Julien's eye mechanically followed
the bird of prey, struck by its tranquil, mighty movements. He
envied its force; he envied its isolation.
  It was the destiny of Napoleon. Would it some day be his?

{BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_11
                              CHAPTER 11
                             One Evening
-
             Yet Julia's very coldness still was kind,
               And tremulously gentle her small hand
             Withdrew itself from his, but left behind
               A little pressure, thrilling, and so bland
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_11 ^paragraph 5}
             And slight, so very slight that to the mind
               'Twas but a doubt.
                                    DON JUAN, canto I, stanza 71
-
  IN COURSE of time he appeared at Verrieres. In leaving the
vicarage he met by chance M. Valenod, whom he hastened to tell of
the increase in his salary.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_11 ^paragraph 10}
  On his return to Vergy, Julien did not go down to the garden until
nightfall. He felt worn out by the great emotions which had agitated
him during the day. "What shall I say to them?" he asked himself
uneasily, when he thought of the ladies. He was far from seeing that
his thoughts were precisely on a level with the little things that
ordinarily fill a woman's interest. Julien was often an enigma to
Madame Derville, and even to her friend; and he, in his turn,
comprehended only half of what they said- such was the force,
indeed, the sublimity, of the movements of passion that were
overwhelming the soul of this ambitious young man. With that
singular creature the weather was almost continually a storm.
  Upon coming into the garden that evening, Julien was disposed to
occupy himself with ideas about the pretty cousins. They were awaiting
him with impatience; he took his usual place beside Madame de Renal.
It was very dark. He took a white hand which he had been noticing near
him, resting on the back of a chair. There was a slight hesitation,
but in the end it was withdrawn in a manner that betokened a little
anger. Julien was content to have it so, and was continuing gayly
the conversation, when he heard M. de Renal approaching.
  In Julien's ears still rang the insulting words of the morning.
  "Wouldn't it be," he thought, "a good way of making a fool of this
fellow, who is stuffed with all that fortune can give, to take
possession of his wife's hand in his own presence? Yes, I'll do it,
just because he showed me so much contempt."
  From that moment his tranquillity of mind, always unnatural to one
of his nature, quickly disappeared. He was burning to have Madame de
Renal consent to let him have her hand. He could think of nothing
else.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_11 ^paragraph 15}
  M. de Renal was discussing politics with considerable heat. Two or
three traders had suddenly become richer than himself and were ready
to dispute the elections with him. Madame Derville was quietly
listening. Julien, irritated by his speech, brought his chair closer
to Madame de Renal's, the darkness hiding all these movements. He
ventured to place his hand very close to the pretty arm which the
sleeve left bare. He felt dazed; his mind was reeling; he brought
his cheek close to the pretty arm; he pressed his lips to it.
  Madame de Renal trembled. Her husband was four feet away; she
hastened to give Julien her hand, and at the same time to push him
back a little. While M. de Renal was continuing his invectives against
the good-for-nothing people and the rich Jacobins, Julien was covering
the hand which had been abandoned to him with passionate kisses, or,
at least, with what seemed such to Madame de Renal. Yet the poor woman
had proof during this fatal day that the man she was secretly
adoring loved another. All the time that Julien was absent she had
been a prey to the greatest torment. She was beginning to think.
  "Should I love him," she said to herself, "I, a married woman? Is it
right for me to love? But- I have never had that passion for my
husband which absorbs me in Julien. After all, he is only a boy who
respects me. My infatuation will pass away. What difference does it
make to my husband what sentiments I have for this young man? M. de
Renal would be only irritated by the conversations I have with
Julien on trifling things. As for him, he is thinking of his business.
I deprive him of nothing in giving it to Julien."
  No hypocrisy went with the purity of that simple soul misguided by a
passion which until then she had never experienced. She was
deceived, but she was not aware of it; though her virtuous instincts
were taking alarm.
  In these struggles she had been engaged when Julien appeared in
the garden. She heard him speak and saw him take his seat by her side.
Her heart was in rapture, almost, from that delightful sensation which
for a fortnight had astonished her even more than it beguiled. It
was all so unexpected to her. After a few minutes the thought came:
"Is it enough, then, for Julien only to be present to make me forget
all his faults?" She was frightened. It was then she withdrew her hand
from him.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_11 ^paragraph 20}
  His passionate kisses, such as she had never before received, made
her immediately forget that he might love another woman. Soon he
appeared blameless in her eyes. With the cessation of the sharp pang
that was born of her suspicion, her present happiness, of which she
had never even dreamt, gave her transports of a wild, boundless
love. That evening was a delightful one to all but the Mayor of
Verrieres, who could not forget the trading upstarts. Julien was
thinking neither of his sombre ambition nor of his difficult projects.
For the first time in his life he was enthralled by the power of
beauty. He was lost in a vague, gentle reverie that, to his nature,
was so strange, and was softly pressing the hand that captivated him
with its fairness. He was half listening to the rustling of the leaves
as they were stirred by the night breeze, and to the distant bark of
the dogs from the mill on the Doube.
  But his emotion was a pleasure, not a passion. On returning to his
room, he thought only of one pleasure, that of taking up again his
favorite book. At twenty years of age the idea of the world and of the
effect to produce in it is above everything else. But he soon laid the
book down. From thinking of the victories of Napoleon, he had seen
something new in his own. "Yes, I've won a battle," he reflected. "I
must profit by it. I must crush the pride of this haughty gentleman
while he is in retreat. That's Napoleon through and through. I will
ask him for three days' absence to visit my friend Fouque. If he
refuses I leave him at once; but he will not refuse!"
  Madame de Renal could not close her eyes. It appeared to her as if
she had not lived until that moment. She was possessed by the
thought of her delightful sensation while Julien was covering her hand
with burning kisses.
  All at once the frightful word "adulteress" came to her. All that
the vilest debauchery could suggest of a wicked, sensual love
presented itself vividly to her imagination then. Her ideas now were
tarnishing the delicate, divine image which she had made of Julien,
and of the happiness of loving him. The future was outlined in awful
colors. She saw herself fallen.
  It was a horrible moment; her heart had wandered to unknown lands.
The night before she had tasted of a rare delight; now she saw herself
plunged in cruel despair. She had no idea that there were such
sufferings; they disturbed her reason. For an instant she had a notion
of confessing to her husband that she was in fear of falling in love
with Julien. Happily, she remembered a word of warning given to her on
the eve of her marriage by her aunt: that there is danger in confiding
in a husband, who, after all, is a master. In very grief she wrung her
hands. Her heart was swept by opposing painful sensations. As much
as she feared that she was not being loved, so much was she tortured
by the idea of a horrible crime- as if she were to be exposed the next
day in the pillory in the public square of Verrieres, with an
inscription explaining her adultery to the entire world.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_11 ^paragraph 25}
  Madame de Renal had no real experience; even in her clearest
moments, and in the full exercise of her reason, she had never
perceived an interval between being culpable only in the eyes of God
and being overwhelmed by general contempt.
  When the horrible idea of adultery, and the disgrace which, in her
opinion, attaches to that crime, left her some repose, she began to
think of the charm of living innocently with Julien, of living with
him with only a memory of the passion. Just then the horrible
thought came to her that Julien loved another. She saw him again,
turning pale, when he had expressed the fear of losing the picture, of
being compromised in having it seen. For the first time then she had
surprised a line of fear on his countenance, always so tranquil and
noble in her eyes. Never before had he been so moved either before
herself or the children. This added pang came to her with overpowering
force. Probably Madame de Renal uttered a cry that awakened her
maid. She saw the light of a candle, and, with it, Elisa approaching
her bed.
  "Is it you he loves?" she cried out, frantically.
  The maid, distressed by the suffering in which she found her
mistress, happily paid no attention to that singular question.
Madame de Renal became aware of her imprudence. "I have fever," she
said, "and I believe I'm a little delirious; stay with me."
  Fully awakened by the necessity of self-constraint, she saw
herself in a less painful light. Reason took possession again of the
domain which had been usurped.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_11 ^paragraph 30}
  To escape from the steady gaze of her waiting-woman she asked her to
read the paper to her. And it was under the monotonous tone with which
the girl read a long article from the "Quotidienne," that Madame de
Renal made the virtuous resolution to treat Julien with extreme
coolness when she saw him again.

BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_12
                              CHAPTER 12
                                A Trip
-
    Elegant people are found in Paris; in the provinces there may be
men of character.
                                                          SIEYES
-
  AT FIVE O'CLOCK the next morning, before Madame de Renal appeared,
Julien had obtained from her husband a leave of absence of three days.
To his own surprise Julien felt a desire to see her; he thought of her
pretty hand. He went down into the garden; but Madame de Renal was
long in coming. Yet, if Julien had loved her he would have seen her by
her semiconsciousness.
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_12 ^paragraph 5}
  Behind the half-drawn curtains, with her face against the window,
she was watching him. At last she decided, in spite of her
resolutions, to appear in the garden. Her habitual paleness gave way
to a heightened rosy color. She was apparently agitated, the naive
soul; constraint and anger were changing that expression of profound
serenity which gave such charm to her angelic face- an expression that
seemed so far above all the vulgar interests of life.
  Julien approached her eagerly; he admired those beautiful arms which
a shawl hastily thrown about her exposed to his view. The fresh
morning air seemed to heighten the brilliancy of her complexion, so
sensitive to every impression from her agitation during the night.
That modest and touching beauty, suggestive of ideas not to be found
in the inferior classes, revealed to Julien a faculty in his soul of
which he had never been aware. In rapt admiration of the charms
which surprised his eager gaze, he was not thinking of the friendly
reception he had calculated upon receiving. He was therefore the
more astonished at the icy coldness which she was at pains to show
him, and through which he could discern the intention of keeping him
in his place. The smile of pleasure died away on his lips; he
remembered his station in life, especially as it appeared in the
eyes of a rich and noble heiress. In an instant his face showed only
disdain. He felt a certain contempt for himself for having delayed his
departure for an hour just to meet with such a humiliating reception.
  "It is only a fool," he thought, "who gets angry at people. A
stone falls because it's heavy. Shall I always remain a child? When
have I contracted the good habit of giving my heart to these people
just for their money? If I want their respect and my own, I must
show them that it's my poverty that is dealing with their money, but
my heart is a thousand miles away from their insolence, and in a
sphere too far removed to be reached by their marks of disdain or
favor!"
  While these thoughts were crowding into the young tutor's mind,
his face took on a fierce expression of injured pride. Madame de Renal
was troubled by it. The virtuous indifference which she assumed in
greeting him quickly gave way to a lively interest in the sudden
change she was witnessing. The meaningless words that were exchanged
about health and the fine weather all at once ceased. Julien, whose
judgment was not clouded by any passion, very soon found the means
of intimating to Madame de Renal how small was his share in the common
friendship; he told her nothing of the little trip he intended to
make, but, raising his hat, departed.
  As she saw him walk away, her heart sinking with the weight of the
disdain which she read in his face- the face that was so pleasing
the night before- her eldest boy, who came running from the other
end of the garden, cried out, as he embraced her:
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_12 ^paragraph 10}
  "We've said good-by; M. Julien is going away for a while."
  On hearing this, Madame de Renal was seized with a mortal chill; she
was unhappy because of her virtue, and unhappier still because of
her weakness!
  This new event began to occupy her whole mind; it bore her far
away from the good resolutions she had formed during her terrible
night. It was no longer a question of resisting the man; it was to
lose him forever!
  She must go to breakfast. To complete her misery, M. de Renal and
Madame Derville spoke only of Julien's departure. The Mayor of
Verrieres had remarked something unusual in the firm tone with which
he had asked leave.
  "This little peasant has no doubt some offer from somebody in his
pocket. But that somebody, even if it is M. Valenod, should be
discouraged by the sum of six hundred francs, by which his annual
expenditure must now be increased. Yesterday, at Verrieres, I should
have asked for three days to think it over; and this morning the
little gentleman leaves for the mountain so as not to be obliged to
give me an answer. To be obliged to bargain with a miserable laborer
playing the insolent- yet that's what we have come to!"
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_12 ^paragraph 15}
  "Since my husband," thought Madame de Renal, "who does not know
how much he has wounded Julien, thinks he will leave us, what must I
think? Oh, it is all over!"
  In order that she might be free with her tears and not answer any
questions from Madame Derville, she complained of a severe headache
and went to bed.
  "That's how women are," remarked M. de Renal; "there's always
something wrong with those complicated machines." And he walked
away, jeering.
  While Madame de Renal was a prey to her cruel passion, Julien was
gayly pursuing his way amidst the great beauty along the mountain
path. He had to cross the great chain lying to the north of Vergy. The
path he pursued, rising gradually from the beech woods, wound
zig-zag along the mountain side which hems in the valley of the
Doube on the north. Soon the traveller, looking at the lower ridges
enclosing the course of the Doube southward, could gaze as far as
the fertile plains of Bourgogne and Beaujolais. However insensible the
young man was to beauty of this kind, he could not help stopping
from time to time to gaze upon this vast and imposing spectacle.
  Finally he reached the top of the mountain, which he had to pass
in order to reach the solitary valley where his friend Fouque, the
wood merchant, lived. Julien was not in a hurry to see him or anyone
else. Hidden like a bird of prey in the midst of the bare rocks
fringing the high mountain, he could see from a distance anyone that
might approach. He discovered a little cave in the steep side of one
of these rocks, and making his way towards it, he soon found himself
in that retreat. "Here," he said, his eyes sparkling with joy, "here
men couldn't do me any harm." He thought he would yield to the
pleasure of putting down his thoughts in writing- a thing that was
so dangerous for him elsewhere. A square stone served as a desk. His
pencil fairly flew. He became oblivious to everything around him. By
and by he noticed that the sun was setting behind the mountains on the
other side of Beaujolais.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_12 ^paragraph 20}
  "Why can't I pass the night here?" he said to himself; "I have
some bread, and I am free." At the thought of that word his heart
became exalted; pretending even with his hypocrisy, not to feel free
with his friend Fouque. With his head resting on both his hands,
Julien, in that nook, was happier than he had ever been in his life,
as he sat lost in reverie, dreaming of the happiness of liberty.
Unconcernedly he saw the twilight gradually disappear. In the darkness
his mind wandered to the contemplation of what one day he imagined
he would see in Paris- a woman more beautiful, more gifted than any he
had seen in the country, whom he would love with passion. And he, too,
would be loved. And if he left her side for a while, it would only
be to cover himself with glory and to deserve her love the more.
  A young man raised amid the sad realities of life in Paris, even
if he had Julien's imagination, would have been awakened at this point
in his romance by cold irony; the great deeds would have
disappeared, with the hope that had moved him, to give place to the
well-known maxim: "Leave your mistress; you run the risk of being
deceived two and three times a day." But this young man saw nothing
between him and the most heroic deeds but the lack of opportunity.
  A dark night took the place of day, and he had yet to cover two
leagues before descending into the hamlet where Fouque lived. Before
leaving the grotto, Julien kindled a fire and carefully burnt all he
had written.
  His friend was greatly astonished when he knocked at his door at one
o'clock in the morning. He found Fouque at his ledger- a very tall,
clumsily built young man, large-featured, with a nose beyond all
proportion. There was much kindliness hidden behind that forbidding
aspect.
  "You've quarrelled with your M. de Renal; that's why you come here
so unexpectedly?"
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_12 ^paragraph 25}
  Julien related to him, in his own way, the events of the preceding
day.
  "Stay with me," said Fouque to him; "I see that you know M. de
Renal, M. Valenod, the sub-prefect Maugiron, and the curate Chelan;
you know their crafty character. You are in a position to know
what's what. You know arithmetic better than I do; you will keep the
books. I make a good deal in my business. The impossibility of doing
everything myself, and the fear of finding a rascal in the man I
should choose for a partner, have prevented me every day from
improving excellent opportunities. Only a month ago Michaud de
Saint-Amand, whom I had not seen for six years, and whom I met by
chance at the Pontarlier sale, made, through me, six thousand
francs. Why shouldn't you have made those six thousand francs, or if
only three thousand? If I had you with me that day I would have put
a higher price on that lot of lumber, and it would have soon been left
to me. Be my partner."
  This offer had some point for Julien; it somewhat neutralized his
folly. All through supper, which, like Homeric heroes, the two friends
had prepared themselves- Fouque living alone- the accounts were
shown to Julien, as well as other proof that the lumber business
offered many advantages. Fouque had a high estimation of the lights
and character of Julien.
  When he found himself at last alone in his little room- a room built
of fir logs- he said to himself: "True, I can make a few thousand
francs to take up then the profession of soldier or priest with
advantage, according to what may then be the fashion in France. The
little sum I'll have then will remove all difficulties. Alone in these
mountains I would put away a little of the awful ignorance I have of
the many things that society people know. But Fouque says he will
not marry; and he tells me repeatedly that solitude makes him unhappy.
It's evident that if he takes one for a partner who has no money to
put into the business, it is with the hope of making an inseparable
companion of him. Shall I deceive my friend?" Julien cried out, vexed.
This creature, with whom hypocrisy and the absence of all sympathy
were the ordinary means of safety, could not for once bear the idea of
a want of delicacy towards his friend.
  But all at once Julien felt reassured; he had a reason for refusing.
"What, shall I, like a coward, lose seven or eight years? I should
then be twenty-eight; but at that age Bonaparte had won already his
greatest achievements. After I'll have gained, obscurely enough, a
little money in running to the lumber sales and winning the favor of a
few unimportant fools, who tells me I'll still have in me the sacred
fire with which a name is made?"
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_12 ^paragraph 30}
  The next morning Julien coolly replied to the good Fouque, who had
already looked at the partnership as settled, that his predilection
for the holy ministry at the altar prevented him from accepting.
Fouque was amazed. "Think," he urged, "I'm making you a partner, or if
you like it better, I'll give you four thousand francs a year. And you
want to go back to your Renal, who despises you like the mud on his
shoe. When you have two hundred louis in your pocket, what will
prevent you from entering the seminary? I'll tell you more. I'll
take it upon myself to procure for you the best curacy in the country.
For," continued Fouque, lowering his voice, "I deliver firewood to the
__, and to the __, and to the __, and I give them the heart of oak,
for which they only pay me as for white wood; but money was never
invested better."
  Nothing could overcome Julien's choice. Fouque began to think him
somewhat of a fool. On the third day, early in the morning, Julien
left his friend, to pass the day amid the mountain rocks. He found his
little cell again, but he did not experience again his former peace of
soul; his friend's offer had taken it away. Like Hercules, he had
not to decide between vice and virtue, but between a mediocrity with
assured ease and comfort and all the heroic dreams of youth. "I
haven't any real firmness," he said to himself; and his doubts
caused him the greatest vexation. "I'm not of the stuff of which great
men are made, if I'm afraid that eight years spent in earning a living
will take away the sublime energy for remarkable achievements."

{BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_13
                              CHAPTER 13
                            The Stockings
-
          A novel is a mirror taken for a ride along a path.
                                                      SAINT-REAL
-
  WHEN JULIEN saw the picturesque ruins of the ancient church of
Vergy, it occurred to him that for two days he had not given a
single thought to Madame de Renal. "The other day, when I left, that
woman recalled to me the infinite distance that separated us; she
treated me like a laborer's boy. No doubt she wanted to let me know
that she regretted giving me her hand the night before. Yet it's
very pretty, that hand. What charm she has, what gentility her face
expresses!"
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_13 ^paragraph 5}
  The opportunity of a mercantile career with Fouque gave greater
facility to Julien's reasoning; he was no longer so irritated either
by his own lively sense of his poverty or by the thought of his
lowliness in the eyes of the world. Placed, so to speak, on a
height, he could use his judgment, and command, in a measure,
poverty or ease. He was far from regarding his position like a
philosopher, yet he was clear-sighted enough to feel somewhat
different after that little journey to the mountain.
  He was struck by the marked pain with which Madame de Renal listened
to a brief account of his trip which she had asked.
  Fouque had had some idea of marrying; it was an unfortunate love
affair. Long confidences on this subject had filled out the entire
conversation between the two friends: Fouque's happiness had been
too great; he found out that it was not he alone that was loved. All
this had astonished Julien; it was something new. His own solitary
life, lying mostly in imagination, had removed him from the
possibility of understanding it.
  During Julien's absence, life for Madame de Renal was one long
torture. She, in fact, became ill.
  "Indeed," said Madame Derville to her, when she saw Julien arrive,
"indisposed as you are, you must not go into the garden to-night;
the damp air will make you worse."
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_13 ^paragraph 10}
  Madame Derville saw with astonishment that her friend, who was
always being scolded by M. de Renal for the excessive simplicity of
her dress, had taken out the open-worked stockings and the pretty
little slippers which had come from Paris. For three days Madame de
Renal's sole diversion had been to have had a summer dress made for
her, by Elisa, of some pretty material that was then in fashion.
This dress was finished just a few moments before Julien's return.
Madame de Renal immediately put it on. Her friend was no longer in
doubt. "She is in love, poor thing," said Madame Derville to
herself. She understood then all the singular symptoms of her malady.
  She saw her speak to Julien. Paleness gave way to crimson blushes,
and anxiety was vividly pictured in those eyes, that remained fixed on
the young tutor. Madame de Renal was expecting every moment that he
would declare himself and tell whether he would leave the house or
remain. Julien had no idea of saying a word on that subject; he was
not thinking of it. After a fearful struggle with herself, Madame de
Renal ventured to ask him in a trembling voice, in which all her
passion was revealed:
  "Are you going to leave your pupils here, to go elsewhere?" Julien
was struck by Madame de Renal's anxious tone and expression. "This
woman is in love with me," he thought; "but after this fleeting moment
of weakness, that wounds her pride, she will assume her haughtiness
again when she has no longer to fear my departure." This view of their
mutual position came like a flash to Julien. He replied, hesitatingly:
  "I should regret very much to leave such amiable, well-born
children; yet it may be that I will have to. A man has duties to
himself."
  In pronouncing the words "well born," one of those aristocratic
phrases which Julien had recently acquired, he was animated by a
feeling of resentment. "In this woman's eyes," he said to himself,
"I am not well born."
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_13 ^paragraph 15}
  Madame de Renal was admiring his spirit, his beauty, while listening
to him. She was dismayed at the possibility of a departure which he
intimated to her. All her friends from Verrieres, who had come to dine
with her in Vergy while Julien was absent, had complimented her- if
not envied- on the marvellous young man her husband had the good
fortune of securing. It was not because they were aware of the
progress of the children. The fact that he knew his Bible by heart,
and in Latin, too, had elicited admiration enough to last a century.
  Julien, because he spoke to no one, did not know that. If Madame
de Renal had had the least address she would have complimented him
on the reputation he had acquired; and Julien, with his self-esteem
assured, would have been gentle and kind towards her, especially since
he thought her new dress so becoming. Madame de Renal, pleased, too,
with her pretty gown, and with what Julien said of it, wished to
walk about in the garden; presently she admitted she was not in a
condition to walk. She had taken the traveller's arm, and, far from
increasing her strength, the contact of the arm removed it altogether.
  It was dark; hardly were they seated, when Julien, using his old
privilege, ventured to bring his lips to the arm of his pretty
companion and to take her hand. He was thinking of the boldness with
which Fouque had treated his mistresses, and not of Madame de Renal;
the phrase "well-born" still weighed on his heart. He felt his hand
pressed, but it gave him no pleasure. Far from being proud or grateful
for the feeling which Madame de Renal showed him, and by signs that
were only too evident, her beauty, her elegance, her freshness left
him almost wholly unmoved. Purity of soul and the absence of wicked
passions, no doubt, lengthen the duration of youth. It is the face
that first grows old with most women.
  Julien was sullen during the entire evening. Until then his anger
had extended only to the accident of social position; but from the
time that Fouque had offered him an ignoble means of reaching a
condition of ease he was bearing himself a grudge. Absorbed in his
thoughts, though from time to time speaking a few words to the
women, Julien dropped Madame de Renal's hand, unconsciously. That
action crushed the poor woman's heart; she saw in it a miserable end.
  Assured of Julien's affection, she might have perhaps found strength
against him; but in dread of losing him forever, her passion brought
her even to her taking of Julien's hand, which was carelessly
resting on the back of a chair. That action put new life into the
ambitious young man; he would have wished it to be observed by all
those noble folk who would regard him so patronizingly, sitting at the
foot of the table with the children. "This woman can't despise me," he
thought; "in that case I should appreciate her beauty. I owe it to
myself to become her lover." Such an idea would not have occurred to
him before he had heard the simple confidences of his friend.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_13 ^paragraph 20}
  The determination he had just formed became an agreeable
diversion. "I must have," he said to himself, "one of these two
women." He saw that it would have been more agreeable to court
Madame Derville; not because he liked her better, but because she
had always seen him honored for his knowledge, and not as
carpenter's apprentice with a ratteen coat folded under his arm as
he had appeared to Madame de Renal. It was precisely as a young
workman, blushing to the whites of his eyes, who had stood at the door
not daring to ring, that Madame de Renal thought of him with the
greatest charm.
  In thus surveying his position, Julien saw that he could not think
of making a conquest of Madame Derville, who, indeed, was as
charming to him as Madame de Renal. Forced to revert to the latter, he
thought, "What do I know of this woman's character? Only this:
before my trip I took her hand, she withdrew it; to-day I withdrew
my hand, she takes it and presses it. A fine opportunity for showing
her all the contempt which she has shown to me. The Lord only knows
how many lovers she has had! Perhaps she only decides in my favor
because we can see each other so easily."
  Such, alas! is the evil effect of an effete civilization. At the age
of twenty a young man, if educated at all, is yet a thousand leagues
from unrestraint, without which love often becomes the most irksome of
duties.
  "I must succeed," Julien's vanity continued, "with this woman,
since, if I ever make a name, and it is thrown up to me that I have
been an humble tutor, I can claim that it was love that put me into
that position."
  Julien moved his hand to a greater distance from Madame de Renal's
because she had taken it again and pressed it. When they entered the
house, toward midnight, Madame de Renal asked him in a whisper:
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_13 ^paragraph 25}
  "Are you going to leave us? Will you go?"
  Julien replied, with a sigh: "I must leave, for I love you
passionately. It is wicked- and how wicked for a young priest!"
  Madame de Renal leaned on his arm, and with such abandon that her
cheek felt the warmth of Julien's.
  The nights for these two persons were quite different. Madame de
Renal was exalted by transports of the highest moral pleasure. A
coquettish young girl who begins to love early becomes accustomed to
amorous troubles; by the time she reaches the age of the real passion,
the charm of novelty has worn off. As Madame de Renal had never read
any novels, every form of her happiness was new to her. Not a
suggestion of sober truth came to cool her ardor; not even the spectre
of the future. She saw herself as happy ten years hence as she was
at that moment. Even the thought of the virtue and constancy she had
sworn to M. de Renal, which had stirred her to such an extent a few
days before, presented itself in vain; she dismissed it as
importunate. "I will never yield to Julien," she said to herself.
"We shall live in the future as we have been living now for a month.
He will be a friend."

{BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_14
                              CHAPTER 14
                         The English Scissors
-
    A sixteen-year-old girl had the complexion of a rose and she put
on rouge.
                                                        POLIDORI
-
  AS FOR JULIEN, Fouque's offer had taken away all his happiness; he
could not make up his mind.
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_14 ^paragraph 5}
  "Oh, perhaps I'm wanting in character; I should have been a bad
soldier under Napoleon. At least," he added, "my little intrigue
with the mistress of the house will amuse me for a while."
  Happily, even in this petty incident, his heart but lamely responded
to his cavalier-like tone. He was afraid of Madame de Renal's dress.
That dress, in his eyes, was the vanguard of Paris. His pride would
not allow him to leave anything to chance or to the inspiration of the
moment. After Fouque's confidences and the little that he had read
about love in his Bible, he went about formulating a detailed
campaign. As he was greatly perturbed, without acknowledging it, he
wrote out his plan.
  The next morning Madame de Renal was alone with him for a moment
in the drawing-room.
  "Have not you another name besides Julien?" she asked.
  To this flattering question our hero did not know what to reply.
Such a circumstance had not entered into his plan. Without this
foolish idea of following a plan, his lively ingenuity would have been
equal to the occasion, and the surprise would have served only to
add to the vivacity of his ideas.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_14 ^paragraph 10}
  He felt awkward, and he himself exaggerated his awkwardness.
  Madame de Renal quickly overlooked this. She saw in it the effect of
charming candor. And what was wanting in this man whom she deemed so
intelligent was precisely this air of candor.
  "Your little tutor inspires me with distrust," Madame Derville would
say to her at times. "He has always a preoccupied air about him and
always acts with diplomacy. He is a politician."
  Julien was deeply humiliated by his embarrassment in not being
able to reply to Madame de Renal. "A man like myself," he thought,
"must make up for lost ground." And taking advantage of the moment
they were passing to another room, he thought it was his duty to
give Madame de Renal a kiss. Nothing was more hazardous, nothing
more agreeable, both for him and for her, and nothing more
imprudent. They just missed being caught. Madame de Renal thought he
was mad. She was thoroughly frightened, besides shocked. The piece
of absurdity reminded her of M. Valenod. "What would happen to me,"
she thought, "if I should be alone with him?" All her virtue returned:
love had eclipsed itself.
  She arranged it so as to have one of her children always about her.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_14 ^paragraph 15}
  The day was a tedious one for Julien; he spent it entirely in
arranging, awkwardly enough, a plan of capture. He never looked at
Madame de Renal but it meant an interrogation; he was not foolish
enough, nevertheless, not to realize that he was not succeeding in
making himself attractive, and seductive least of all.
  Madame de Renal could not recover from her astonishment at finding
him so awkward and at the same time so bold. "It is the timidity of
love in a man of genius," she finally concluded with inexpressible
joy. "Can it be possible that he has never been loved by my rival?"
  After breakfast Madame de Renal returned to the drawing-room to
receive M. Charcot de Maugiron, the sub-prefect of Bray. She worked at
a piece of embroidered tapestry. Madame Derville was by her side. It
was under these circumstances, in broad daylight, that our hero
found it agreeable to put out his foot and press that of Madame de
Renal, which, with the open-worked stocking and the pretty Parisian
boot, was evidently attracting the attention of the gallant
sub-prefect.
  Madame de Renal was terrified; she dropped the scissors, the ball of
wool, and the needles; and Julien's movement might have been taken for
an awkward attempt to catch the scissors he saw falling.
Fortunately, the little English scissors broke, and Madame de Renal
did not delay expressing her regret that Julien was not nearer. "You
saw them fall before I did, and you might have prevented it instead of
succeeding only in your eagerness in kicking me." All that deceived
the sub-prefect, but not Madame Derville. "This pretty fellow," she
mused, "has very bad manners; the good breeding even of a country town
could not pardon such boorishness." Madame de Renal found a moment
to tell Julien:
  "Be careful, I command you."
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_14 ^paragraph 20}
  Julien saw his blunder and became moody. He deliberated a long
time with himself in order to ascertain whether he should be angry
over the words, "I command you." He was foolish enough to reason: "She
could say 'I command' when it is a question about the education of the
children; but in responding to my love she admits equality. Love is
impossible without equality." And his whole mind was occupied with
commonplaces about equality. He repeated angrily the verse from
Corneille, which Madame Derville had taught him a few days before:
-
                                        "...L'amour
              Fait les egalites et ne les cherche pas."
-
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_14 ^paragraph 25}
  Julien, obstinate in his role of Don Juan, with never a mistress
in his life, was a perfect fool throughout the day. He had but one
clear idea: that he was disgusted with himself and with Madame de
Renal; and that the approach of evening, when he would be seated in
the dark by her side, was insupportable. He told M. de Renal that he
was going to Verrieres to visit the curate; he left after dinner and
did not return until late at night.
  At Verrieres, Julien found Chelan moving; he had just been
removed, and the Vicar Maslon was taking his place. Julien lent a hand
to the good curate. He had had an idea of writing to Fouque that his
irresistible inclination for the sacred ministry was preventing him
from accepting his kind offers; but after seeing such an example of
injustice, it came to him that, after all, it might be more
advantageous not to take holy orders.
  Julien congratulated himself on the fact that he was benefiting by
the removal of the curate of Verrieres in leaving a door open for a
business career if sober prudence won the day over heroism.

{BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_15
                              CHAPTER 15
                              Cock-crow
-
               In Latin, love is amor;
               Now, from love comes death,
               And before that, biting care,
               Grief, weeping, snares, crimes, remorse.
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_15 ^paragraph 5}
                                               LOVE'S ESCUTCHEON
-
  IF JULIEN had possessed a little of the acuteness which he so
gratuitously claimed for himself, he would have congratulated
himself next day on the effect of his visit to Verrieres. His
absence had wiped away all the effect of his stupidity. He was still
sullen, however; towards evening an absurd idea came to him, and he
communicated it to Madame de Renal with rare intrepidity. They were
hardly seated in the garden when Julien, without waiting even until it
grew sufficiently dark, brought his mouth close to Madame de Renal's
ear, saying to her, at the risk of compromising her irremediably:
  "Madame, at two o'clock to-night I will enter your room. I have
something to tell you."
  Julien was fearful his request might be granted. His role of seducer
was weighing so heavily on him that if he could have followed his real
inclination he would have shut himself up in his room for several days
and no more seen the women. He was aware that, by his brilliant
conduct of the night before, he had spoilt all the fine appearances of
the day preceding, and he did not know to what saint to turn.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_15 ^paragraph 10}
  Madame de Renal replied with real indignation to Julien's bold
proposal. He thought he could detect a little contempt in her curt
reply. He was sure that in her answer, though spoken very low, there
were the words, "For shame!" On the pretext of saying something to the
children, Julien went to their room, and on his return he sat down
beside Madame Derville, quite at a distance from Madame de Renal. He
thus removed all possibility of taking her hand. The conversation took
a serious turn, and Julien acquitted himself well. In the few
intervals of silence, Julien was fiercely cudgelling his brains.
"Why," he thought, "can't I hit upon a plan to make Madame de Renal
show me the affection which for three days has led me to believe she
belongs to me?" Julien was painfully disconcerted by the desperate
position to which he had brought himself. Yet nothing would have
embarrassed him more than success. When they separated at midnight,
his pessimism led him to believe that he was despised by Madame
Derville, and that probably he was no better off with Madame de Renal.
  Humiliated and in bad humor Julien did not sleep. He was far from
renouncing his plan; nor did he for a moment entertain the idea of
living like a child with Madame de Renal, contenting himself with
the chance pleasure each day might bring.
  He tired out his brains inventing brilliant plans; a minute later he
found them all absurd; in a word, he was far fully wretched when the
clock struck two. The sound awoke him, as the crowing of the cock
awoke Saint Peter. He saw himself entering on a most painful scene. He
had not thought of his bold proposition since the moment he had made
it- it had been so gracelessly received.
  "I have said to her that I would be with her at two o'clock," he
said to himself, rising. "I can be as inexperienced and boorish as
it is natural for a peasant's son to be- Madame Derville made me
understand that clearly enough- but I will not be weak."
  Julien had good reason for congratulating himself on his courage;
never had he imposed upon himself a more arduous task. When he
opened his door, he was trembling so that his knees gave way under
him, and he had to lean against the wall.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_15 ^paragraph 15}
  He did not put on his shoes. He went to the door of M. de Renal.
He could hear the latter's breathing. It made him miserable. There was
no longer any pretext for not going to her. But- what would he do
there? He had no idea; and if he had, he was so troubled that he
felt he could not execute it.
  At last, suffering a thousand times more than if he had been walking
to his death, he came into the little hall leading to Madame de
Renal's room. He opened the door with a trembling hand, making a
fearful noise. There was a light in the room; a night-lamp was burning
on the mantel: he did not expect this new misfortune. Upon seeing
him enter, Madame de Renal jumped quickly out of bed. "Wretch!" she
cried. There took place some altercation. Julien forgot his vain
projects and returned to his natural role: not to please such a
charming woman seemed to him the greatest of misfortunes.
  His only reply to her reproaches was to throw himself at her feet
and to embrace her knees. As she continued with cruel invective he
burst into tears. A few hours later, when Julien left Madame de Renal,
he might have said, as they say in the novels, that there was
nothing more he could desire. It was due, in fact, to the love which
he had inspired and to the unforeseen effect of her charms that he
obtained a victory which all his tact could not have produced.
  But even in his sweetest moments, victim as he was of a whimsical
pride, he pretended to play the role of a man accustomed to
vanquishing women; he made extraordinary efforts to spoil what he
deemed agreeable. Instead of giving himself over to the transports
which he aroused, or to the remorse which would follow the excitement,
the idea of duty always remained before his eyes. He feared he would
suffer horrible remorse and everlasting ridicule if he departed from
the ideal which he had set before himself. In a word, what made Julien
a superior character was precisely that which prevented him from
enjoying the pleasures that came under his eyes- like a young girl
of sixteen, with a charming complexion, putting on rouge to go to a
ball.
  Mortally afraid of Julien's coming, Madame de Renal had dwelt in the
greatest alarm. Julien's tears and despair visibly moved her. Even
when she could no longer refuse him anything, she repulsed him with
unfeigned indignation; but all at once she threw herself into his
arms. She abandoned all discretion. She believed herself hopelessly
damned, and strove to hide herself from the sight of hell by
overwhelming Julien with caresses. In a word, nothing was wanting to
the happiness of our hero; not even a passionate tenderness which he
awakened in the woman, and which he could not appreciate. Julien's
departure did not put an end to the transports that moved her, in
spite of herself, nor to the remorse which was consuming her.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_15 ^paragraph 20}
  "My Lord, to be happy, to be loved, is that all it is?" That was
Julien's first thought when he returned to his room. He was in that
wandering, perplexed state of mind which follows upon obtaining a
long-felt desire. The mind accustomed to desiring finds itself then
without an object. Like the soldier returning from parade, Julien
was busily engaged reviewing the details of the review. "Did I leave
anything out I should have done? Did I play my part well?" And what
a part! It was the part of a man accustomed to brilliant success
with women!

{BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_16
                              CHAPTER 16
                            The Day After
-
            He turn'd his lip o hers, and with his hand
            Call'd back the tangles of her wandering hair.
                                   DON JUAN, canto I, stanza 170
-
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_16 ^paragraph 5}
  HAPPILY for the glory of Julien, Madame de Renal had been too
greatly moved, too greatly taken by surprise, to perceive the
foolishness of the man who in a moment had become all the world to
her.
  As she was urging him to leave, upon the break of day, she said:
  "Oh, God, if my husband has heard any noise, I am lost!"
  Julien, who found time to form pretty phrases, remarked by way of
reply:
  "Would you regret anything?"
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_16 ^paragraph 10}
  "Oh, very much indeed, now; but I should not regret having known
you."
  Julien found it conformable to his dignity to leave in nearly
broad daylight and with great imprudence.
  The continued attention with which he studied out his slightest
movements in carrying out his foolish idea of acting like a man of the
world had just this advantage: that, when he saw Madame de Renal
again, at breakfast, his conduct was a masterpiece of prudence.
  As for her, she could not look at him without blushing to the very
eyes, and yet she had to look at him. She became aware of her
embarrassment, and in her effort to hide it made it much worse. Julien
raised his eyes to her only once. At first Madame de Renal admired his
prudence. Soon, as she saw that he would not look at her again, she
became alarmed: "Doesn't he love me any more?" she thought. "Ah, I
am indeed old for him; I am ten years older!"
  While passing from the dining-room into the garden, she pressed
Julien's hand. In the surprise which this extraordinary mark of love
caused him, he gave her a look of passion. She seemed so pretty to him
at breakfast, and with lowered eyes he had spent the time in detailing
to himself her charms. His look consoled Madame de Renal; it did not
remove all her misgivings, but these misgivings left no room for
remorse when she thought of her husband.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_16 ^paragraph 15}
  At breakfast her husband did not perceive anything unusual; but that
was not the case with Madame Derville. The latter thought she saw
Madame de Renal on the point of confessing everything. All through
that day her tried, keen friendship did not spare any hints calculated
to bring to her friend a realization of the danger she was running.
  Madame de Renal was burning to be alone with Julien; she wished to
ask him if he still loved her. In spite of the unchangeable
sweetness of temperament, she was several times on the point of
telling her friend how much she was in the way.
  In the evening, in the garden, Madame Derville managed it so as to
be between Madame de Renal and Julien. Madame de Renal, who had
thought of the delightful sensation of pressing Julien's hand and
carrying it to her lips, could not even say a single word to him.
  This disappointment increased her uneasiness. She was devoured by
remorse. She had scolded Julien so much for his imprudence in coming
to her during the night that she was trembling lest he would not
come again. She left the garden early and went to her room. But,
yielding to her impatience, she went to Julien's door, placing her ear
to the keyhole. In spite of the uncertainty and the passion that
were consuming her, she could not summon enough courage to enter. Such
an action seemed to her to be of the very lowest- it was the text of a
provincial proverb.
  The servants had not yet retired. Prudence obliged her at last to
return to her room. Two hours of waiting were two centuries of
torment.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_16 ^paragraph 20}
  But Julien was too faithful to what he termed his duty to fail in
the detailed execution of what he had set before himself.
  As one o'clock struck, he slipped quietly from his room, and,
after assuring himself that the master of the house was fast asleep,
came to Madame de Renal. This time he was happier in her company,
for he thought less often of the part he was to play. He was all
eyes and ears. What Madame de Renal said of her age helped give him
assurance.
  "Oh, I am ten years older than you; how can you love me?" she kept
on repeating aimlessly, because the thought oppressed her. Julien
could not see the misfortune in it; but he saw it was real, and he
almost forgot his fear of appearing ridiculous.
  His foolish idea that he was an understudy to another lover, because
of his obscure birth, also disappeared. In proportion as Julien's
transports reassured his timid mistress, she was deriving some
happiness and some power of looking critically at her lover.
Happily, he did not have this time that borrowed air which had made of
the previous meeting a victory, not a pleasure. If she had become
aware of an effort on his part to play a role, the sad discovery would
have forever robbed her of happiness. She would have seen in it only a
distressing effect of the disparity between their ages. Although
Madame de Renal had never thought of theories respecting love, the
difference of age, next to that of fortune, affords the greatest
occasion for pleasantry in the country whenever the subject turns on
love.
  In a few days Julien, surrendering to the ardor of his age, became
madly in love. "Everyone must agree," he thought, "that she has the
heart of an angel; and no one can be prettier." He almost gave up
the idea of playing a part. In a moment of abandon he confessed to her
all that was troubling him. This confidence brought the passion he
aroused in her to an ecstasy. "I have no rival, then," Madame de Renal
said to herself with delight. She ventured to question him about the
portrait in which he had been so interested; Julien vowed to her it
was of a man.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_16 ^paragraph 25}
  When Madame de Renal had sufficient composure to reflect, she
could not get over her astonishment that such happiness should
exist, and that she should never have suspected it. "Ah," she mused,
"if I had only known Julien ten years ago, when I was pretty!"
  Julien was far removed from such thoughts; his love was still of the
ambitious order; it was the joy of possession- he, a poor, despised
creature- of so beautiful a woman. His acts of adoration, his
transports on seeing her charms, reassured her a little about the
disparity of age. If she had possessed a little judgment- which a
woman of thirty in the country can claim for a long time- she would
have had misgivings over the duration of a love that seemed to live
only in fits and starts and over the outbursts of an overweening
self-love. When he forgot his ambition, Julien would admire Madame
de Renal with ecstasy, even to her bonnets and gowns. He could not
wholly satisfy himself with the pleasure of smelling their perfume. He
would open her mirrored closet and remain for hours at a time gazing
at the beauty and arrangement of what he saw within. She, leaning on
his arm, would look at him while he admired the jewels and laces which
were given to her as wedding presents. "I should have married a man
like that," thought Madame de Renal often. "What a lively spirit, what
a ravishing life with him!"
  As for Julien, he had never found himself before so near the
terrible instruments of feminine artillery. "It is impossible," he
would say to himself, "that at Paris there could be anything
prettier." Then he would find no objection to his good fortune.
Frequently the sincere admiration and delight of his mistress would
make him forget the foolish theory which had engrossed him and had
made him so ridiculous in the first moments of their liaison.
There were moments when, in spite of his habitual hypocrisy, he
would find great delight in confessing to this beautiful woman
ignorance of a great many little things. The position of his
mistress seemed to raise him above himself. Madame de Renal, on her
side, would find ideal pleasure in teaching a number of things to this
young man of genius, who, everyone predicted, would one day go very
far. Could the sub-prefect or M. Valenod hide their admiration?
  As for Madame Derville, she was far from expressing the same
sentiments, exasperated as she was by what she guessed, and seeing
that her prudent advice was becoming odious to a woman who had
literally lost her head. She left Vergy without giving a reason- which
they did well not to ask. Madame de Renal shed a few tears, and very
soon it seemed to her that her happiness redoubled. She found
herself almost the whole day alone with her lover.
  Julien gave himself up the more readily to her pleasant society,
because, whenever he was alone for any time, Fouque's fatal
proposition would be a source of disquiet to him. During the first
days of the new life, there were moments when he, who had never loved,
who had never been loved by anyone, found such delight in being
sincere that he was on the point of confessing to Madame de Renal
the ambition which until then had been the essence of his existence.
He would have wished to consult her about the strange temptation which
Fouque's proposition held out to him. A little event, however,
prevented all frankness.

{BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_17
                              CHAPTER 17
                         The First Assistant
-
              O, how this spring of love resembleth
              The uncertain glory of an April day;
              Which now shows all the beauty of the sun
              And by and by a cloud takes all away!
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_17 ^paragraph 5}
                                         TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA
-
  ONE EVENING, at sunset, while sitting beside his mistress in the
orchard, far from intruders, he was lost in dreams.
  "Will these happy moments," he thought, "always last?" He was
wrestling with the difficulty of coming to a decision, and deploring
the coming of care which puts a seal on youth forever.
  "Ah," he cried out, "Napoleon was indeed the man sent by God for
young Frenchmen! Who will take his place? Without him, what will the
unfortunate do who, richer even than I, have some ecus with which to
get a good education and not enough to make a mark? Whatever one may
do," he added, with a deep sigh, "this painful thought will always
prevent us from being happy."
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_17 ^paragraph 10}
  He saw, presently, Madame de Renal contracting her eyebrows; she
looked coldly and disdainfully: such a way of thinking seemed rather
to fit a servant. Having been brought up with the idea that she was
very rich, she took it for granted that he was likewise. She loved him
a thousand times more than her life, and was not giving a thought to
money.
  Julien was far from divining those ideas. That contraction of the
eyebrows recalled him to earth. He had enough presence of mind to
compose a speech and to make the noble lady sitting so close to him on
the green bank understand that the ideas he expressed had been heard
by him during his journey to his friend the wood-merchant. It was,
to be sure, the reasoning of the rabble.
  "Well, then, don't mix with such people," said Madame de Renal, in
the same chill manner which had all at once taken the place of an
expression of the utmost tenderness.
  The contracting of the brow, or, rather, his own regret, following
his imprudence, was the first check to the illusion which was
captivating Julien. He thought to himself- "She is good and sweet; she
likes me very much; but she has been raised in the camp of the
enemy. They must be particularly afraid of the class of courageous men
who, after receiving a good education, have not enough money to
enter on a career. What would become of these nobles if we had the
privilege of fighting them on equal terms? I, for example, as Mayor of
Verrieres, with good principles and as straightforward as M. de
Renal is at bottom, how I should get rid of the vicar, of M.
Valenod, and of all their knaveries! How justice would triumph in
Verrieres! It is not their talents that would prove an obstacle to me.
They are blundering all the time."
  Julien's happiness that day was on the point of becoming lasting.
There was only wanting to our hero the courage to be sincere. He
needed only, he thought, the daring to give battle, and immediate
battle. Madame de Renal had been astonished at Julien's remark,
because men of her rank were saying that a Robespierre's return
chiefly on account of the lower classes, who were being too well
raised. Madame de Renal's coolness lasted for some time and seemed
well pronounced to Julien. But it was only the fear of having said
something disagreeable that followed her repugnance at his
ungracious remark. This trouble reflected itself clearly in her
features, so pure and so bland when she was happy and care free.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_17 ^paragraph 15}
  Julien dared no longer give himself over to his dreams. Becoming
calmer and less passionate, he reflected that it was imprudent for him
to visit Madame de Renal in her room. It were much better if she
came to him; if a servant met her walking through the house she
would have a dozen pretexts to serve her.
  But this arrangement, too, had its drawbacks. Julien had received
some books from Fouque which he himself, as a student of theology,
could never have asked for at a bookseller's. He dared read them
only at night. Often he should be glad not to be interrupted by a
visit the waiting for which- that very evening before the little
orchard scene- left him in no condition to read. And Madame de Renal
would regard the books in a different light. He had ventured to ask
her questions about a number of little things of which he was
perfectly ignorant, raised as he had been outside the real world. This
ignorance he felt hampered his intelligence, notwithstanding the
natural genius attributed to him.
  This education in love, directed by a woman extremely
inexperienced herself, was a piece of good fortune. Julien immediately
came to view society in its bareness. His mind was not beclouded by
a recital of what it was two thousand years ago, or only sixty years
ago, or of the time of Voltaire or of Louis XV. To his great joy a
veil was removed from his eyes; he at last understood what was
occurring at Verrieres.
  At first appeared the complicated plots that had been hatching for
two years with the prefect of Besancon. These were supported by
letters from Paris, written by most illustrious personages. It all
dealt with making M. de Moirod, the best partisan in the neighborhood,
the first and not the second deputy Mayor of Verrieres. This one had
for an opponent a rich manufacturer whom it was absolutely necessary
to turn to the second deputyship.
  Julien then understood the half-spoken words he had overheard when
leading men of the neighborhood dined at M. de Renal's house. This
privileged class was deeply concerned over the choice of the first
deputy, while the rest of the town, and the Liberals least of all, did
not suspect even the possibility of it. The importance of it was that,
as everyone knew, the east side of the main street of Verrieres had to
be widened by more than nine feet, for that street had become part
of the royal route. Now, if M. de Moirod, who owned three houses where
the street was to be widened, should succeed in becoming first deputy,
and, as a consequence, Mayor of Verrieres, in case M. de Renal
became a national deputy, he could close his eyes so that slight,
imperceptible repairs could be made to the houses encroaching upon the
public highway, and remain there for a hundred years, perhaps. In
spite of the great piety and the well-known probity of M. de Moirod,
there was a certainty that he would be tractable, as he had many
children. Among the houses that were to be moved back, nine belonged
to the best families of Verrieres.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_17 ^paragraph 20}
  In Julien's eyes this plot was far more important than the story
of the battle of Fontenoy, a name he saw the first time he opened
one of the books sent to him by Fouque. There were many things that
astonished Julien from the time, five years back, he had commenced his
evening visits to the curate. But discretion and humility of spirit
being the first qualification in a theological student, it had
always been impossible for him to ask questions.
  One day Madame de Renal was giving an order to her husband's
valet, Julien's enemy.
  "But, Madame, to-day is the last Wednesday of the month," answered
the man, significantly.
  "You may go, then," said Madame de Renal.
  "Well," said Julien, "he is going to that hay store that was once
a church, but belongs now to the creed- but to do what? There is one
of the mysteries which I have never been able to penetrate."
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_17 ^paragraph 25}
  "It is a very useful institution," replied Madame de Renal, "but a
very singular one. Women are not admitted there; all that I know is
everyone talks familiarly with everyone else. For example, this
servant is going to find M. Valenod there, and that proud man will not
take it ill to be addressed in a very familiar tone by Saint Jean
and to answer in kind. If you care to know about the details, I will
ask M. de Maugiron and M. Valenod. We pay twenty francs for each
servant, so that they will not some day cut our throats."
  Time was flying. The recollection of his mistress's charms was
turning Julien from his stern ambition. The necessity of not
speaking to her of anything sober and serious, being so differently
placed, added, though he was not aware of it, to the happiness he
enjoyed and to the sway which she was acquiring over him.
  At times, when the presence of the observing children compelled them
to speak with sober reason, it would be with perfect docility that
Julien, looking at her with eyes blazing with love, would be listening
to her explanations of the world. Frequently, in the midst of an
account of some clever trick in connection with a road or some other
matter, Madame de Renal's mind would all at once begin to wander, as
in a dream. Julien would then scold her, and she would permit
herself the same intimate gestures with him as with her children.
There were days when she had the illusion of loving him like her own
child. Was she not continually answering his simple questions about
a thousand things just like an innocent boy of fifteen? A moment later
she would admire him as her superior. His brilliancy would even
frighten her; she saw clearly every day the great man of the future in
this young priest. She would see him as the Pope; she would see him as
the First Minister, like Richelieu. "Shall I live long enough," she
would say to Julien, "to see you in your glory? The place is made
for a great man- the government, religion, both need one."

{BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_18
                              CHAPTER 18
                         A King in Verrieres
-
    Are you only good for throwing things away, like a soulless
human corpse whose veins are bloodless?
               BISHOP'S DISCOURSE AT THE CHAPEL OF SAINT-CLEMENT
-
  IN THE THIRD DAY of September, at ten o'clock at night, a guard
riding full gallop through the main street aroused all Verrieres. He
brought the news that His Majesty the King would arrive on the
following Sunday. It was already Tuesday. The prefect had
authorized, or, rather, ordered, the formation of a Guard of Honor.
The greatest display was to be made. A courier was despatched to
Vergy. M. de Renal arrived the same night and the entire town was in a
flutter.
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_18 ^paragraph 5}
  Who should be the chief of the Guard of Honor? M. de Renal saw at
once how necessary it was, in the interests of the houses in question,
that it should be M. de Moirod. It would thus entitle him to the
position of first deputy Mayor. He could not question the devotion
of M. de Moirod, it was beyond all comparison; but he had never
mounted a horse. He was a man of thirty-six, extremely timid, and
fearful alike of falling and of being ridiculed.
  The Mayor sent for him at five o'clock in the morning.
  "You see, sir," he said to him, "that I ask your advice as if you
already occupied the position where all good men would place you. In
this unfortunate town the manufacturers are prospering, and the
Liberal party, full of millionaires, is aspiring to power, and will
make capital out of everything. We must consult the interests of the
King, of the monarchy, and, above all, of our sacred religion. To
whom, do you think, sir, can the command of the Guard of Honor be
entrusted?"
  In spite of the great fear M. de Moirod had of a horse, he ended
by accepting the honor like a martyr. "I will endeavor to acquit
myself with credit," he promised the Mayor.
  There was scarcely time to put the uniforms in order which had
served seven years before during the progress of a prince of royal
blood.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_18 ^paragraph 10}
  At seven o'clock Madame de Renal arrived from Vergy together with
Julien and the children. She found her drawing-room full of Liberal
women, who, after holding forth on the union of all parties, asked her
to persuade her husband to give a place to their consorts in the Guard
of Honor. One of them went so far as to say that if her husband were
not chosen he would become bankrupt through sheer chagrin. Madame de
Renal soon sent all of them away. She seemed greatly preoccupied.
  Julien was astonished and rather angry that she should make a
mystery of what she was thinking. "I should have foreseen," he said to
himself, bitterly, "that her love would fade beside the happiness of
entertaining a king in her house. All this bustle has dazed her. She
will love me anew when the ideas of her caste no longer trouble her
head." Curiously enough, she loved him then even more.
  The upholsterers commenced their work in the house; she waited a
long time in vain for an opportunity of saying a word to him. Later,
as he was carrying a coat on his arm, he met her walking toward him
from her room. They were alone. He wanted to speak to her. She fled,
refusing to listen to him. "I am a big fool for loving such a woman;
ambition is making her crazy, like her husband."
  That she was indeed; a great desire that she would not avow to
Julien, for fear of offending him, was to see him, though only for a
day, without his sombre black frock. With tact that was truly
admirable in a woman as frank as she was, she had obtained, first from
M. de Moirod, and then from the sub-prefect, M. de Maugiron, that
Julien would be placed in the Guard of Honor in preference to five
or six young men, sons of well-to-do manufacturers, of whom two were
of exemplary piety. M. Valenod, who had intended lending his
carriage to the prettiest women in the town, and having his fine
Norman horses admired, consented to give one of these horses to
Julien, the person he hated most of all. But all the members of the
Guard of Honor owned or borrowed those fine sky-blue coats with silver
epaulets of the grade of colonel which had shone so resplendently
seven years before. Madame de Renal wanted a new uniform, and she
had only four days in which to send to Besancon for the uniform, arms,
and hat suitable for a member of the Guard. What was most agreeable
was that she deemed it imprudent to have the uniform made in
Verrieres. She wanted to surprise him and the town.
  After the work of forming the Guard of Honor and the manifestation
of public spirit was finished, M. de Renal busied himself arranging
a grand religious ceremony; the King would not think of passing
through Verrieres without seeing the famous relic of St. Clement,
preserved at Bray-le-Haut, a little distance from the town. It was
desirable to have a large assembly of clergy, a thing very difficult
to arrange; for M. Maslon, the new curate, wished to have M. Chelan
far away, at all costs. In vain M. de Renal represented to him that it
would be imprudent. The Marquis de la Mole, whose ancestors had been
for such a long time governors of the province, had been designated
for the honor of accompanying the King. He had known M. Chelan for
thirty years; he would certainly ask about him on arriving at
Verrieres; and, if he found him slighted, he was just the man to
look for him, accompanied by his entire retinue, in that little
house where he had withdrawn himself. What an insult!
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_18 ^paragraph 15}
  "I am dishonored here and at Besancon," replied the abbot, "if he
appears with my clergy. A Jansenist, great God!"
  "Whatever you may say, my dear abbot," answered M. de Renal, "I will
not expose the administration of Verrieres to the possibility of
receiving an affront from Marquis de la Mole. You do not know him.
He is discreet enough at court; but here in the province his
pleasantries are of a satirical, mocking order, calculated only to
overwhelm people with embarrassment. He is singularly capable, just to
amuse himself, of covering us with ridicule in the eyes of the
Liberals."
  It was not until Saturday night before that Sunday, when three
days had been spent in conferences, that abbe Maslon's pride yielded
before the fear of the Mayor, whose courage was fast waning. It was
decided to write a very soft letter to abbe Chelan, begging him to
be present at the ceremony of the relique at Bray-le-Haut if his great
age and his infirmities permitted. M. Chelan secured an invitation for
Julien, who would accompany him as sub-deacon.
  From early morning on Sunday, thousands of peasants, arriving from
the neighboring mountains, were filling the streets of Verrieres.
The weather was beautiful. Towards three o'clock there was a great
stir in all that crowd; a great bonfire was seen on a rock two leagues
from Verrieres. That meant that the King had just entered within the
department line. Immediately the bells, together with the discharges
of the old Spanish cannon belonging to the town, proclaimed the common
joy over the great event. Half the people climbed to the roofs, and
all the women were at the balconies. The Guard of Honor commenced
its march. All admired the brilliant uniforms, recognizing here a
relative, there a friend. There was much fun made of M. de Moirod's
timidity; his hand was ready every moment to lay a prudent hold on the
pommel. But one feature made everything else seem common; the first
cavalier of the ninth division was a small, handsome young fellow,
whom at first no one recognized. There was a cry of indignation or
blank astonishment; there was a profound sensation. That young man,
mounted on one of M. Valenod's fine horses, was recognized as little
Sorel, the carpenter's son. There arose a hue and cry against the
Mayor, especially among the Liberals. What, because this little
apprentice, disguised as a priest, is the tutor of his brats, did he
have the audacity to appoint him a member of the Guard in preference
to M. So-and-So and M. So-and-So, rich manufacturers? "These
gentlemen," said a banker's wife, "must commit an outrage for this
impudent little fellow who comes from the gutter!" "He is sly and
carries a sword," answered a neighbor; "he would be traitor enough
to slash them right and left."
  The remarks of the people of quality touched on more dangerous
ground. They wondered if that indiscretion originated with the Mayor
alone. There was full justice done to the contempt in which he was
held.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_18 ^paragraph 20}
  While Julien was the subject of so much remark he was the happiest
of men. Naturally graceful, he bore himself on a horse better than the
greater number of young people in that mountain town. He saw in the
eyes of the women that he was the object of their attention. His
epaulets, being new, were more resplendent than any of the others. His
horse caricoled at every step, and he was mad with joy. His
happiness knew no longer any bounds when, passing near the old
rampart, the discharge of the old piece of cannon made his horse
leap out of line. By a mere accident he did not fall; from that moment
he thought himself a hero: he was an ordnance officer under Napoleon
and was charging a battery.
  There was only one person happier. At first she had seen him pass,
from one of the windows of the Town Hall; then, entering a carriage
and rapidly making a wide circuit, she arrived in time to shudder when
she saw his horse bound out of line. Finally, driving at full
gallop, she returned through another town gate in the direction
where the King would pass. There, in a cloud of martial dust, at a
distance of some twenty paces, she was able to follow the Guard of
Honor. Ten thousand peasants shouted, "Vive le Roi!" when the
Mayor had the honor of addressing his Majesty. An hour later, when all
the speech-making had ended, and the King was about to enter the town,
the little cannon again began with its quick discharges. But an
accident happened- not to the cannoneers, who had served their
apprenticeship at Leipzig and Montmorail, but to the future first
deputy-Mayor, M. Moirod. His horse had gently deposited him in the
only mud-puddle in the road- a real disaster, for he had to be
pulled out to permit the passage of the royal equipage.
  His Majesty halted at the pretty new church, which, for that day,
was decked out with all its purple hangings. Then the King was to
dine, and soon after to resume his carriage and perform his
devotions before the celebrated relique of St. Clement. Hardly was the
King in the church when Julien galloped toward M. de Renal's house.
There he took off, with a sigh, his beautiful new uniform, his sabre
and his epaulets, to put on again his shabby little black coat. He
remounted his horse, and in a few minutes he was at Bray-le-Haut, on
the summit of a pretty hill. "Enthusiasm is multiplying these
peasants," Julien thought. There was not room to turn round in
Verrieres, yet here there were more than ten thousand around the old
abbey. Half demolished by the vandalism of the Revolution, it had been
magnificently restored during the Restoration, and there were rumors
even of miracles. Julien joined abbe Chelan, who, with many scoldings,
made him put on cassock and surplice. He arrayed himself promptly
and followed M. Chelan who was going to the young Bishop d'Agde. The
latter was a nephew of M. de la Mole, and had been only recently
appointed; he was the one commissioned to show the relique to the
King. But he could nowhere be found.
  The clergy were becoming impatient. They were awaiting their chief
in the gloomy Gothic cloister of the old abbey. There were assembled
twenty-four curates to represent the ancient Chapter of
Bray-le-Haut, which had consisted prior to 1789 of twenty-four canons.
After deploring for a space of an hour the Bishop's youth, the curates
decided that it was proper that the Dean should go to Monseigneur
and inform him that the King was coming, and that it was imperative
they should retire to the choir. The great age of M. Chelan had
given him the title of Dean; in spite of the little anger he had shown
to Julien, he gave the latter a sign to follow. Julien carried himself
well in his surplice. By means of some mysterious ecclesiastical
process, his beautiful curly hair had become straight; but, by a
forgetfulness which increased M. de Chelan's anger, the spurs of a
Guard of Honor were visible under the long folds of his cassock.
  Reaching the Bishop's apartment, they saw there tall footmen
bedecked with lace, who scarcely deigned to reply to the old curate
that his Grace was not to be seen. They chaffed him when he tried to
explain that in his capacity of Dean of the noble Chapter of
Bray-le-Haut he had the privilege of being admitted at all times
before the officiating Bishop.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_18 ^paragraph 25}
  Julien's high-strung temper could not brook the insolence of these
lackeys. He began by going through the dormitories of the ancient
abbey, opening every door he found. A very small one yielded, and he
found himself in a little cell, in the very midst of Monseigneur's
valets, all dressed in black robes and with a chain round the neck.
Seeing his hurried manner, these gentlemen thought he had been sent by
the Bishop, and they let him pass. Taking a few steps, he came into an
immense Gothic hall, exceedingly gloomy in effect, with its panels
of black oak. The arched windows, with the exception of one, had
been walled up with brick. The roughness of the masonry was in no
way disguised, and was sadly in contrast with the magnificent
woodwork. This hall, so well known to the antiquaries of Burgundy, was
built about the year 1470 by Charles the Bold in expiation of some
sin.
  On both sides were stalls in richly carved wood. One could see there
the mysteries of the Apocalypse in relief in different colored woods.
  This gloomy magnificence, though spoiled by the view of bare
bricks and white mortar, touched Julien. He stood in silence. At the
other end of the hall, near that single window where the light
entered, he saw a revolving mahogany mirror. A young man in a purple
robe and lace surplice was standing with his head bared three steps
away from the looking-glass. That piece of furniture seemed strange in
such a place- it had been brought there, no doubt, from the city.
Julien saw the young man looked stern; with his right hand the
latter was gravely bestowing benedictions along the side of the
mirror. "What can that mean?" he thought.
  "Is it some preparatory devotion which the young priest is going
through. Perhaps it is the Bishop's secretary. He will be insolent
like the lackeys. Well, it makes no difference. I'll try."
  He advanced, and crossed slowly over the length of the hall, his
look fixed toward that single window where the young man was
continually bestowing benedictions. This was executed deliberately,
and repeated an infinite number of times, without a moment's pause.
The nearer he approached, the more clearly he distinguished his severe
manner. The richness of the surplice, with its trimmings of lace, made
Julien pause a few feet away from the mirror.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_18 ^paragraph 30}
  "It is my duty to speak," thought Julien; but the beauty of the hall
had affected him, and he was chilled in advance by the hard words that
might be addressed to him.
  The young man saw him in the glass, and suddenly abandoning his
severe expression said to him in an exceedingly soft tone: "Well,
then, monsieur, is it all arranged now?"
  Julien was stupefied. As the young man was turning towards him,
Julien saw the pectoral cross on his breast; it was the Bishop d'Agde.
"So young," thought Julien; "six or eight years, at most, older than
I," and then he was ashamed of his spurs.
  "Monsieur," he replied, timidly, "I am sent by the Dean of the
Chapter, Monseigneur Chelan."
  "Ah! he has been well recommended to me," said the Bishop in a
polished tone that increased Julien's enchantment. "But I beg your
pardon, monsieur, I mistook you for the one who is to bring me my
mitre. It was not packed well in Paris; the silver thread at the top
is horribly spoiled. It will produce the worst possible effect," added
the young Bishop, sadly; "and yet they are making me wait."
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_18 ^paragraph 35}
  "Monseigneur, I will get your mitre if your Highness will permit."
Julien's fine eyes produced their effect.
  "Go, monsieur," replied the Bishop, with charming politeness. "I
must have it right away. I am in great distress for keeping the
gentlemen of the Chapter waiting."
  When Julien reached the middle of the hall, he saw, as he turned
towards the Bishop, that the latter resumed the giving of
benedictions. "What can that mean?" Julien asked himself, "no doubt it
is an ecclesiastical preparation necessary to the ceremony that is
to take place." On arriving in the little room where the valets were
stationed, he saw the mitre in their hands. These gentlemen,
yielding in spite of themselves to Julien's imperious look, handed
Monseigneur's mitre to him.
  He felt proud carrying it. In crossing the hall he walked slowly; he
carried it with great respect. He found the Bishop seated before the
mirror; yet from time to time his right hand, though fatigued, was
still bestowing benedictions. Julien helped him put on the mitre.
The Bishop shook his head.
  "Ah, it will stay," he said to Julien, with a pleased look. "Would
you be so kind as to step aside a little?"
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_18 ^paragraph 40}
  The Bishop walked quickly to the middle of the hall, returning
then to the mirror with measured steps. He assumed again his severe
look and gave blessings with great gravity.
  Julien was amazed; he had tried to understand, but he did not
dare. The Bishop stopped, and, giving him a look from which all
gravity had disappeared, said:
  "What do you think of my mitre, monsieur- is it becoming?"
  "Very, Monseigneur."
  "Is it not too far back? That would look a little light; yet it
should not be worn low over the eyes like an officer's shako."
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_18 ^paragraph 45}
  "It looks very proper to me."
  "The King is accustomed to a venerable, and, no doubt, a grave
clergy. I should not wish, by reason of my age above all, to appear
light to him."
  And the Bishop began again to walk and to bestow benedictions.
  "It is clear," thought Julien, daring at last to comprehend it,
"he is practising giving the benediction."
  After a few minutes the Bishop said: "I am ready. Go, monsieur,
and inform the Dean and the gentlemen of the Chapter."
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_18 ^paragraph 50}
  Presently M. Chelan, followed by the two oldest curates, entered
by a lofty, finely sculptured doorway which Julien had not observed.
This time he was in his proper place- the last of all- and could not
see the Bishop except over the shoulders of the ecclesiastics who were
crowding about the doorway.
  The Bishop slowly crossed the hall; when he arrived at the
threshold, the curates formed in line. After a moment of disorder, the
procession began with the intonation of a psalm. The Bishop walked
between M. Chelan and another very old curate. Julien moved quite
close to Monseigneur as one attached to abbe Chelan.
  They followed along the corridors of the abbey of Bray-le-Haut; in
spite of the sunlight without, these were gloomy and damp. Finally
they came to the cloister. Julien was filled with wonder over the
beautiful ceremony. The admiration aroused by the Bishop's youth,
the sense of exquisite politeness of that prelate mastered his
heart. That politeness was something different from M. de Renal's,
even in his best moods. "The closer one comes to the highest rank,"
Julien said to himself, "the finer manners one finds."
  They entered the church by the side door. All at once a frightful
noise reverberated through those ancient vaults. Julien thought they
would collapse. It was only the cannon that had just arrived, drawn by
eight galloping horses, and, scarcely arrived, had been fired by the
Leipzig cannoneers. It was discharged five times a minute, as though
the Prussians were ranged against it.
  But that glorious noise no more had any effect on Julien. He was
no longer thinking of Napoleon and military glory. "So young," he
mused, "and to be the Bishop of Agde. But where is Agde, and how
much does it bring? Two or three hundred thousand francs, perhaps?"
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_18 ^paragraph 55}
  Monseigneur's lackeys appeared with a magnificent dais. The curate
Chelan took one of the poles, but it was Julien that supported it. The
Bishop mounted. The latter had really succeeded in making himself look
older. The admiration of our young hero knew no longer any bounds.
"What can one not accomplish with address?" he thought.
  The King entered, and Julien had the good fortune to see him very
close. The Bishop delivered an unctuous address, and Julien learned
from the Bishop's discourse that the King was descended from Charles
the Bold.
  Later it became part of Julien's duty to verify the sums which
that ceremony had cost. M. de la Mole, who had given the bishopric
to his nephew, extended to him the courtesy of defraying all the
expenses. That single ceremony at Bray-le-Haut cost three thousand
eight hundred francs.
  After the Bishop's harangue and the King's reply, his Majesty placed
himself under the dais, and piously prostrated himself on a cushion
near the altar. The choir was in the stalls, which were raised two
steps above the floor. It was on the last step that Julien was
seated at Chelan's feet, like a train-bearer near his cardinal at
the Sistine Chapel at Rome. There was a Te Deum, a waft of incense,
numerous discharges from musketry and artillery, and the peasants were
overflowing with happiness and piety. Such a day undid the work of a
hundred issues of Jacobin journals.
  Julien was six feet away from the King, who was praying with genuine
devotion. Then he observed for the first time a little man who wore
a black coat almost without any embroidery, but with a sky-blue sash
across the breast. He was nearer the King than many of the other
dignitaries whose coats were richly embroidered with gold- so
richly, to use Julien's expression, as to hide the cloth. He learned a
few moments later that this was M. de la Mole. That man had a proud,
almost insolent, manner.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_18 ^paragraph 60}
  "This marquis is not as polished as my handsome Bishop," he thought.
"Ecclesiastical rank makes a man gentle and wise. But the King came to
worship the relique, and I don't see it. Where can Saint Clement be?"
  A little priest, his neighbor, informed him that the venerable
relique was in the tower of the building, in the burning chapel.
  "What is a burning chapel?" thought Julien.
  But he did not ask the question: his attention became fixed again.
When a sovereign makes a visit, etiquette requires that the canons
do not accompany the Bishop; but, in starting to walk to the "burning"
chapel, Monseigneur d'Agde had called abbe Chelan, and Julien ventured
to follow.
  After mounting a long stairway, they came to a very small door, of
which the Gothic lintel was magnificently gilded. It looked as if it
had been finished only the day before. At the door, on their knees,
were twenty-four young girls belonging to the most distinguished
families in Verrieres. Before the open door the Bishop fell on his
knees in the midst of the circle formed by the pretty girls. While
he was praying, these could not sufficiently admire his beautiful
lace, his gracious manner, his young, sweet face. At sight of this our
hero lost what little self-possession he had left. At that moment he
enrolled himself forever for the Inquisition and for the holy faith.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_18 ^paragraph 65}
  All at once a door opened. The little chapel was steeped with light.
On the altar were more than a thousand candles, ranged in eight
rows, with bouquets of flowers between each row. The sweet scent of
purest incense came out in clouds through the sanctuary door.
  The newly gilded chapel door was very small, but high. Julien
noticed that there were candles on the altar that were more than
fifteen feet tall. The young girls could hardly keep back a cry of
admiration. In the little vestibule of this chapel there were only the
twenty-four girls, the two curates, and Julien.
  Presently the King arrived, followed only by M. de la Mole and his
grand chamberlain. The guards themselves remained outside on their
knees, at "present arms."
  His Majesty rather threw himself, than knelt, before the altar.
Leaning against the gilded door, Julien perceived, over the bare arm
of a young girl, the charming statue of St. Clement, under the
altar. It was in the uniform of a young Roman soldier. There was an
imitation of a deep wound in the neck, from which the blood seemed
to flow. The artist had evidently surpassed himself; the dim eyes,
still full of grace, were half closed; a small mustache adorned a
charming mouth, which, half-shut, still seemed to pray. At sight of
this the young girl nearest to Julien began to shed tears; one of
these fell on Julien's hand.
  After a moment's prayer, a most profound silence followed, broken
only by the distant sound of bells from all the villages within a
radius of ten leagues. Then the Bishop asked permission of the King to
speak. He delivered a touching little discourse couched in the
simplest words. The effect was only too evident.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_18 ^paragraph 70}
  "Do not forget, young Christian girls, that you have seen one of the
greatest kings on earth on his knees before a servant of the
omnipotent and terrible God; these servants, though persecuted,
assassinated on earth, as you see by the still bleeding wound of Saint
Clement, yet triumphed to the very sky. Will you not, young girls,
remember this day forever? Will you not always despise impiety? Will
you always remain faithful to this great, this terrible, and yet
good God?"
  With these words the Bishop arose majestically.
  "You promise me?" he asked, raising an arm as if inspired.
  "We promise," answered the young girls, sobbing.
  "I accept your promise in the name of the terrible God," replied the
Bishop in a thundering voice. And the ceremony was then at an end.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_18 ^paragraph 75}
  The King himself shed tears. It was not until a long time
afterward that Julien was sufficiently self-possessed to ask where the
bones of the saint were that had been sent from Rome to Philip the
Good, the Duke of Bourgogne. He was informed that they were in the
beautiful wax figure.
  His Majesty graciously permitted the young girls who had accompanied
him to the chapel to wear a red ribbon on which was the legend:
"Hatred to Impiety, Adoration Forever."
  M. de la Mole ordered ten thousand bottles of wine to be distributed
among the peasants. In the evening, at Verrieres, the Liberals thought
it wise to illuminate a hundred times more than the Royalists.
Before leaving, the King visited M. de Moirod.

{BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_19
                              CHAPTER 19
                      Thinking Causes Suffering
-
    The grotesque in everyday events hides the misfortune of the
passions.
                                                         BARNAVE
-
  IN REPLACING the furniture in the room which M. de la Mole had
occupied, Julien found a folded sheet of paper. He read at the
bottom of it: "To S.E.M., le marquis de la Mole, Peer of France,
Chevalier of the Orders of the King, etc., etc."
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_19 ^paragraph 5}
  It was a petition written in the uncouth handwriting of a cook.
-
  "M. le marquis, I have all my life had religious principles. I was
at Lyons, exposed to the bombs at the siege of '93 of execrable
memory. I partake of the communion; I go every Sunday to Mass in the
parochial church. I have never been wanting in my duty at Easter, even
in '93 of execrable memory. My cook- before the Revolution I had
many people- my cook sets a slender table on Friday. I enjoy a good
reputation in Verrieres, and I dare say it is deserved. I march
under the dais in the processional beside the curate and the Mayor;
I carry on great occasions a large candle, bought at my own expense.
Of all this there are certificates in Paris, in the office of the
Minister of Finance. I ask of you, monsieur le marquis, the lottery
office at Verrieres, which will, no doubt, in one way or another, be
vacant, the present encumbent being sick, besides voting without
discretion at the elections.
                                                     "DE CHOLIN"
-
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_19 ^paragraph 10}
  On the margin of this petition was a postscript signed "de
Moirod," which commenced with this line:
  "I have the honor of testifying to the good character of the
petitioner."
-
  "So this imbecile De Cholin shows me how to proceed," thought
Julien.
  A week after the King's progress through Verrieres, there were
lies and misunderstandings and discussions about the King, the
Bishop of Agde, the Marquis de la Mole, the ten thousand bottles of
wine, the pitiful fall of de Moirod, who, hoping for a Cross, was
not to leave his house until a month after his fall; but most of all
about the extreme indecency of having "bolted" Julien Sorel, a
carpenter's son, into the Guard of Honor. What discussions on the
subject were conducted by the rich linen manufacturers who, morning
and evening, crowded the cafe to preach equality. That haughty
woman, Madame de Renal, she was the author of that awful mistake!
The reason? The pretty eyes and the fresh cheeks of the young priest
told the rest.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_19 ^paragraph 15}
  Soon after returning to Vergy, Stanislaus-Xavier, the youngest of
the boys, had fever; immediately Madame de Renal became a prey to
the most frightful remorse. It was the first time she had reproached
herself for her love in such a fashion; she seemed to see, as by an
inner light, the enormous sin into which she had allowed herself to be
drawn. Although of a profoundly religious character, she had not
thought up to that moment of the magnitude of her crime in the eyes of
God.
  At the convent of the Sacred Heart she had adored God with
passion; she had also feared Him with equal intensity. The struggle
which was rending her soul was the more frightful because she could
not be reasoned with in her great dread. Julien found that, far from
calming her, the least show of common sense caused her irritation.
It all seemed to her to be only the language of the devil. However, as
Julien himself loved little Stanislaus dearly, he found it more
prudent to speak of his illness; she then seemed more tractable.
  The harrowing remorse robbed her of her sleep. She never broke the
fierce silence under which she laid herself, when she opened her
mouth, it was only to cry out her crime before God and man.
  "I beg you," Julien would say to her, when they found themselves
alone, "do not speak to anyone; let me be the only one that knows of
your great trouble. If you love me, do not speak; the words cannot
take the fever away from Stanislaus."
  But his consoling words produced no effect; he did not know that
Madame de Renal took it into her head that in order to appease the
anger of a jealous God she must either hate Julien or lose her boy. It
was because she felt she could not hate her lover that made her so
wretched.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_19 ^paragraph 20}
  "Oh, go away from me," she said one day to Julien; "for God's
sake, leave this house; it is your presence that is killing my boy.
God is punishing me," she added, lowering her voice. "He is just; I
adore His Justice; my crime is horrible, and yet I was living
without remorse! It was the first sign that God had abandoned me; I
deserve to be punished as much again!"
  Julien was profoundly moved. He saw there neither hypocrisy nor
exaggeration. "She believes she is killing her child in loving me, and
yet the unfortunate woman loves me like her son. Then there is no
doubt about it; there is remorse that kills. There is the grandeur
of a feeling! But how can I inspire such a love- poor, so badly
raised, so ignorant, so coarse in all my ways?"
  One night the child was very low. Toward two o'clock in the
morning M. de Renal came to see him. The child, wasted with fever, was
very much flushed; he did not recognize his father. All at once Madame
de Renal threw herself at her husband's feet; Julien saw that she
was going to tell everything, and all would be lost.
  Happily that singular movement was irritating to M. de Renal.
  "Good night, good night," he said, impatiently retreating.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_19 ^paragraph 25}
  "No, listen to me," cried his wife on her knees before him, striving
to retain him. "Here is the whole truth. It is I who am killing my
son. I have given him life, and I am taking it away. Heaven has
punished me. In the eyes of God I am guilty of murder. I must disgrace
myself, humiliate myself, perhaps the sacrifice will be pleasing to
the Lord."
  If M. de Renal had had the least insight he would have learned all.
  "What foolish ideas!" cried he, pushing his wife away from him as
she was about to embrace his knees. "It is all nonsense. Julien,
have the doctor called at daybreak," and he left the room.
  Madame de Renal fell on her knees, half overcome, convulsively
repulsing Julien, who came to her assistance. Julien was lost in
wonder.
  "So that is an adulteress," he mused; "is it possible that these
shallow fools of priests are right? Have they, who commit so many
sins, the privilege of knowing the real theory of sin?"
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_19 ^paragraph 30}
  For twenty minutes after M. de Renal had retired, Julien watched the
woman he loved as she lay still and almost unconscious with her head
on the little boy's bed. "There is a woman of a superior mould brought
to the greatest misfortune because she has known me!" he pondered.
  The hours passed rapidly. "What can I do for her? I must do
something; I cannot do anything here. What have I to do with the men
and their shallow pates? What can I do for her? Leave her? But I leave
her alone, a prey to the most frightful grief. This automaton of a
husband is doing her more harm than good. He might say some harsh word
to her just because he is so coarse. She may become mad, throw herself
out of the window!
  "If I leave her and I do not watch over her, she will tell him
everything. And who knows? Perhaps, in spite of the fortune which is
coming to her, it might cause a scandal. She might tell everything-
good God!- to this abbe Maslon, who, taking the child's illness as a
pretext, does not budge from the house- not without some design! In
her grief and in her fear of God, she forgets what she knows of men,
and sees only a priest."
  "Go away," said Madame de Renal to him, opening her eyes all at
once.
  "I would give my life a thousand times to know what I could do for
you," answered Julien. "Never have I loved you so much, my darling;
or, rather, from this moment I am beginning to adore you as you really
deserve. What will become of me away from you, knowing that you are
unhappy on my account? But I don't consider my own suffering. I will
leave; yes, I will- my love! But if I leave you? If I cease to watch
over you, to place myself between you and your husband, you will
tell him everything, you will ruin yourself. Think with what
ignominy he will drive you from your house; all Verrieres, all
Besancon will talk about the scandal. They will add a thousand
crimes to you; you will never lift your head from under such
disgrace."
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_19 ^paragraph 35}
  "That is what I ask," she cried. "I shall suffer; so much the
better."
  "But in this abominable scandal you will also ruin him."
  "But I will humiliate myself; I will degrade myself, and perhaps
by that I will save my boy. This humiliation in the very eyes of the
world will perhaps be a public penitence. As far as I can judge, is it
not the greatest sacrifice I can make to God? Perhaps He will
graciously accept my humiliation and leave me my boy. Show me a more
painful sacrifice and I will make it."
  "Let me punish myself, too; I also am guilty. Do you want me to go
to the Trappists? The austerity of their life will perhaps appease
your God. O God, how I wish I could take Stanislaus's sickness on me!"
  "Then you love him!" said Madame de Renal, rising, and throwing
herself into his arms. Then almost at the same time she repulsed him
with horror.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_19 ^paragraph 40}
  "I believe you, I believe you," she continued, throwing herself on
her knees again. "My only friend, why are you not the father of
Stanislaus? Then it would not be such a horrible sin to love you
better than my son."
  "Then shall I remain and love you hereafter as a brother? It is
the only reasonable expiation; it might perhaps appease the wrath of
the Most High."
  "And I," she said, rising, and taking Julien's head between both her
hands, holding it at a little distance before her eyes, "I, too, shall
I love you like a sister? Can I love you like a sister?"
  Julien burst into tears.
  "I will obey you," he said, falling at her feet; "I will obey you,
just as you say. That's all that is left for me to do. I am dazed, I
am mad. If I leave you, you will tell your husband; you will ruin both
yourself and him. Never, after all the ridicule, would he be elected
Deputy. If I remain, you will believe me to be the cause of your boy's
death, and you will waste away with grief. Do you wish to try the
effect of my absence? If so, I will punish myself for our sin by
leaving you for a week. I will go somewhere, wherever you wish; to the
abbey of Bray-le-Haut, for example. But swear that you will say
nothing to your husband during my absence; remember that I cannot
return if you speak."
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_19 ^paragraph 45}
  She promised, and he left; but in two days he was called back.
  "It is impossible for me to keep my word without you; I will speak
to my husband if you are not here constantly to order me to be
quiet, if only with a look. Every hour of my terrible life seems a day
to me."
  But heaven had pity on the poor mother. Gradually little
Stanislaus came out of danger. But the scales had been removed- her
reason had discovered the extent of her sin- she could no longer
regain her equanimity. Her remorse, so natural in such an ingenuous
heart, remained. Her life was both heaven and hell; hell when she
would not see Julien, heaven when she would be at his feet.
  "I will not fool myself," she would say to him when she gave
expression to her love, "I am damned, hopelessly damned. You are young
and have yielded to me. Heaven may pardon you; but I, I am damned. I
know it by a sure sign; I am afraid. Who would not be afraid in
sight of hell? But in my heart I don't repent; I should commit the
same sin a second time. Only if Heaven would not punish me in this
world through my children!- it would be more than I deserve. But
you, at least, my Julien," she would cry out, "are you happy? Do you
think I love you enough?"
  Julien's distrust and pride were not proof against a sacrifice so
great, so indisputable, and so constant: he adored Madame de Renal.
"She can be of noble birth and I only a laborer's son, yet she loves
me! No, I am not a valet whose duty it is to play the lover."
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_19 ^paragraph 50}
  This fear being removed, Julien gave himself up to all the folly
of a lover.
  "At least," she cried, when she saw his misgivings over her love, "I
will make you happy during the short time that we shall be together.
Come; to-morrow, perhaps, I may no longer be yours. If Heaven
strikes me through my children it is in vain that I should try to live
only to love you and not to see that it is my sin that is killing
them; I could not survive such a punishment. Even if I should desire
it, I could not; I should become mad. Oh, if I could only take your
sin, as you offered to take Stanislaus's fever!
  This great crisis changed the nature of the feeling uniting Julien
with his mistress. His love was no longer admiration for her beauty
nor the mere pride of possession.
  Their happiness was henceforth of a deeper kind. The flame in
their hearts was more intense and they had transports that bordered on
the delirious. Their happiness, though it might have seemed greater in
the eyes of the world, did not possess, however, the delicious
calmness, the serenity, the unalloyed joy of the first days of their
love, when Madame de Renal's sole fear was that she was not
sufficiently loved in return. Their happiness sometimes presented
itself to them under the aspect of a heinous crime. In their
happiest moments, and apparently in their calmest, Madame de Renal
would suddenly cry out:
  "Oh, great God, I see my doom!" and she would convulsively press
Julien's hand. "What frightful punishment! but I deserve it." She
would embrace him, clinging to him the more tenderly. Julien would try
in vain to calm her agitation. Then she would take his hand and
cover it with kisses, and murmur, with her head thrown back in
gloomy reverie:
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_19 ^paragraph 55}
  "Perdition is too much of grace for me; I have had a few days on
earth with him, but the hell of my children's death- yet at that price
perhaps my sin would be pardoned. Oh, good God, do not bestow mercy at
such a price! These poor children have not offended Thee! I- I alone
am guilty; I love a man who is not my husband."
  Julien would then see Madame de Renal becoming more quiet. She
tried, too, to be more self-contained; she did not wish to spoil the
life of the one she loved. Between their love, their remorse, and
their joy, the days passed with great rapidity. Julien put aside
even his habit of reflection.
  Mademoiselle Elisa happened one day to go to Verrieres on some
lawsuit, and there she found M. Valenod much incensed against
Julien. She hated the tutor, and frequently talked about him.
  "You will not betray me, monsieur, if I tell you something?" she
said one day to M. Valenod. "Employers keep things quiet in cases of
importance, but poor servants are never forgiven for telling things."
  After a lengthy introduction, which M. Valenod's impatient curiosity
tried in vain to abridge, he learned something most mortifying to
his vanity. That woman, the most distinguished in all the
neighborhood, whom for six years he had surrounded with such
attention- that proud woman whose disdain had made him blush- had
taken for a lover that little workman disguised as a tutor. And in
order that nothing should be wanting to the dejection of the Director,
Madame de Renal was adoring her lover.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_19 ^paragraph 60}
  "And," added the maid, with a sigh, "M. Julien was not giving
himself the least concern over his conquest; he has not left off his
usual chilliness with Madame."
  Elisa was not certain of anything taking place until the family
had moved to the country, but she believed that the liaison dated
far back.
  "It is on that account," she added, spitefully, "that he then
refused to marry me. And I, stupid, went to talk to Madame de Renal
and to ask her to speak to him for me."
  The same evening M. de Renal received from town a long, anonymous
letter which informed him with great detail of all that was passing at
his house.
  Julien saw him turn pale while reading the letter, and direct some
searching looks toward him. All that evening the Mayor seemed
preoccupied; it was in vain that Julien paid unusual attention to
him in asking about the genealogies of the best families in Bourgogne.

{BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_20
                              CHAPTER 20
                        The Anonymous Letters
-
                 Do not give dalliance
           Too much the rein: the strongest oaths are straw
           To the fire i' the blood.
                                                     THE TEMPEST
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_20 ^paragraph 5}
-
  AS THEY were leaving the drawing-room, Julien had time to say to
her:
  "We must not see each other to-night; your husband is suspicious.
I could swear that the long letter he was reading was an anonymous
one."
  Happily Julien locked the door of his room. Madame de Renal had a
foolish idea that what he said was only a pretext for not seeing
her. Losing her head completely, she came to his door at the usual
time. Julien, who heard the noise in the hall, immediately blew out
his lamp. There was an effort to open the door; was it Madame de Renal
or the jealous husband?
  Early the next morning the cook, who liked Julien, brought him a
book on the cover of which was written in Italian: "Look on page 130."
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_20 ^paragraph 10}
  Julien impatiently looked for page 130, and there he found pinned
the following letter, hastily, badly written, and wet with tears.
Ordinarily Madame de Renal took pains in writing; he was touched by
this detail and forgot for a moment her great imprudence.
-
  "You did not want to let me in last night; it was one of the times
when I believed I had never understood you; your look frightened me; I
am afraid of you. Oh, heavens! have you never loved me? In that case
would that my husband might find us out and shut me in a prison for
the rest of my life somewhere far from my children. Perhaps God wishes
it so. I should die soon; but you- you would remain a monster.
  "Don't you love me? Are you tired of my follies, of my remorse,
cruel, cruel one? Do you want to ruin me? I will give you an easy
way of doing it. Go, show this letter in all Verrieres; or, better,
show it only to M. Valenod. Tell him that I love you; but no, don't
utter such a blasphemy. Tell him that I adore you; that life did not
begin with me until the day I saw you; that in all the mad moments
of my youth I never dreamed of the happiness which I owe to you;
that I have sacrificed my life, that I have sacrificed my soul! You
know that I would sacrifice even more for you.
  "But does he know such sacrifices, that man? Tell him, in order to
anger him, that I defy everybody, and that there is only one misery
for me in the world, and that is to see a change in the one man who
holds me to life. What happiness it would be for me to lose it, to
offer it as a sacrifice, and to fear no more for my children's sake! I
do not for a moment doubt, dearest, that if that was an anonymous
letter it came from that miserable person who, for six long years, has
been pursuing me with his coarse voice, with his recital about his
horses, with his infatuation, and with the eternal tale about his
wealth.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_20 ^paragraph 15}
  "Was it an anonymous letter? Cruel one, that is what I wished to
speak to you about. But, no; you are right. Pressing you in my arms,
perhaps for the last time, I should never have been able to talk about
it calmly as I do when I am alone; for now our happiness will never be
as smooth again. Would you feel badly over it? Only when you would not
receive some amusing book from M. Fouque. The sacrifice will be made
to-morrow. Whether it was or was not an anonymous letter, I say that I
am going to tell my husband that I have received an anonymous
letter, and that it is necessary to give you a purse immediately, to
find some plausible pretext, and without delay, to send you back to
your father.
  "Oh! dearest, we are going to be separated for two weeks- for a
month, perhaps. Go! I will do you the justice to say you will suffer
as much as I will. Yet that is the only way of removing the effect
of that letter. It is not the first my husband has received, and
with reference to me, too. Oh, how I used to laugh at it! My whole
purpose now is to make my husband believe that the letter came from M.
Valenod. I have not the least doubt but that he is the author of it.
If you leave the house, do not fail to go to Verrieres. I will try
to have my husband take us there for a fortnight or so, so as to
show the fools that there is no estrangement between him and me.
Once at Verrieres, try to be agreeable to everybody, even with the
Liberals; I know all the women will take you up.
  "Don't embroil yourself with M. Valenod, and don't assault him as
you threatened one day to do. On the contrary, be as nice to him as
possible; the main thing is that it should be believed in Verrieres
that you are going to Valenod's house or elsewhere to be a tutor.
  "But that is what my husband will never permit. Should he,
however, agree to that, you will at least remain in Verrieres, and I
shall see you sometimes. My children, who love you so much, will
come to see you. My God! I feel that I love my children more since
they love you. Oh, where will all this end? But I am wandering.
Well, then, you understand what to do. Be agreeable, pleasant, and not
overbearing toward those coarse fellows, I beg of you on my knees.
They may be the arbiters of our fate. I do not doubt for a moment
but that my husband will act only as public opinion shall dictate to
him.
  "Now, you will get up this anonymous letter. Have patience. Cut
out of the book the words that you are about to see, and paste them on
the sheet of bluish paper I send you; it is the kind used by M.
Valenod. But mind one thing, burn the mutilated pages. If you don't
find the words made up, have patience enough to form them letter by
letter. To save you trouble I have made the anonymous letter very
short. Ah, if you don't love me any more, as I fear, it may seem
long enough to you!
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_20 ^paragraph 20}
-
  "'MADAME- Your little tricks are well known, and the persons who are
interested in hiding them are well informed. From a little of the
friendship I have had for you I warn you to cast off the little
peasant; if you are wise enough for that, your husband will think that
the information he has received was simply a joke, and he might be
left under that impression. Know that I know your secret, wretched
woman; you must come to me now.'
-
  "When you have finished pasting on these words- do you recognize the
Director's way of speaking?- leave the house. I will meet you.
  "I am going to the village and will return seemingly in great
trouble; indeed, I shall be so, anyhow. Oh, God! what I am risking,
and all this because you thought you detected an anonymous letter! I
will approach with a troubled air, and hand this letter to my
husband which an unknown party will have put into my hands. You walk
on the road in the woods with the children, and don't come back
until dinner time.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_20 ^paragraph 25}
  "From the top of the rocks you can see the vane of the dovecot. If
everything goes well, I will put a white handkerchief there; if not,
nothing. Ungrateful, won't your heart find a way of telling me that
you love me before you go? Whatever may happen, you may be sure of one
thing, I will not survive you a single day after our separation. Ah,
wicked mother that I am! That is a meaningless word for me now, dear
Julien. I don't realize what it means; I can only think of you at this
moment; I have written them only so as not to be blamed by you.
  "Now that I am about to lose you, what is the good of hiding
anything? Yes, I seem cruel to you, but I cannot lie to the man I
adore. I have deceived only too much in my life. Go! I forgive you
even if you do not love me any more. I have not time to read my letter
over. It is a little matter in my eyes to pay with my life for the
happy days that I have passed with you; you know what they will cost
me."

{BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_21
                              CHAPTER 21
                        Dialogue with a Master
-
               Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we:
               For such as we are made of, such we be.
                                                   TWELFTH NIGHT
-
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_21 ^paragraph 5}
  IT WAS with a childish pleasure that for the space of an hour Julien
collected the words. As he was leaving the room he met his pupils
and their mother; she took the letter with a simplicity and courage
that frightened him by their very calmness.
  "Have you pasted on the words?" she whispered to him.
  "Is that the woman whom remorse is driving mad?" he thought. "What
are her plans now?" He was too proud to ask her, but never before
perhaps did she seem so beautiful to him.
  "If this does not turn out well," she added, with the same
sang-froid, "everything is lost. Hide this little parcel in the
mountain somewhere. It may, perhaps, be my only resource some day."
  She gave him a little glass box, encased in morocco, filled with
money and diamonds.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_21 ^paragraph 10}
  "Go now," she said.
  She embraced the children, the youngest one twice. Julien remained
impassive. She left him, walking away rapidly, without giving him
another look.
  From the time that he had opened the anonymous letter, M. de Renal's
existence was one of torment. He had not been so moved since the
duel which he came near having in 1816, and, to do him justice, the
prospect of receiving a bullet had made him then far less miserable.
He looked at the letter from all points of view.
  "Is not that a woman's handwriting?" he said to himself. "In that
case, what woman has written it?" He reviewed in his mind all those he
knew at Verrieres without being able to fasten suspicion on any.
  "Has a man dictated the letter? Who can be that man?" Another
uncertainty. He was envied, yes, and, no doubt, hated, by the
greater portion of those he knew.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_21 ^paragraph 15}
  "I must consult my wife," he said, from habit, rising from the
arm-chair, into which he had sunk.
  Hardly had he arisen, "Great God!" he said, striking his head, "why,
it is she of all that I must distrust! She is my enemy now;" and, from
sheer anger, tears came into his eyes. As by a just compensation for
that hard-heartedness which is called wisdom in the province, the
two men whom he suspected the most just now were his most intimate
associates. "Besides these, I have ten other friends, perhaps," and he
passed them in review, measuring the degree of consolation each
might impart.
  "To all, to all," he cried, with rage, "to all of them this horrible
event will afford the greatest pleasure."
  Luckily he thought himself envied. Besides his superior residence in
the town, which the King had just honored forever in passing a night
under the roof, he had his chateau in Vergy. The facade was painted
white, and at the windows were pretty green shutters. He was for an
instant consoled by the thought of all his magnificence. The fact
was that this chateau was seen from a distance of three or four
leagues in sharp contrast with the other country houses, so-called
chateaux, which had the humble gray color imparted by the weather.
  M. de Renal could count on the tears and pity of only one of his
friends, the parish church warden; but that one was an imbecile, who
cried at everything. Yet that man was his only resource.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_21 ^paragraph 20}
  "What misery can equal mine?" he cried, "what isolation? Is it
possible," cried this man, who was truly to be pitied, "is it possible
that in my misfortune I have not a single friend of whom to ask
advice? I shall lose my reason. Oh, Falcoz! Ducros!" he cried,
bitterly.
  These were two friends whom he had thrown over in 1814 as they
were not of noble birth; he wished to change the basis of equality
on which they had associated from childhood.
  One, Falcoz, a man of parts and courage, who was a paper merchant at
Verrieres, had bought a printing establishment in the department
capital and had undertaken the publication of a newspaper. The
Congregation, however, determined to ruin him, and his journal was
suppressed and his copyright taken away. Under those unfortunate
circumstances he had ventured to write to M. de Renal for the first
time in ten years. The Mayor of Verrieres thought it wise to answer in
true Roman fashion:
-
  "If the King's minister did me the honor of consulting me I would
tell him: 'Pursue without pity the publishers in the province, and
make printing a monopoly like tobacco.'"
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_21 ^paragraph 25}
-
  Such a letter to an intimate friend was admired in Verrieres for a
long time, but now M. de Renal recalled it with horror. "Who would
have told me that with my rank, my fortune, and my decorations I
should regret that day?" He was in such a rage, now against himself,
now against his surroundings, that the night became one unbroken
torture. Happily the idea never occurred to him to spy on his wife.
  "I am accustomed to Louise," he said to himself, "she knows all my
affairs; if I should be at liberty to marry again to-morrow, I could
not find one to take her place." Then he pleased himself with the idea
that his wife was innocent. That way of thinking left him without
the necessity of showing any will power, and put him more at ease.
"Oh, well, how many women are not slandered every day? But I," he
cried, all at once, walking nervously, "should I suffer as if I were
nobody? Am I a fool, that she should mock me with a lover? Why
should all Verrieres ridicule me? What has not been said about
Charmier?" (He was a husband notoriously deceived.) "When his name
is mentioned, is there not a smile on everybody's lips? He is a good
attorney who surpasses most everybody in a speech; and yet of Charmier
they say, 'It is Bernard Charmier;' so they call him by the name of
the man who has brought shame upon him!
  "Thank God!" said M. de Renal again, "I have no daughter; and the
way I am going to punish the mother will not injure my children's
station in life. I can surprise the little peasant with my wife and
kill them both together. In that case the tragedy of the affair will
perhaps remove the ridicule." The idea made him smile; he pursued it
in all its details. "Yes, there's the penal code awaiting me, but,
whatever might happen, our Congregation and my friends on the jury
would save me."
  He examined his hunting knife, which was very sharp; but the idea of
blood made him recoil.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_21 ^paragraph 30}
  "I could crush this perfidious tutor with my fist and chase him
out of the house; but what a treat for Verrieres and for the entire
department! At the suppression of Falcoz's journal, when his
editor-in-chief was put in prison, I contributed six hundred francs to
have him removed. They say that the little scribbler has dared show
himself in Besancon; why, he can blackguard me in such a way as to
make it impossible for me to bring him into court. The wretch would
insinuate in a thousand ways that he was telling the truth. A man of
noble birth, of such rank as I am, is hated by the rabble. I can see
myself in those horrible newspapers in Paris. Oh, heavens! what a
fall- to see the ancient name of de Renal steeped in the mud of
ridicule! If I ever travelled I should have to change my name; but,
abandon the name which is my glory and my strength! Oh, terrible!
  "If I don't kill my wife, but turn her out of doors in disgrace, she
has her aunt in Besancon, who straightway will give her her entire
fortune. My wife will then go to live in Paris with Julien, they
will know it in Verrieres, and I will still be the dupe."
  The unfortunate man saw then, by the pale light of his lamp, that
day was breaking; he went out into the garden for a little fresh
air. Just then he had almost resolved to keep the matter quiet, for
the simple reason that to do otherwise "would be the height of joy"
for his friends in Verrieres. The little walk in the garden calmed him
somewhat.
  "No," he said, "I will not deprive myself of my wife; she is too
useful to me." He thought with horror of what his house would be
without his wife. He had only one other relative, a marquise, who
was old, imbecile, and malevolent. One other idea occurred to him, but
the execution of it required a display of character which the poor man
did not possess.
  "If I keep my wife," he said, "I know that I shall find myself
some day impatient with her, and I will throw it up to her. She is
proud, and we will quarrel; and all that will come before she receives
the fortune from her aunt. Then how she will laugh at me! My wife
loves the children, and all will then be in her favor; but I- I will
live as a fable for Verrieres. Why, people will say he did not know
enough to get even with his wife. Now, would it not be much better for
me to keep my suspicions and not verify them? But then I will tie my
hands, and I shall never be able to reproach her with that!"
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_21 ^paragraph 35}
  A moment later M. de Renal, aroused again by his wounded vanity,
commenced to recall laboriously what was cited at billiards in the
Casino or in the Cercle Noble in Verrieres, when some good talker
interrupted the game to amuse himself at the expense of a duped
husband. How cruel those pleasantries seemed now!
  "Heavens! why can't my wife die? I should then be proof against
all ridicule. How I should like to be a widower now! Oh, I could spend
six months in Paris in good society!"
  After that happy respite that came to him from the idea of being a
widower, his imagination returned to the invention of some means of
assuring himself of the truth. At midnight, after all had retired,
he would scatter some light sawdust before Julien's door; in the
morning he would see his footprints. "But that is not worth anything,"
he cried, impatiently; "that fool of an Elisa would see it, and
everybody in the house would know I am jealous."
  In another tale that was told at the Casino, a husband had assured
himself of his dishonor by affixing a hair with wax as a sort of
seal to his wife's door and to that of her gallant. After many hours
of uncertainty, that means of enlightening himself on his fate
seemed the best, and he was thinking of making use of it, when,
turning into a path, he met the woman whom he had wished to see
dead. She was returning from the village, where she went to attend
Mass. All the time that she thought she would pass in prayer in the
church, she was continually representing to herself her husband
killing Julien while out hunting, as if by accident, and then later
eating out her heart in despair.
  "My fate," she said to herself, "depends on what he will think
when he listens to me; after this frightful quarter of an hour I shall
perhaps find no more occasion to speak of him. He is not a man that is
ruled by reason; I might, by the aid of my feeble mind, anticipate him
in what he might do or say. It is for him to decide our lot; he has
the power; but that fate will depend upon how cleverly I can direct
his ideas and how I can prevent him from seeing not even a half.
Good God! it requires tact, a cool head. Where shall I find it?"
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_21 ^paragraph 40}
  She recovered her calmness as by enchantment when she came into
the garden and saw her husband. His hair and dress told of a sleepless
night. She handed him a letter that had been opened, but folded again;
he, without opening it, looked at his wife like a madman.
  "Here is an abominable thing," she cried, "which a man pretending to
know you, and to be under obligations to you, put into my hand as I
was passing behind the notary's garden. I demand one thing of you, and
that is that you send this M. Julien to his folks without delay."
  Madame de Renal said that quickly in order once for all to get
over the horrible idea of having to say it. She was seized with joy
upon seeing what an effect it produced upon her husband. From the
fixed look he gave her she understood that Julien was right. Instead
of worrying over her present trouble, which was real enough, she was
thinking: "What genius, what perfect tact, and yet a young man without
experience! What height will he not reach? Alas! this will soon only
make him forget me." This admiration for the man she adored recalled
her to her trouble. She congratulated herself upon her success.
  "I have been worthy of Julien," she was saying to herself, with a
sweet, secret pleasure.
  Without saying a word, for fear of committing himself, M. de Renal
examined the second anonymous letter, composed, as the reader will
remember, of the words pasted on the blue paper. "Why, they are making
fun of me in all sorts of ways," said M. de Renal, wearily.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_21 ^paragraph 45}
  "Fresh insults, and again about my wife!" He was ready to
overwhelm her with abuse, but the thought of the fortune from Besancon
made him prudent. Consumed, however, by a desire of doing something in
his state of passion, he crumpled the second letter in his hand, all
the time walking furiously to and fro in order to be at a distance
from his wife. In a few minutes he became somewhat calmer.
  "We must decide about one thing, and that is to send Julien away,"
she said, presently. "He is only a laborer's son, after all. You can
make it up with him with a little money. Besides, he is clever and
will quickly find a place again; at M. Valenod's, for example, or with
the sub-prefect, both of whom have children. You will not make him
lose anything."
  "You talk like the fool that you are," cried M. de Renal, in a
terrible voice. "What common sense can one expect in a woman? You
never pay attention to anything reasonable; how can you know anything?
Your indifference and laziness are just good enough for chasing
butterflies! Worthless creatures, whom we have the misfortune to
have in our families!"
  "I am going to see to it that Julien asks you for leave of absence
for a month to go to the wood merchant, that great friend of his."
  "Take care what you are doing," replied M. de Renal; "what I
demand above all is that you do not talk to him. You will get him into
a rage, and then you will embroil me with him. You know how touchy
this little monsieur is."
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_21 ^paragraph 50}
  "The young man has no tact," Madame de Renal answered. "He may be
clever, you know that; but at bottom he is only a boor. As for me, I
have not thought much of him ever since he refused Elisa- there was
a sure fortune for him- on the pretext that she visited M. Valenod
occasionally."
  "Ah," said M. de Renal, raising his eyebrows, "did Julien tell you
that?"
  "No, not precisely. He has always spoken to me of an inclination
he has for the priesthood; but, believe me, the only inclination these
small people have is to get bread. He gave me to understand that he
was not ignorant of those secret visits."
  "And I- and I- I did not know it," cried M. de Renal, beside himself
with rage, drawing out his words. "I do not know what is going on in
my house! So there is something between Elisa and Valenod?"
  "Oh, it is an old story, my dear," answered Madame de Renal,
laughing, "and perhaps it is not so bad after all. There was a time
when your good friend Valenod would not have been much put out if it
were said in Verrieres that a little platonic love existed between him
and me."
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_21 ^paragraph 55}
  "I had a suspicion of that once," interjected M. de Renal,
clapping his head furiously as he proceeded from one discovery to
another. "And you did not tell me anything?"
  "Was it necessary to get two friends involved in a difficulty
about a little buffoonery on the part of our dear Director? Where is
the woman of any standing who has not received his clever, gallant
little notes?"
  "He has written to you?"
  "Oh, yes, a good deal."
  "Show me the letters at once, I command you!" said M. de Renal,
leaping towards her.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_21 ^paragraph 60}
  "I am going to be exceedingly careful with them" she replied, with a
calmness that bordered almost on nonchalance; "I will show them to you
some day, perhaps, when you are in a better humor."
  "At once! Morbleu!" cried M. de Renal, in mad fury, and yet
happier than he had been for twelve hours.
  "Will you promise," she replied, "that you will never quarrel with
the Director on account of these letters?"
  "Quarrel or no quarrel, I am going to take away the foundlings
from him; but," he continued, furiously, "I want those letters right
away. Where are they?"
  "In a drawer in my desk; but I certainly do not intend to give you
the key."
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_21 ^paragraph 65}
  "Very well, I can break it," he cried, running toward the room.
  In fact he did break with a poker a fine little mahogany secretary
which had come from Paris, and which he had frequently wiped off
with his coat when he would see a spot on it.
  Madame de Renal had run up the one hundred and twenty steps to the
dovecot, to tie a white handkerchief to one of the little iron
window bars. She was the happiest woman in the world; with tears in
her eyes she looked out towards the mountain woods.
  "Undoubtedly," she was saying to herself, "Julien sees this happy
signal from underneath a cluster of those elms." For a long time she
listened, irritated by the noise of the grasshoppers and the
twittering of the birds. But for that noise, a joyous cry coming
from great rocks would have reached her, no doubt. Her eager eye swept
over that dense stretch of dark verdure, lying like a level field,
which formed the tops of the trees.
  "Will he not be clever enough," she asked herself, softly, "to
invent some sort of a signal to tell me that his happiness is equal to
mine?"
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_21 ^paragraph 70}
  She did not leave the dovecot until she was afraid that her
husband might come to look for her. She found him in a boiling rage.
He had read over the vapid phrases in M. Valenod's letters- phrases
that were never intended to be read with such emotion. Seizing a
moment when her husband's furious interjections allowed her to make
herself heard, she said:
  "I am coming back to my first idea. Julien must leave. Whatever
genius he may have for Latin, he is, after all, only a little peasant,
often coarse, and always without sense. Every day he pays me some
exaggerated compliments, that he has learned by heart from some novel;
lamely enough, to be sure, though he thinks he is highly polished."
  "He never reads them," cried M. de Renal, "I am positive of that. Do
you suppose that I am master of the house and don't know what is going
on here?"
  "Well, if he does not read these ridiculous compliments, he
invents them; so much the worse. I suppose he must have spoken in that
fashion in Verrieres, and," continued Madame de Renal, pretending to
make a great discovery, "he must have talked so before Elisa, which is
the same as talking to M. Valenod."
  "Ah!" cried M. de Renal, making table and room resound with a
tremendous blow of his fist, "the printed anonymous letter and
Valenod's letters are written on the same kind of paper."
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_21 ^paragraph 75}
  "At last!" thought Madame de Renal; but, pretending to be
overwhelmed by the discovery, she sank down on a sofa at the other end
of the room, seemingly unable to say another word.
  The battle was now won; it was all she could do to prevent M. de
Renal from going to speak to the supposed author of the anonymous
letter at once.
  "Can't you see that to create a scene with M. Valenod, without
sufficient proof, is the height of folly? You are envied, monsieur-
and whose fault is it? It is owing to your ability, your wise
administration, your handsome buildings, the dowry I brought you, and,
more than all, the considerable, though exaggerated, fortune which
we expect from my good aunt- all that has made you the first man in
Verrieres."
  "You forget my birth," replied her husband, with a superior smile.
  "You are one of the most distinguished men in the province," she
continued, impressively. "If the King were at liberty to act as he
desired, and could do justice to birth, you would now, no doubt, be
a peer. And from such a magnificent position do you want to stoop to
be talked about by everybody? To talk to M. Valenod about this
anonymous letter is to proclaim to the entire town of Verrieres-
what do I say? to all Besancon, to the whole province- that this
little bourgeois, imprudently admitted into the family life of a de
Renal, has had the means of offending him. If these letters which
you have just read should prove that I have responded in any way to M.
Valenod's love, you would have the right to kill me- I should
deserve it a hundred times- but not to show him anger! Think of it-
all your neighbors are waiting only for just such an opportunity to
revenge themselves on you! Do you know that in 1816 you had a share in
certain arrests, and then that man-"
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_21 ^paragraph 80}
  "I know that you have no regard, no love for me," M. de Renal
spurted out, with all the bitterness which that recollection imparted;
"I have not been made a peer."
  "I know, my dear," she continued, smiling, "that I will be richer
than you; that I have been your companion for twelve years, and that
in all these matters I ought to have something to say, especially in
this affair of to-day. If you prefer a M. Julien to me," she added,
with ill-concealed disdain, "I am ready to spend the winter with my
aunt."
  That was delivered admirably. There was a firmness in her tone,
intrenched with politeness, that immediately decided M. de Renal.
  But, following the provincial habit, he continued talking for a long
time, and always going over the same ground. His wife patiently let
him go on, as there was still a trace of anger in his tone. After
two hours, however, he weakened, worn out as he was by a long night of
anguish. He outlined his conduct towards M. Valenod, towards Julien,
and even towards Elisa.
  Once or twice during that scene Madame de Renal was almost touched
by the misfortune of the man who, for twelve years, had been her daily
companion; but true passion is egotistical. And, moreover, she was
waiting every minute to be informed about the anonymous letter which
he had received, and that information had not been forthcoming.
Besides, Madame de Renal was not sure as to what ideas had been
suggested to the man on whom her fate depended. In the provinces, it
must be known, husbands control public opinion. A complaining
husband is only ridiculed- a fact that does not weigh much in
France; but if he fails to provide for his wife, the latter is reduced
to the level of a scrubwoman at fifteen sous a day, whom some good
souls might scruple even about employing. An odalisque in the harem
might get to love the Sultan; she has no hope of depriving her
all-powerful lord of his authority through finesse, and she knows that
while his vengeance is terrible it is not ignoble- a sword thrust, and
it is all over. But it is with the blows of public opinion, with the
closing of drawing-rooms, that a man kills his wife in the
nineteenth century.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_21 ^paragraph 85}
  The feeling of danger was again wakened in Madame de Renal when
she returned to her room. The disorder in which she found it came as a
shock to her. The drawers of all her pretty little cases had been
broken open, and even some of the flooring had been raised.
  "He was heartless," she said to herself, "to spoil that pretty
little desk which he loved so much. If one of the children came into
the room with wet shoes he would get fearfully angry. Now, there it
is, ruined!"
  The scene of violence instantly removed the vestige of regret that
had come to her from her too easy victory.
  A little before dinner Julien returned with the children. At
dessert, when the servants had withdrawn, Madame de Renal said to him,
dryly:
  "You have given me to understand that you desire to spend a
fortnight at Verrieres? M. de Renal is willing to give you leave;
you can go whenever it suits you. The children need not waste their
time, though; their compositions will be sent to you every day, and
you can correct them."
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_21 ^paragraph 90}
  "Indeed," put in M. de Renal, sharply, "I give you leave for a
week only."
  Julien read great trouble in his face.
  "He has not yet decided on any plan," he said to her when they
were alone for a moment in the drawing-room.
  Madame de Renal related to him hastily all that she had done since
morning. "The details to-night," she added, smiling.
  "The perversity of womankind!" thought Julien. "What instinct
leads them to deceive us?"
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_21 ^paragraph 95}
  "I see that you are both enlightened and blinded by your love," he
said to her, coolly; "your conduct to-day is admirable; but do you
think it is prudent for us to see each other to-night? This house is
hedged in with enemies. Think of the hatred Elisa has for me."
  "That hatred is on a par with the indifference that you are
showing now."
  "It may be indifference in me to want to save you from a great
danger; but suppose M. de Renal says something to Elisa; she could
tell him all in a word! Why couldn't he hide himself in my room, armed
to the teeth?"
  "What, not even courage!" said Madame de Renal, with all the pride
of a woman of blood.
  "I will never stoop to talk of my courage," Julien answered, coldly.
"It is base. Let the world judge from facts. But," he added, taking
her hand, "you don't know how much I love you, and how great my joy is
to be able to take leave of you before this cruel absence."

{BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_22
                              CHAPTER 22
                            1830 Behavior
-
            Speech was given to man to hide his thoughts.
                                                 R. P. MALAGRIDA
-
  HE HAD hardly arrived at Verrieres, when Julien regretted his
injustice toward Madame de Renal.
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_22 ^paragraph 5}
  "I should have despised her as a weak woman if she had not been
equal to that scene with her husband. She acquitted herself like a
diplomat, and I sympathize with the vanquished, who is my enemy! There
is something of the bourgeois in me; my vanity is wounded because M.
de Renal is a man- the illustrious and vast corporation to which I
have the honor of belonging! Oh, I am a fool!"
  M. Chelan had refused the lodgings which the more considerate
Liberals had offered him after he had been removed from the
vicarage. The two rooms he had rented were filled with books.
Julien, wishing to show Verrieres what a priest could do, got a
dozen fir planks from his father, and carried them himself all the way
over Grande Rue. He borrowed some tools from an old friend of his, and
soon he had some shelving finished on which M. Chelan's books were
arranged in order.
  "I thought you had been spoiled by worldly vanity," said the old man
to him, with tears in his eyes. "That has made up for your foolishness
over that brilliant Guard of Honor uniform, which made you so many
enemies."
  M. de Renal had ordered him to go to his house; no one had any
idea of what had passed.
  On the third day after his arrival, Julien saw no less a personage
mounting the stairway than the sub-prefect de Maugiron. It was not
until after two hours of insipid chatter and grandiloquent
jeremiades on the wickedness of mankind, on the lack of probity in men
charged with the administration of public funds, on the dangers
besetting poor France, that Julien saw at length the purport of his
visit. They were already on the stairway, and the poor, half-disgraced
preceptor had respectfully taken the future prefect of a department to
the door, when the latter graciously began to talk of Julien's future,
and to praise his foresight and genius.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_22 ^paragraph 10}
  At length M. de Maugiron, after a paternal embrace, proposed to
him to leave M. de Renal's for the house of an official who had
children to educate, and who, like King Philip, was thanking
heaven not so much for having given them to him as for bringing them
into the world in the neighborhood of M. Julien. Their teacher would
enjoy an income of eight hundred francs, payable not by the month,
"which is not genteel," said M. de Maugiron, "but quarterly, and
always in advance."
  It was now Julien's turn. The latter, after an hour and a half of
waiting, had been growing somewhat weary. His reply was perfect and as
long as a dissertation. Almost anything could be gathered from it, but
nothing definite. It was replete at once with respect for M. de Renal,
with consideration for the Verrieres public, and with gratitude for
the illustrious sub-prefect. This sub-prefect, astonished at finding
more of a Jesuit than himself, endeavored to ascertain something
positive. Seemingly enchanted with the opportunity, Julien commenced
another reply. Never had an eloquent minister, who wished to seize
an opportunity in the Chamber, said less in more words. But hardly had
M. de Maugiron departed when Julien burst out in uncontrollable
laughter.
  In order to profit by his Jesuitical finesse he immediately wrote
a nine-page letter to M. de Renal, giving him an account of all that
was said, and asking for advice.
  "That fool has not told me the name of the man who is making me
the offer; it must be M. Valenod, who sees in my exile the effect of
the anonymous letter."
  This letter despatched, Julien, as happy as a sportsman would be
in coming on a fine autumn day into a field full of game, went out
to consult M. Chelan. But, before arriving at the good curate's, his
good fortune brought him face to face with M. Valenod, from whom he
did not hide the fact that his heart was broken. A poor boy, as he
was, might devote himself to the calling which heaven had placed in
his heart, but the calling is not all in this wicked world. In order
to labor diligently in the Lord's vineyard, and not to be unworthy
of his learned colleagues, he must be taught; he must spend two very
expensive years at the Besancon seminary. It was indispensable to be
economical; it was easier with an income of eight hundred francs, paid
quarterly in advance, than with six hundred, which melted away from
month to month. On the other hand, did not heaven, in placing him with
the de Renal children, and especially in inspiring in him a real
love for them, seem to indicate to him that it would not be proper
to leave them for others?
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_22 ^paragraph 15}
  Julien reached such a degree of perfection in that sort of eloquence
that he was annoyed, through sheer frequency, by the sound of his
own voice. On his return he found M. Valenod's valet in fine livery,
who had been looking for him all over town, with an invitation for
dinner that day. Julien had never been to that man's house. Only a few
days before he was thinking of knocking him down in such a way as to
avoid trouble with the police.
  Although the dinner was not to take place until one o'clock,
Julien found it more respectful to present himself in the Director's
library at half-past twelve. He found him there expatiating on his
great importance, surrounded by a mass of letters. His long black
moustache, his enormous head of hair, surmounted crookedly by a
Greek cap, his immense pipe, his embroidered slippers, his heavy
gold chains crossed over his breast, everything that went to give
him an appearance of an important financier, failed of an impression
with Julien. He was only thinking of the caning that he owed him.
  He asked the privilege of being presented to Madame Valenod. She was
dressing and could not receive. As by a sort of compensation, he had
the pleasure of being present while the Director dressed. When they
came into the room, Madame Valenod, with tears in her eyes,
presented her children to him. She was a leading society woman of
Verrieres. Her large, masculine face, which was thickly rouged in
honor of the occasion, was pathetic with maternal solicitude. Julien
was thinking of Madame de Renal. His present indifference made him
susceptible only to those ideas which are occasioned by contrast;
and these ideas caused him great emotion when he beheld the
furnishings of the Director's house. All was magnificent, new, and
costly, as he was told. But to Julien there was something common,
coarse, that smelt of stolen money; even to the servants, every one
seemed to brace himself against expected contempt.
  The collector of taxes, the chief of police, and two or three
other public officials presently arrived, accompanied by their
wives. These were followed by some rich Liberals. Then dinner was
announced. Julien, ill-disposed for the feast, was thinking of the
poor creatures on the other side of the dining-room wall who were
waiting for a meal, and whose meat had perhaps been nibbled in order
to provide all this coarse luxury.
  "Perhaps they are hungry at this moment," he was saying to
himself. His gorge rose; it was impossible for him to eat, even to
speak.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_22 ^paragraph 20}
  It was less than a quarter of an hour later when some notes of a
popular song were heard. One of the detained poor was singing.
  M. Valenod looked at one of his finely liveried men, and the
latter departed. The singing immediately ceased. Just at this moment a
valet was handing Rhine wine in a green glass to Julien, and Madame
Valenod had observed that the wine cost nine francs a bottle at the
vineyard.
  Julien held up his green glass, saying to M. Valenod:
  "They are not singing that popular song any more."
  "Parbleu! no, indeed," answered the Director, triumphantly; "I
have made those beggars keep quiet."
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_22 ^paragraph 25}
  That word was too much for Julien; he had acquired the manners,
but had not yet the heart suitable to his surroundings, in spite of
all his hypocrisy. A great tear rolled down his cheek. He succeeded in
hiding it with the green glass, but it was absolutely impossible for
him to do justice to the Rhine wine.
  "Prevent them from singing!" he was saying to himself. "Oh, Lord!
and you permit it!"
  Happily no one remarked the tender ring in his tone. The collector
of taxes had then intoned a royalist song, and all were singing in
chorus. All the time Julien's conscience was saying to him:
  "There, now, that is what you will reach. You will not live except
under such conditions and in such company. You will perhaps have a
position of twenty thousand francs, but while you are gorging
yourself, you will have to prevent the poor wretches from singing. You
will give dinners with the money that you have stolen from their
miserable pittance, and while you are dining, they will be even more
miserable. Oh, Napoleon, you were great enough in your time to point
to greatness, through the smoke of battle; but to add to such misery
in such a cowardly fashion!"
  We must admit that Julien's faint-heartedness, as seen in such
reflections, might give rise to a poor opinion of him. He might be
thought a worthy colleague of those tan-glove conspirators who are
laboring to change the destinies of nations without getting a scratch.
Julien was violently recalled to his role. It was not to dream, that
he had been invited to dinner in such good company. A retired linen
merchant, a corresponding member of the Academy of Besancon and of
that of Uzes, spoke to him across the table, asking him if what was
said about his marvellous progress in his study of the New Testament
was true.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_22 ^paragraph 30}
  A profound silence ensued. As if by a miracle, a New Testament
appeared in the hand of the savant of the two academies. Julien
consenting, a Latin word was read, and then he began to recite. His
memory served him well, and he was admired as a prodigy, with
genuine after-dinner enthusiasm. Julien looked at the faces of the
ladies; several were not bad looking. He particularly remarked the
wife of the singer.
  "Indeed, I am ashamed to speak Latin so long before these ladies,"
he said, looking at her. "If M. Rubigneau"- he was the academician-
"would be kind enough to read a Latin phrase, I would try to translate
it offhand in place of replying with the Latin text." This second test
carried him to the pinnacle of glory.
  There were present several rich Liberals with a penchant for lucre
who had been converted at the last election. In spite of this
political finesse, M. de Renal had never received them at his house.
These fine gentlemen, who did not know Julien except by hearsay, and
by what they had seen of him when he was on horseback during the
King's progress, were his noisiest admirers.
  "When will these fools get tired of the biblical talk? They don't
understand it," thought he. On the contrary, the style, by its very
strangeness, amused them; they secretly made fun of it. At length
Julien grew tired.
  He arose from the table ceremoniously, just as six o'clock struck,
while speaking of a chapter in the new theological work of Ligorio,
which he had to learn for the next day to recite before M. Chelan;
"for it is my business," he added, suavely, "both to hear lessons
and to recite them."
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_22 ^paragraph 35}
  There was a laugh, and he was greatly admired; that was the
cleverness in vogue at Verrieres. Such is the sway of genius, that
when Julien stood up, all the rest arose, regardless of decorum.
Madame Valenod kept him for another quarter of an hour; he must,
indeed, hear the children recite their Catechism. They made all
sorts of blunders, which he alone knew; but he did not care to correct
them.
  "What ignorance of the first principles of religion!" he said to
himself.
  He bade good-by and was about to leave, but was detained again. He
must hear them recite one of La Fontaine's fables.
  "This author is indeed immoral," said Julien to Madame Valenod;
"this fable about Jean Chouart ridicules everything that is holy. It
is, indeed, criticised severely by the best commentators."
  Before leaving, Julien received four or five invitations to dine.
"The young man is an honor to the department," cried the dinner
company, gayly; they even went so far as to speak of having a fund
voted for him from the public treasury, to enable him to continue
his studies in Paris.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_22 ^paragraph 40}
  While that imprudent idea was being expressed in the dining-room,
Julien had reached the door. "The canaille!" he muttered three or four
times, as he inhaled the fresh air. He considered himself an
aristocrat at that moment, he who for so long had been irritated by
the condescending smile and overbearing superiority in the polite
phrases addressed to him at M. de Renal's house. He could not but feel
the great contrast.
  "Even if I should forget," he said to himself, as he was leaving,
"that all this money is stolen from the poor; that even a song is
not permitted; yet never, never would M. de Renal think of telling his
guests the price of each bottle of wine. And this M. Valenod, in going
over his possessions, which he did interminably, does not speak of the
house and of his other things if his wife is present, except by
saying, 'your house, your land.'"
  That lady, displaying all the marks of greed, had enacted an
abominable scene while dinner was in progress. A servant had dropped a
glass at her feet, and, with its breaking, had "spoilt the set." He
had answered her with the greatest insolence.
  "What a herd!" thought Julien. "If they gave me half what they steal
I should not live with them. One of these fine days I am going to
burst out; I cannot hold in any longer the contempt I feel for them."
  Yet, in obedience to Madame de Renal's command, he had to be present
at several dinners that were all on the same order. Julien became
the vogue; he was even forgiven his uniform of the Guard of Honor.
That imprudence, indeed, was the real cause of his success. Soon there
was only a question in Verrieres as to who would win the battle in
getting the young savant, M. de Renal or the Director.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_22 ^paragraph 45}
  These two, together with M. Maslon, formed a triumvirate who for
many years had ruled the town. The people, as a whole, were jealous of
the Mayor, while the Liberals found much cause for complaint on
their part. Yet, after all, he belonged to the nobility, and that made
him a superior person. But M. Valenod's father had not left an
estate of six hundred livres. They recollected the pity they had
felt for him when they knew him as a young man wearing a shabby little
green coat- and now he had his fine horses, his gold chains, and
Parisian clothes.
  In his new surroundings Julien had discovered one good man, a
geometrician by the name of Gros, who passed for a Jacobin. Julien,
vowing that he would never say anything except what seemed false to
himself, was obliged to be somewhat careful in the presence of this
man.
  He received, from time to time, large parcels of themes from
Vergy, and was advised in letters to visit his father. To that dire
necessity he also submitted. In a word, he was acquiring a fine
reputation, when one morning he was surprised by two hands from behind
placed over his eyes.
  It was Madame de Renal who had come to town, and who, running up the
steps in the greatest haste, having left her children playing with a
rabbit, had entered Julien's room.
  That was a delightful moment for her, though all too short. Madame
de Renal had just taken breath after her rapid flight up the stairs,
when the children entered with the rabbit, which they wished to show
to their friend. Julien gave them all a cordial reception, even the
rabbit. It seemed as if he were with his own again; he felt that he
loved these children, that he enjoyed playing with them. He was struck
by the softness of their voices, and by their delicate, gentle
little ways. He had to wash his memory clean of all the vulgar
habits he had been seeing, and of the disagreeable feelings these
had brought him during his exile in Verrieres. There was always that
terrible contrast between luxury and misery before his eyes. The
people with whom he had been dining, beginning with the roast, would
make confidences humiliating to themselves and disgusting to their
hearer.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_22 ^paragraph 50}
  "You, indeed, belong to the nobility, and you have a right to be
proud," said he to Madame de Renal, as he told her of the dinners that
had been inflicted upon him.
  "Why, you are becoming the rage," she replied, laughing at the
thought of how much rouge Madame Valenod felt obliged to put on
while waiting for Julien. "Ah, I believe she has some designs on you."
  The breakfast was delicious. The presence of the children, who, it
must be said, were not quite as neat as usual in their appearance,
lent additional happiness. The poor children did not know how to
show all their joy on seeing Julien again. The servants had not failed
to tell them that he had been offered two hundred francs more to
educate the little Valenods. When they were not half through
breakfast, Stanislaus-Xavier, pale yet from his long illness, suddenly
asked his mother how much his dinner set and his cup would bring.
  "Why?"
  "I want to sell them to give the money to M. Julien, so he would not
be bilked if he stayed with us."
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_22 ^paragraph 55}
  Julien embraced him with tears in his eyes. The mother wept, too, as
Julien, picking up Stanislaus on his knee, was telling how wrongly the
word "bilk" was used. In such a sense, he said, it could be used
only in speaking of servants. Seeing the pleasure it gave Madame de
Renal, he went on to illustrate, with clever examples that quite
amused the children, what it was to be "bilked."
  "I understand," said Stanislaus; "it is just like the crow foolish
enough to let go of her cheese, to let it be picked up by the
flattering fox."
  The delighted Madame de Renal was covering the child with kisses,
leaning now and then a little on Julien, when all at once the door
opened and M. de Renal entered.
  His severe, sour look was in sharp contrast with the expression of
delight on her face which his presence immediately drove away.
Madame de Renal grew pale, feeling as if she could not utter a word.
Julien, however, was equal to the occasion, and boldly began to tell
the Mayor about the silver cup which Stanislaus wanted to sell. He was
positive, though, it would not meet with a gracious reception. At
first M. de Renal from sheer habit raised his eyebrows at hearing
the word "silver." "The mention of that metal," he thought, "means a
preface to my purse." But evidently there was something more
interesting in this affair than money, and his suspicion was more than
ever aroused. The happiness of his family during his absence was not
calculated to make things agreeable to a man dominated by harrowing
vanity. His wife told him how cleverly Julien had been imparting new
ideas to his pupils.
  "Yes, yes, I know it; he makes me hated by my own children. Oh, he
is a hundred times more agreeable to them than I am, and I am their
father! It is of a piece with all disregard of authority in this
age! Poor France!"
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_22 ^paragraph 60}
  Madame de Renal did not stop to consider the hints thrown out in her
husband's greeting. She was beginning to see a possibility of spending
twelve hours with Julien. As she had a great deal of shopping to do,
she said she would take dinner at the cabaret. And whatever her
husband might urge to the contrary, she held fast to that
resolution. The children were wild over the idea of the "cabaret"- a
word by which modern prudery is shocked.
  M. de Renal left his wife in the first notion store they came to, as
he had an engagement elsewhere. He returned more morose than in the
morning: he had been convinced that the whole town was talking about
him and Julien.
  In truth, no one gave him the least occasion to suspect anything. M.
de Renal had been asked merely if Julien would remain with him for six
hundred francs, or take the eight hundred francs offered by the
Director.
  Now, the Director, who had met M. de Renal, had taken his breath
away. That was done not without some cleverness. For M. Valenod,
coarse, petty, and shameless, was what would be called a buffoon,
his prosperous existence since 1815 only accentuating the elegance
of his manners. He was an official under the orders of M. de Renal,
but, being much more active and unscrupulous than the latter, had,
by dint of much writing and talking, and by utter disregard of all
decency and self-respect, succeeded in playing the Mayor against the
ecclesiastical authorities. M. Valenod had said to the grocers: "Let
me have the two greatest fools among you;" to the lawyers, "Show me
the two greatest charlatans in your court;" and to the health
officers, "Give me your two greatest quacks." When he had gathered
in the scum of each class, he had said to them, "Let us carry on the
administration together."
  It was the ways of such gentlemen that did not suit M. de Renal;
Valenod's vulgarity, nor even the absurdities of the little abbe
Maslon, did not offend him so much. But with all his success, M.
Valenod had to intrench himself behind a barricade of insolence to
meet the attack of truth people would make. His activity redoubled
from the time of M. Appert's visit. He had made three trips to
Besancon, and had written many letters with each courier, besides
other letters sent by secret messengers who came to his house at
midnight. He was wrong, perhaps, in removing the old curate Chelan;
for that vindictive action he was looked upon by many of the
well-to-do pious people as wicked. It had, besides, put him in the
power of the vicar de Frilar, who was giving him some strange things
to do. Such was his position when he yielded to the pleasure of
writing an anonymous letter. To increase his embarrassment, his wife
had intimated to him that she wished to have Julien at her house.
His vanity had completely collapsed.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_22 ^paragraph 65}
  Under these circumstances, M. Valenod was awaiting the stormy
scene with his old confederate, M. de Renal. The latter was not
sparing, to be sure. But the words had no effect; yet the Mayor
might write to Besancon, if not to Paris! Some minister's cousin might
all at once tumble down on Verrieres and take away the Directorship.
M. Valenod had thought some time before of allying himself with the
Liberals; for that reason several of them had been invited to the
dinner together with Julien. He could thus be in a strong position
against the Mayor; but the election would come, and it was too evident
that the Directorship would be incompatible with an indiscreet vote!
This political jugglery, of which Madame de Renal was aware, was
described to Julien while he was escorting her from one store to
another in Cours de la Fidelite, promenading as peacefully as at
Vergy.
  All this time M. Valenod was trying to ward off a sharp encounter
with his patron, by showing himself bolder than usual. That day the
method succeeded, but it aroused the Mayor's anger even more. Never
had vanity arising from the consciousness only of wealth put a man
in such a pitiable position as it did M. de Renal when he entered
the cabaret. Never, on the other hand, had his children been so glad
and gay. The contrast aroused him anew.
  "I am de trop in my family, from what I see," he said, as he
entered, in a tone intended to be crushing.
  By way of reply his wife took him aside, again telling him of the
necessity of getting rid of Julien.
  The pleasant hours she had passed gave her the ease and firmness
necessary to carrying out her plan, the result of two weeks'
deliberation.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_22 ^paragraph 70}
  What troubled the poor Mayor of Verrieres more than anything else
was the fact that he felt he was everywhere ridiculed for her
attachment for this little bourgeois. Then, M. Valenod was as generous
as a thief, while he himself had conducted himself rather shabbily
in the five or six collections for the Brotherhood of St. Joseph, from
the Congregation of the Holy Sacrament, and the rest. When the
collectors in Verrieres and the neighborhood, adroitly classed on
the record as "brother collectors," counted up the contributions, more
than once M. de Renal's name had appeared at the bottom of the list.
In vain they said that he was not gaining anything by it.

{BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_23
                              CHAPTER 23
                       A Functionary's Troubles
-
    The pleasure of holding one's head high the whole year through
is well paid for by certain quarter-hours that have to be suffered.
                                                           CASTI
-
  WE SHALL LEAVE the little man to his little cares. Why did this
man take into his house a man of character, while he himself had the
heart of a craven? Did he not know how to select his people? The
distinguishing mark of the nineteenth century is that when a noble,
self-esteemed gentleman meets a man of courage, he either kills him,
or claps him into jail, or humiliates him otherwise, until the
latter sooner or later dies heart-broken. Here, luckily, it was not
a man of character that was suffering.
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_23 ^paragraph 5}
  The great evil in little French towns, as well as in other
communities ruled by popular vote, as in New York, is that people
cannot forget that there exist such men in the world as M. de Renal.
In a town of twenty thousand inhabitants, such men as he form public
opinion, and public opinion is a terrible thing in countries that have
a constitution. Your friend, a noble, generous spirit, living a
hundred leagues away, judges you by the public opinion of your town,
formed by the fools or knaves whom chance has given the means of
floating on the surface. Woe to him that is in any way distinguished!
  Soon after dinner they left for Vergy, but in a day Julien saw the
whole family again in Verrieres. An hour after their arrival he
discovered that Madame de Renal was hiding something mysterious from
him. She would interrupt her conversation with her husband if he
appeared, and would unmistakably show that she wished him to be at a
distance. Julien did not take it very graciously, and became cold
and reserved. Madame de Renal, though aware of all this, did not offer
to explain.
  "Am I going to have a successor?" thought Julien. "Only the day
before yesterday she was so charming to me! But that is what they
say about the way these great ladies conduct themselves just like
the kings: always new attentions to a minister, who, on returning to
his house, finds his letter of dismissal."
  Julien observed that, in the conversation which would abruptly cease
at his approach, something was often said about a large old house
belonging to the municipality of Verrieres, that was located
opposite the church, in the busiest quarter of the town.
  "What has this house to do with another lover?" Julien wondered.
In his uncertainty he was repeating to himself those pretty lines of
Francois Premier, which he had learnt from Madame de Renal. With how
many declarations of love, with how many caresses was not each of
these lines accompanied then!
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_23 ^paragraph 10}
-
                     "Souvent femme varie
                      Bien fol est qui s'y fie."
-
  But M. de Renal left post-haste for Besancon, the trip having been
decided upon in two hours. He had appeared greatly perplexed. On his
return he threw a large bundle of papers on the table.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_23 ^paragraph 15}
  "There is the stupid affair," he said to his wife. An hour later
Julien saw a bill poster carrying the large bundle away. He followed
him eagerly.
  "I am going to find out the secret as soon as he turns the corner."
  He stood impatiently behind the bill poster while the latter was
pasting on an advertisement. With eager curiosity Julien read the
announcement of a public auction of the lease of the large old house
that had so often been mentioned in M. de Renal's conversation with
his wife. The auction was announced for the next day at two o'clock in
the public hall.
  Julien was disappointed; there was such a little interval, he
thought. How could the bidders find this out in such a short time?
Besides this, the announcement, which had been dated fifteen days
before, gave no information. He walked over, therefore, to the house
in question. The care-taker, who did not see him approach, was
saying mysteriously to a neighbor:
  "Bah! bah! It is all in vain. Maslon has promised it to him for
three hundred francs, and when the Mayor hedged, he applied to the
Bishop through his vicar Frilair." Julien's arrival seemed to
disconcert the two friends, for they ceased speaking all at once.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_23 ^paragraph 20}
  He came to the auction. There was a crowd in the dimly lighted hall,
and all were speaking very familiarly with one another. All eyes
were fixed upon the table, where Julien saw a tin plate in which three
little candles were burning.
  The auctioneer cried out, "Three hundred francs, gentlemen."
  "Three hundred francs! Well, that is too bad," said a man in a
whisper to his neighbor. "Why, it is worth more than eight hundred;
I am going to bid over."
  "Oh, there is no sense in that. What will you gain by having Maslon,
Valenod, the Bishop, the vicar, and the entire clique on you?"
  "Three hundred and twenty francs," put in the other, crying out.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_23 ^paragraph 25}
  "You fool!" replied his neighbor; "and here is one of the Mayor's
spies," he added, pointing to Julien.
  Julien turned quickly around, but the two citizens paid no attention
to him. At that moment the last candle went out, and the bailiff
slowly announced that the house went to M. de Saint-Giraud, of the
Prefecture of __, for nine years, at three hundred and thirty francs
per annum.
  When the Mayor left the hall there was a hum of excitement.
  "Now, there is thirty francs which de Grogeot's imprudence is
worth to the public," cried one.
  "Well, M. de Saint-Giraud" replied another, "will be revenged on
Grogeot; they will find it out soon enough."
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_23 ^paragraph 30}
  "What a scandal!" said a tall man on the left of Julien. "A house
for which I would have given eight hundred francs for my factory;
and it would have been a bargain at that."
  "Bah!" replied a young Liberal manufacturer. "Does not M. de
Saint-Giraud belong to the Congregation? Aren't his sons wealthy?
The poor man! The community of Verrieres should vote him a pension
of five hundred francs, at least."
  "And to think that the Mayor could not prevent it," observed a
third. "True, he is ultra-conservative, but at least he does not
steal."
  "He does not steal, ha!" interposed another. "Oh, no, somebody
else steals; everything goes into one pot, and at the end of the
year there is a grand rake-off. But here is little Sorel; let's go."
  Julien returned to the house in a bad humor, finding Madame de Renal
in a dejected mood.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_23 ^paragraph 35}
  "You come from the auction?" she asked him.
  "Yes, Madame, where I have had the honor of being taken for the
Mayor's spy."
  "If he had taken my advice, he would have left the city for a
while."
  Just then M. de Renal entered, looking very gloomy. Dinner passed
off without a word. Madame de Renal persuaded Julien to follow the
children to Vergy, but the trip was no pleasant one.
  Madame de Renal tried to comfort her husband:
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_23 ^paragraph 40}
  "Oh, you should be used to that, my dear."
  In the evening they were seated about the fireplace, and the only
distraction from the funereal quiet was the noise made by the
burning wood. It was one of those gloomy evenings that intrude
themselves sometimes in the liveliest families. Suddenly one of the
children cried out joyously:
  "The bell rings! the bell rings!"
  "Morbleu! if that is M. de Saint-Giraud who is coming to knife me
under the pretext of thanking me," cried the Mayor, "I will give him a
piece of my mind. Why, it is too much! It is Valenod to whom he is
under obligations. I- I- I have simply been taken in. What would these
damned Jacobin journals say if they got hold of this little tale and
made me another Nonante?"
  A tall, handsome man, with large black whiskers, entered,
following the servant.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_23 ^paragraph 45}
  "Monsieur Mayor, I am Signor Geronimo. I have here a letter from
Chevalier de Beauvaisis, the attache of the embassy of Naples, written
only eight days ago," said Signor Geronimo, looking smilingly at
Madame de Renal. "Signor de Beauvaisis, your cousin and my very good
friend, Madame, told me that you speak Italian."
  The Neapolitan was lively and began making the evening quite gay.
  Madame de Renal insisted on giving him supper. She put the whole
house to work, being, above all, desirous of removing from Julien's
mind the effect of having been twice taken for a spy that day.
  Signor Geronimo was a celebrated singer, a hail-fellow-well-met- a
quality, sadly enough, no longer appreciated in France!
  After supper he sang a little duet with Madame de Renal. He
related some charming anecdotes, and at one o'clock in the morning the
children, when Julien proposed going to bed, made a chorus of
objections.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_23 ^paragraph 50}
  "Another story," pleaded the eldest.
  "It is my own, signorino," replied Signor Geronimo. "It was eight
years ago; I was a pupil at the Neapolitan Conservatory. Now, mind
you, I was your age, but I had not the honor of being the son of the
illustrious Mayor of a pretty Verrieres." That made M. de Renal look
at his wife with a sigh.
  "Signor Zingarelli," continued the young singer, changing his accent
in a manner that made the children burst with laughter, "Signor
Zingarelli was an awfully severe master. He was not liked at the
conservatory, but he wished all to act as if they were enchanted
with him. I would leave the conservatory as often as possible, to go
to the little San-Carlino Theatre, where I would hear heavenly
music; but, mon dieu! how can a man make both ends meet when admission
costs eight sous- an enormous sum!" he cried, looking at the children,
who were laughing.
  "Signor Giovannone, Director of the San-Carlino Theatre, happened
once to hear me sing; I was then sixteen years old. 'That boy,' he
said, 'is a treasure!'
  "'Do you want me to engage you, my little man?' he suddenly said
to me.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_23 ^paragraph 55}
  "'And how much will you give me?'
  "'Forty ducats a month.' Gentlemen, that is one hundred and sixty
francs. I thought the very heavens were opening.
  "'But how,' I say to Giovannone, 'how can I get the terrible
Zingarelli to let me go?'
  "'Lascia fare a me.'"
  "Leave that to me," cried the eldest of the boys.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_23 ^paragraph 60}
  "Just so, my little monsieur. Signor Giovannone says, 'My dear,
first a little contract.'
  "Of course I sign it, and he gives me three ducats. I had not seen
so much money in my life; then he told me what to do. The next day I
went to see the terrible Zingarelli. His old servant let me in.
  "'What do you want, you scamp?' asked Zingarelli.
  "'Maestro,' I replied, 'I am awfully sorry for all that I have done;
I will never leave the conservatory again by that grilled door; I am
going to apply myself more than ever.'
  "'If I did not fear spoiling the prettiest basso voice that I have
ever heard I would put you in the dark room on bread and water for two
weeks, you varlet!'
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_23 ^paragraph 65}
  "'Maestro,' I began again, 'I am going to be the model of the
whole school; credete a me; but I want to ask a favor. If anyone
asks to have me sing somewhere, refuse. Please say that you cannot
allow it.'
  "'And who the devil would ask for a bad lot like you? Did I ever let
you leave the conservatory? Do you wish to mock me? Get out, get out!'
he cried, looking for a soft spot to give me a kick; 'or bread and
water, and the dark room!'
  "An hour later Signor Giovannone calls on the Director.
  "'I have come to ask you to let me make my fortune,' he says to him.
'Let me have Geronimo; let him sing at my theatre, and this winter I
can marry my daughter off.'
  "'What do you want with this scamp?' replied Zingarelli. 'No, you
can't have him; and, besides, even if I should consent, he would never
leave the conservatory; he just swore to me he would not.'
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_23 ^paragraph 70}
  "'If it is not of his own accord that he is doing this,'
Giovannone replied, drawing the contract out of his pocket, 'why,
carta canta! here is his signature!'
  "Zingarelli, then mad as fury, glues himself to the bell. 'Drive
Geronimo out of the conservatory,' he cries, boiling over with rage.
  "They drive me out, and I leave, laughing to split my sides. The
same evening I sang the air of Moltiplico. Punch, you know, wants to
get married, and he counts on his fingers all the things he needs
for housekeeping, and he gets mixed up in his calculations."
  "Oh, please, monsieur, sing it for us," said Madame de Renal.
  Geronimo sang, and all laughed until the tears came into their eyes.
Signor Geronimo did not retire until two o'clock in the morning,
leaving the family perfectly charmed with his lively, pleasing manner.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_23 ^paragraph 75}
  The next day M. and Madame de Renal gave him letters of introduction
which he would find useful.
  "And so, everything by finesse," thought Julien. "Here is Signor
Geronimo, who is going to London, with an income of sixty thousand
francs! Without the acuteness of the San-Carlino Director, his
divine voice would not have been known nor admired until ten years
later. Indeed, I would rather be a Geronimo than a de Renal; he is not
honored so much in society, but he has not the extreme pleasure of
being present at auctions like to-day, and lives a gay life."
  Julien was astonished at the fact that the weeks he had passed at
Verrieres in M. de Renal's house were such a period of happiness for
him. He had been disgusted only, or gloomy, at the dinners that were
given to him. In that solitary house could he not read, write,
think, without being disturbed? He had not been drawn from his lofty
thoughts every moment by the cruel necessity of watching the movements
of a sordid soul, to match it with cleverness and hypocrisy.
  "I could be so happy, and it would all be so easy. I could marry
Elisa or become Fouque's partner. The traveller, after climbing a
steep mountain, rests himself at the top, and finds pleasure in
repose; but would he be happy if he were compelled always to rest?"
  Madame de Renal's mind was passing through some peculiar phases.
In spite of her resolutions, she had told Julien the entire affair
about the auction. "He will make me forget every vow I make," she
sighed. Yet she would have sacrificed her life without hesitation to
save her husband if she saw him in peril. Hers was one of those noble,
romantic souls that experience not only remorse, but believe
themselves criminal in seeing the possibility of a good act and not
doing it. Yet there were days when she could not dispel the image of
the great delight she would have if, becoming a widow all at once, she
were to marry Julien. He loved her children more than their father
did. In spite of his stern justice, he was adored by them. She felt
that if she married Julien it would be necessary to leave Vergy, where
everything was so endeared to her, and she saw herself living in
Paris, continuing the admirable education of her boys. She herself and
her children and Julien would be so happy.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_23 ^paragraph 80}
  Strange effect of a nineteenth-century marriage! Marital relations
bring it about so that love, if it precedes marriage, surely
perishes after it. Yet a philosopher would say that it is because
there is nothing to occupy the mind that leads to all the ennui, and
that it is really only those dry souls among women that are not
disposed to love. Such philosophical reflection would excuse Madame de
Renal, but there was no pardon for her in Verrieres. The entire town
was busy talking about her love affair. And that autumn life for the
little town was therefore less dull than usual.
  But autumn passed very quickly, and all had to leave Vergy. The good
people of Verrieres began to be indignant at the fact that their
severe criticisms were making such a slight impression on M. de Renal.
In less than a week some grave persons showed it was their painful
duty to hint in well-measured terms, of course, at the gravest
suspicions.
  M. Valenod had placed Elisa in a noble family where there were
five other women. Elisa, fearing that she would not find a place for
the winter, had not asked of that family more than two-thirds of
what she received at the Mayor's house. She also had the excellent
idea of continuing her confession with the old curate Chelan, and of
telling him from time to time the details of Julien's love affair.
  The day after his arrival, at six o'clock in the morning, abbe
Chelan sent for Julien.
  "I do not ask of you," he said to him, "I pray you, I beseech you to
leave for the seminary at Besancon or for the place with your friend
Fouque, who is always ready to do well by you, within three days. I
have seen to everything; it is all arranged; but you must leave, and
not come back to Verrieres for a year."
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_23 ^paragraph 85}
  Julien did not answer. He was thinking if his dignity should not
be offended by the arrangements Chelan made, who, after all, was not
his father.
  "To-morrow, at this hour, I shall have the honor of seeing you
again," he said at length to the curate.
  M. Chelan, who wished to finish the matter all at once with the
young man, spoke then quite at length. Standing in his most humble
attitude, Julien did not open his mouth.
  He left soon afterwards to tell Madame de Renal of his great plight.
On her side, her husband had just spoken to her with a good deal of
candor. His innate weakness of character, aggravated even more by
the fortune coming from Besancon, had decided him to look upon her
as perfectly innocent. He had just told her of the queer opinion
that was almost publicly expressed in Verrieres. The public was wrong;
it was all only a sign of envy; but, really, what should he do?
  For a moment Madame de Renal had the illusion that Julien would
accept M. Valenod's offer and remain in Verrieres. But she was not the
simple, timid woman of the year before; her fatal passion, her
remorse, had enlightened her. She was indeed grieved to find, while
listening to her husband, that a separation of some sort would be
absolutely indispensable. "Away from me Julien is again with his
ambitions and his projects; it is all natural to a young man who has
nothing. And I, I am so rich, and yet my wealth is useless to me
now! He will forget me. With his fine disposition he will be loved,
and he will love in return. Oh, misery! But why should I complain?
Heaven is just. I have not had the strength to remove my guilt, and
judgment for the time being is suspended. I could have won over
Elisa with money; nothing would have been easier. I did not take the
trouble to think for a moment; my thoughts of loving him absorbed
all my time; I am lost!"
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_23 ^paragraph 90}
  Julien was struck with one thing in telling her of his proposed
departure. There was no selfish objection made, though she tried
hard to restrain her tears.
  "We must be firm, my dear," she said, cutting off a lock of his
hair. "I do not know what I am going to do, but if I die, promise me
that you will never forget my children; far or near, try to make
good men of them. If there is another revolution, all the nobles
will be killed, and their father will emigrate. Look over my little
family- give me your hand? There, good-by, my dear. This is the last
time we shall be together. With this great sacrifice I hope I shall
have the courage to think of my good name again."
  Julien was in despair. The simplicity of her farewell was touching.
  "No, I will not say good-by to you like that. I will go. Everybody
wants me to, and you as well as the rest. But three days after I leave
I will be back here at night."
  Madame de Renal's demeanor changed. Julien loved her then, since
of his own accord he said he would be back! Her grief changed
straightway to the greatest joy. All became easy to her now. The
certainty of seeing him again removed all that was heart-rending to
her in these last moments. Madame de Renal's bearing, like her face,
became noble, firm, calm.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_23 ^paragraph 95}
  M. de Renal returned soon; he was beside himself with rage. He spoke
of the anonymous letter he received two months before.
  "I am going to take it over to the Casino to show everybody how
infamous this Valenod is, whom I have taken out of the gutter to
make him one of the richest men in Verrieres! I am going to give him a
public insult. I will fight a duel with him. Oh, it's too much!"
  "I could then be a widow- good Lord!" thought Madame de Renal, but
almost at the same instant: "If I don't prevent this duel, which I
certainly can do, I shall be murdering my husband!"
  Never had she managed his vanity with such address. In less than two
hours she had made him realize, by using arguments which he could
not refute, that such a procedure would be showing more friendliness
than ever to M. Valenod. She further urged that it would be
advisable to take Elisa back to the house. Madame de Renal had need of
courage to decide taking that girl, who was the cause of all her
trouble, into the house again; but the idea came from Julien.
  At length, after two or three attempts, M. de Renal came to the
conclusion that Julien should become the tutor of M. Valenod's
children in response to public opinion. It was evidently to Julien's
interest to accept the Director's offer, but M. de Renal thought
that it would comport more with his own dignity if Julien left
Verrieres only to enter the Besancon or Dijon Seminary. But what
decision should he arrive at? M. de Renal, seeing an immediate
pecuniary sacrifice, was in greater despair than his wife. As for her,
she was in the same attitude of mind as a man who, weary of life,
had taken a dose of stramonium. It was a matter of indifference to
her; she took no interest in it any more. It was just as if Louis
XIV should say again that fine mot: "Quand j'etais roi."
                                        {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_23 ^paragraph 100}
  The next day, early in the morning, M. de Renal received a most
insulting anonymous letter, full of the vilest calumnies. It was the
work, no doubt, of some envious subaltern. The letter again led him to
the idea of fighting a duel with M. Valenod, fresh courage inciting
him to immediate action. Walking out alone, he went to get his
pistols, which he proceeded to load.
  "Well," he said to himself, "if the regime of Napoleon came again in
vogue I should not care in the least. I have some good letters in my
drawer that give me sufficient warrant."
  Madame de Renal was frightened by her husband's determined attitude.
She told him with bitterness what it would be if she became a widow-
an idea which she tried in vain to suppress. She took him aside, and
for several hours spoke to him in vain; the anonymous letter still
rankling in him. At last she succeeded so far as to decide him to give
Valenod only a slap and to give Julien six hundred francs for his
expenses at the Seminary. M. de Renal, cursing a thousand times the
day when he took the tutor into his house, did not mention again the
anonymous letter.
  He consoled himself somewhat with this thought, which he did not
express to his wife: he might adroitly work on the romantic ideas of
the young man, with the help of the little sum, to induce him to
refuse M. Valenod's offer.
  Madame de Renal in vain argued with Julien that, considering the
sacrifice he would make in not accepting the position of eight hundred
francs a year offered him publicly by the Director, he might honorably
accept the gift, but Julien kept on saying:
                                        {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_23 ^paragraph 105}
  "I have never had the idea for a moment of accepting that offer; you
have accustomed me too much to refined living; the coarseness of those
people would kill me."
  Cruel necessity, however, with its iron hand, made Julien's will
pliant. His pride suggested to him the farce of accepting the
Mayor's gift as a loan, and of giving him a five-year note, at
interest.
  Madame de Renal still had those few thousand francs hidden in the
little hollow in the mountain. She tremblingly offered it to him,
knowing only too well that it would be angrily refused.
  "Do you want," replied Julien, "to make the thought of our love
abominable?"
  And so Julien left Verrieres. M. de Renal was now perfectly happy.
                                        {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_23 ^paragraph 110}
  At the moment when the money was to be paid over, the sacrifice on
the Mayor's part seemed so great to Julien, that the latter absolutely
refused. M. de Renal embraced him, tears streaming from his eyes. Upon
Julien's request for a letter of recommendation, he could not
express himself enthusiastically enough in exalting Julien's
conduct. Our hero had saved up five louis, and thought of asking
Fouque for a like amount. He was very much moved, indeed; but hardly a
league from Verrieres, where he left so much love behind, he was
thinking only of the joy he would have in seeing a capital.
  During the three days following, Madame de Renal lived as in a
dream; her life was bearable, for there was still that meeting with
Julien to be looked forward to. She counted the hours, the minutes.
Finally, on the night of the third day, she heard the signal that
had been agreed upon. After overcoming a thousand perils Julien was
before her.
  She could think only of one thing- that this was her last sight of
him. Far from responding to his caresses, she remained almost
lifeless. If she forced herself to say that she loved him, it was with
an awkward, constrained air. Nothing relieved her from the cruel
idea of a final separation.
  The incredulous Julien thought for a moment that he had already been
forgotten. His words, which were indeed cruel to her, were received
only with tears that flowed silently down her cheeks as she gave him
convulsive pressures of the hand.
  "But, how can I believe you?" replied Julien to the indifferent
protestations of his friend. "You would show a hundred times more
feeling to Madame Derville, who is only an acquaintance of yours."
                                        {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_23 ^paragraph 115}
  Madame de Renal, petrified, did not know what to answer. "It is
impossible to be more unhappy- I hope I shall die- I feel my heart
is breaking." Such were the longest answers he could obtain.
  When daylight made his departure necessary, Madame de Renal's
tears ceased all at once. She saw him tie the knotted cord to the
window without saying a word to him, without giving him a kiss. In
vain Julien said to her:
  "You have now come to the point that you have so long desired; you
can live now without remorse. When your children are the least
indisposed, you need no longer think that they are in the grave."
  "I am so sorry that you could not kiss Stanislaus," she replied,
tremulously.
  Julien was profoundly moved in the end by the embraces from this
woman who was as cold as death; he could not think of anything else
for many leagues. His heart was rent in twain; and, before crossing
the mountain, he kept looking back as long as he could see the steeple
in Verrieres.

{BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_24
                              CHAPTER 24
                              A Capital
-
                    Such noise, such busy people!
                    So many ideas for the future
                    in a twenty-year-old head!
                    Such a distraction for love!
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_24 ^paragraph 5}
                                                         BARNAVE
-
  EVENTUALLY he saw the white walls beyond the distant mountain; it
was the citadel of Besancon.
  "What a difference," he said, sighing, "if I could come into this
fine city as a sub-lieutenant of one of these regiments of the post."
  Besancon is not only one of the prettiest cities in France, but it
abounds in brave and intelligent men. Julien, however, was only a
little peasant, without any means of approaching distinguished
personages. He had received from Fouque a bourgeois suit, and in
that costume he crossed the drawbridge. Having studied the history
of the siege of 1674, he wished, before settling himself in the
seminary, to see the ramparts of the citadel. Two or three times he
came very near being arrested by the sentinels; he was walking in
the part prohibited from trespassing by the military authorities,
because it produced hay to the value of some twelve or fifteen
francs a year. The height of the walls, the depth of the ditches,
the formidable looking cannon made a great impression on him. Then
walking on the boulevard he passed a cafe. He stopped, filled with
admiration. In vain he read the word "Cafe" in large characters over
the two immense doors; he could not believe his eyes. Making a final
effort to overcome his timidity, he entered. The room was thirty or
forty feet long, with a ceiling at least twenty feet high. The day was
one of enchantment for him. Two games of billiards were going on,
the waiters calling out the points. The players were running around
the billiard table, pushing away the spectators, tobacco smoke
enveloping all in a blue haze. The great stature of the men, their
broad shoulders, their heavy walk, their immense long whiskers and
their long coats, all attracted Julien's attention. These noble sons
of ancient Byzantium never talked, but shouted. They affected, too,
military air, and Julien was lost in admiration. He was thinking of
the attractiveness and magnificence of such a great capital as
Besancon. He could not summon enough courage to ask for coffee of
one of those proud-looking gentlemen who were calling off the
points. But the young lady at the cash drawer had remarked the
charming face of the young country boy, who, three feet away from
the stove, with his little bundle under his arm, was looking at the
white plaster bust of the King. This tall, well-formed young woman,
dressed suitably for a cafe, had already asked twice in a very soft
voice, so that it could not be heard by anybody but Julien:
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_24 ^paragraph 10}
  "Monsieur? monsieur?"
  Julien encountered large, soft, blue eyes, and saw that it was to
him they were directed.
  He approached the pretty girl's desk as promptly as if he were
marching against an enemy. In his quick movement his parcel fell down.
What pity this young provincial would inspire in the young
collegians in Paris, who, at fifteen years of age, know so well how to
enter a cafe! But these young men, so self-possessed at fifteen, are
blase at eighteen. The shyness that is to be found in the provinces
disappears sometimes, too; and then it is exchanged for most ardent
desire. In approaching this pretty young girl, who had deigned to
speak to him, he would have to tell her the truth, Julien thought.
He was becoming bolder in proportion as his timidity decreased.
  "Madame, I am here in Besancon for the first time in my life; I
should like to have, and I will pay for them, some coffee and rolls."
  The girl smiled a little and then blushed. She was afraid for this
handsome little fellow when the chaffing attention of the billiard
players would be attracted to him; he would then be frightened and
never return.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_24 ^paragraph 15}
  "Come here near me," she said, showing him a marble-topped table
almost hidden by the large mahogany desk that projected into the hall.
  The young lady leaned over the desk, displaying a superb figure.
Julien noticed it, his ideas rapidly undergoing a change. The pretty
girl then brought him a cup, some sugar, and a roll. She did not
wish to call a waiter for the coffee, knowing that on the waiter's
arrival her little tete-a-tete with Julien would be at an end.
  Julien thought of this lively, blond beauty, and silently communed
with the memories of a former time. The passion of which he had then
been the object banished all his timidity now. The pretty girl in an
instant read it in Julien's face.
  "The smoke makes you cough; come here at eight o'clock to-morrow for
breakfast, then I shall be entirely alone."
  "What is your name?" asked Julien, with a winning smile.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_24 ^paragraph 20}
  "Amanda Binet."
  "Can I send you in an hour a little package just like this?"
  The pretty Amanda reflected a minute. "I am watched. What you ask
might compromise me; but I will write my address on a card which you
can place on your bundle, and then you can send it to me all right."
  "I am called Julien Sorel," said the young man; "I have neither
relatives nor friends in Besancon."
  "Ah! I see," she replied, gayly. "Are you going to attend the Law
School?"
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_24 ^paragraph 25}
  "No," answered Julien; "they have sent me to the seminary."
  The greatest disappointment was betrayed in Amanda's face; she
called a waiter, having evidently regained her courage. The waiter
poured the coffee out for Julien without looking at him.
  Amanda was busy for a while at the counter; Julien feeling proud
of having talked to her. Some dispute arose at the billiard table, and
the cries and shouts of the players echoing through the vast hall were
quite astonishing to Julien. Amanda was seemingly lost in reverie.
  "If you wish, mademoiselle," he said to her, boldly, "I can say I am
your cousin." His confident air pleased Amanda.
  "Oh, he can't be a ninny," she thought. She quickly agreed to his
proposal without looking at him, for she saw someone approaching the
counter.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_24 ^paragraph 30}
  "I am from Genlis, near Dijon; say that you are also from Genlis,
and my mother's cousin."
  "I'll not forget," he answered.
  "Every Thursday in summer, at five o'clock, the seminarians pass
this cafe."
  "If you are thinking of me when I should pass, hold some violets
in your hand, will you?"
  Amanda looked at him with eyes wide open. Julien was no longer
brave, but rash. However, he blushed considerably when he said:
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_24 ^paragraph 35}
  "I feel that I love you passionately."
  "Talk lower," she said, looking frightened.
  Julien was only recalling the phrases of a little book, "Nouvelle
Heloise," he had found at Vergy. His memory did not fail him. For
ten minutes he kept on reciting to the ravished Amanda from
"Nouvelle Heloise." And he was glorying in his courage, when, all at
once, the young woman gave him a look that nearly froze him.
  One of her admirers had appeared at the door of the cafe, and was
swaggeringly approaching the board, shoulders foremost. He gave Julien
a long stare. At once the latter's high-flown imagination was filled
with the thought of a duel. He turned pale. Pushing away his cup, he
assumed a bold look and gazed back at his rival in defiance. While the
latter was familiarly pouring himself out a glass of whiskey,
Amanda, with a look, ordered Julien to lower his eyes. He obeyed;
and for two minutes he remained immovable in his seat, pale, resolute,
thinking only of what was going to happen. He was, indeed, prepared
for anything at that moment.
  His rival was astonished at Julien's eyes. Swallowing his glass of
whiskey at one draught, he exchanged a word with Amanda, stuck both
his hands in the pockets of his long overcoat, and walked towards
the billiard table in a bullying fashion, all the time looking at
Julien sideways. The latter was almost bursting with anger; but he did
not know how to issue a challenge. He put down his little bundle, and,
with a dandified air, walked toward the billiard table.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_24 ^paragraph 40}
  In vain prudence told him, "With a duel on your hands immediately on
arriving at Besancon your ecclesiastical career is at an end."
  "Oh, what is the difference?" he argued then. "It must never be said
that I submitted to insult."
  Amanda observed his courage, which was in such pleasing contrast
with his unobtrusiveness, and in a trice she preferred him to the tall
young man in the overcoat. She rose, and apparently seeing only what
was passing in the street, walked to where Julien was standing, near
the billiard table.
  "Be careful how you look at that man; he is my brother-in-law."
  "What do I care? He stared at me."
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_24 ^paragraph 45}
  "You want to make me unhappy? Of course, he looked at you. I told
him that you were a relative of my mother, and that you had just
come from Genlis. He is from Franche-Comte and has never passed
Dole, on the way to Burgogne. So you can say what you like; you need
not be afraid of anything."
  Julien still hesitated.
  She added very quickly, the imagination of a cash girl helping her
with an abundance of fiction:
  "Of course, he stared at you; but it was just when he asked me who
you were. He is a man that's good natured with everybody; he didn't
mean to insult you."
  Julien looked at this so-called brother-in-law. He saw him buy a cue
and heard him shout fiercely:
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_24 ^paragraph 50}
  "It's my turn, now!"
  He himself passed quickly in front of mademoiselle Amanda, towards
the billiard table. Amanda seized him by the arm.
  "You pay me first," she said to him.
  "That's so," thought Julien; "she was afraid I would go out
without paying."
  Amanda was so flustered that she became red in the face. She
returned the money to him stealthily as soon as she could, saying to
him in a low tone:
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_24 ^paragraph 55}
  "Leave the cafe at once or I won't love you!- but I do love you-
there!"
  Julien left, but very reluctantly.
  "Is it not my duty," he was saying to himself, "to stare back at
that tall fellow?"
  This uncertainty kept him on the boulevard for more than an hour. He
was watching for the man to leave, but, as he did not appear, Julien
went away. He had been in Besancon only a few hours, and one scruple
had already been overcome. The old surgeon, in spite of his gout,
had given him a few lessons in fencing; that was all Julien could rely
on in his present warlike mood. This fact, however, would not have
disconcerted him if he had known of any other way of provoking a
quarrel except by giving a blow. If it had come to fisticuffs, his
rival, enormous man that he was, would have made short work of him.
  "For a poor devil like me, without money or friends, there's no
great difference between a seminary and a jail; I must put my
clothes in some hotel, where I can again put on my black suit. If I
ever get to leave the seminary for a while, I could then see
mademoiselle Amanda again in these clothes."
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_24 ^paragraph 60}
  It was not bad reasoning; but Julien, though he passed many
hotels, did not dare enter any. At last, as he passed the Hotel des
Ambassadeurs, his restless eyes encountered those of a large,
florid-complexioned young woman. He came near and told her his
little tale.
  "Certainly, my little abbe," said the hostess to him; "yes, I will
keep your clothes for you, and I will even brush them sometimes.
Just at this time of the year it is not good to leave clothes
without attending to them." She took a key, conducting him herself
to a room, and asked him to make a memorandum of the contents of his
bundle.
  "Good Lord! you have a mighty fine face, monsieur abbe Sorel,"
said the large woman to him, when they came down into the kitchen.
"I am going to give you a good dinner, and," she added, in a low
voice, "it will cost you only twenty sous instead of fifty, which
everybody else pays, for you have to be economical with your little
purse."
  "I have ten louis," replied Julien, proudly.
  "Oh, good Lord!" cried the kind hostess alarmed, "don't talk so
loud. There are lots of bad people in Besancon; they will steal it
from you in less than a week; but be careful you don't go into any
of those cafes; they are a bad lot."
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_24 ^paragraph 65}
  "Is that so?" asked Julien thoughtfully.
  "Don't you go to anybody but to me, I will give you your coffee.
Sure, you'll always find a friend here and a good dinner, and it
will cost you only twenty sous. Sit down; I'm going wait on you
myself."
  "I can't eat now," said Julien to her, "I am too nervous; I am going
to the seminary after I leave you."
  The kind woman did not let him go until she had filled his pockets
with good things. Finally Julien walked toward the awful seminary, the
hostess standing in the doorway to show him the way.

{BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_25
                              CHAPTER 25
                             The Seminary
-
    Three hundred and thirty-six dinners at 83 centimes, three hundred
and thirty-six suppers at 38 centimes, chocolate for those who have
a right to it; what a price to win submission!
                                          LE VALENOD OF BESANCON
-
  FROM A DISTANCE he saw the gilt cross over the door. He walked
towards it slowly, feeling as if his knees would give way.
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_25 ^paragraph 5}
  "There is that hell on earth which I shall never leave!"
  After some time he summoned enough courage to ring the bell; the
sound of the bell reverberated within, as in a sepulchre.
  He waited ten minutes before a pale man, in black, came to open
the door. Julien looked at him, but was forced to turn his eyes
away, the doorkeeper's face was so terrifying. His greenish,
flashing eyes roamed like a cat's; his immovable eyelids suggested not
a trace of feeling; and over his protruding teeth opened thin, harsh
lips. Yet that face did not betray any inherent cruelty, but rather
that complete insensibility in which Julien read that whatever he
might say would be received with indifference and contempt.
  With much difficulty Julien raised his eyes to explain, in a voice
which his trembling heart made unsteady, that he wished to speak to M.
Pirard, the Director of the seminary. Without saying a word the man
made him a sign to follow. They mounted two flights of stairs,
guided by a wooden bannister, the rickety steps seeming about to
tumble down. A little door, surmounted by one of those large black
crosses that are to be seen in cemeteries, was opened, and the
doorkeeper ushered him into a low, gloomy chamber, where the sole
ornaments on the whitened walls were two large pictures, grimy with
age. There Julien was left alone. He felt crushed, panic-stricken;
tears would have been a relief to him. A silence as of death reigned
throughout the house. In a quarter of an hour, that to him seemed a
day, the ill-visaged doorkeeper appeared at a door opposite, and,
without deigning to speak, gave him a sign to follow.
  He entered a larger room than the first, but very dim. The walls
there also were whitewashed, but there was no furniture, save for a
little pallet, two straw-bottomed chairs, and a little uncushioned
armchair near the door. On the other side of the room, near the little
window, where the light streamed through yellowish glass, a
stern-looking man in a torn cassock was seated before a table,
assorting numerous square cards and writing a few words on them as
he laid them away. He did not seem to be aware of Julien's presence.
Julien remained immovable in the middle of the room where the
doorkeeper had left him. Ten minutes passed; the man in the shabby
cassock kept on writing. Julien, from sheer terror, thought he would
collapse, though a philosopher might have traced that state of mind
only to the influence of unaesthetic surroundings on a soul that loved
the beautiful.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_25 ^paragraph 10}
  The man who was writing finally raised his head. Julien did not at
first notice this, but when he did see the face that was turned toward
him he was struck with terror. The look was awful. Julien was dimly
conscious of a long face covered with red spots, except at the
forehead, which seemed to have the pallor of death. Between his red
cheeks and white forehead gleamed two little black eyes that were
enough to frighten the most courageous. The vast breadth of the
forehead was accentuated by the thick hair, black as jet.
  "Will you come near or not?" the man said, impatiently.
  Julien advanced with less confidence than ever, trembling as he
had never done in his life. He stopped three steps away from the
little white table where the cards were.
  "Nearer," muttered the man.
  Julien advanced, holding out his hand as if seeking support.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_25 ^paragraph 15}
  "Name?"
  "Julien Sorel."
  "You are very late," he said, turning again his terrible eyes on
him.
  Julien could not stand that look; still holding out his hand as if
to steady himself, he fell full length on the floor.
  The man rang the bell. Julien, though half-dead, then heard steps
approaching, and felt himself raised, and seated in the little
wooden armchair. The awful man was saying to the attendant:
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_25 ^paragraph 20}
  "He fell apparently from vertigo; there's nothing the matter with
him."
  When Julien felt strong enough to raise his eyes, he saw that the
red-faced man was writing again and the attendant had disappeared.
  "I must be brave," said our hero, "and at all costs hide what I
feel."
  He felt a sharp pain in his heart. "If anything happens to me the
Lord knows what they will think of me."
  At length the man put down his pen and looked at Julien.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_25 ^paragraph 25}
  "Are you in a condition to answer?"
  "Yes, monsieur," Julien replied, quickly.
  "That is well." The black-robed man half arose, looking
impatiently for a letter in his table drawer, which opened
squeakingly. Having found it, he slowly sat down, looking again at
Julien in a manner that bereft the latter of what little life was left
in him.
  "You are recommended by M. Chelan. He is the best curate of the
diocese, the most virtuous man there, and my friend of thirty years'
standing."
  "Ah! it is M. Pirard to whom I have the honor of speaking," said
Julien, faintly.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_25 ^paragraph 30}
  "Apparently," replied the Director of the seminary, eyeing him
severely. There was a new light in those small eyes, which was
followed by an involuntary movement of the muscles around the
corners of the mouth; it was the physiognomy of a tiger that is
tasting in advance the pleasure of devouring its prey.
  "Chelan's letter is short," he said, as though talking to himself,
"intelligenti pauca; in our fleeting time one cannot write too
little." He read aloud:
-
  "I recommend to you Julien Sorel of this parish, whom I baptized
twenty years ago. He is the son of a rich carpenter who does not
give him anything. Julien should prove a remarkable worker in the
Lord's vineyard; memory, intelligence, even thought is not wanting.
Will the inclination last? Is he sincere?"
-
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_25 ^paragraph 35}
  "Sincere!" repeated abbe Pirard in an astonished manner, looking
at Julien; but the abbe's look was a shade less inhuman.
"Sincere!" he repeated under his breath, resuming the reading of the
letter.
-
  "I ask a stipend for Julien; he will deserve it when he takes his
examinations. I have given him a touch of theology from that old and
good theology of Bossuet, Arnault, and Fleury. If this young man
does not suit you, send him back to me. The Director of the poor, whom
you know very well, offers him eight hundred francs a year to be tutor
for his children. My conscience is clear, thanks be to God! I am
accustoming myself to the terrible blow. Vale et me ama."
-
  Abbe Pirard softened his voice a little as he read the signature. He
pronounced the name Chelan with a sigh.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_25 ^paragraph 40}
  "He is at peace with himself," he said. "Indeed, his virtue is
deserving of that compensation; may God accord it to me!" He looked up
and crossed himself.
  After that pious movement Julien had less of that horror which froze
his blood on entering the room.
  "I have here three hundred and twenty-one aspirants to holy orders,"
said abbe Pirard at length, in a severe but not menacing tone. "Only
seven or eight are recommended to me by such men as abbe Chelan, and
so among the three hundred and twenty-one you will be the ninth; but
my protection means neither fear nor favor; it means redoubled care
and severity in repressing sin. Lock the door."
  Julien made an effort to walk, and succeeded in not falling. He
noticed that the little window near the door opened on a field; he
looked at the trees; the sight made him feel good, as if he saw an old
friend.
  "Loqueris ne linguam latinam?" ("Do you speak Latin?") said abbe
Pirard, on his return.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_25 ^paragraph 45}
  "Ita, pater optime" ("Yes, excellent father"), replied Julien,
himself again, though for the space of a half-hour no man seemed
less excellent to him than this M. Pirard. The conversation
continued in Latin. The expression of the abbe's eyes softened
somewhat, and Julien was regaining his sang-froid.
  "How weak I am," the latter was thinking, "to allow myself to be
imposed upon by such saintly appearances! That man may be just as much
of a hypocrite as M. Maslon." Julien congratulated himself on having
hidden nearly all his money in his boots.
  Abbe Pirard examined Julien in theology, and was surprised at his
knowledge. His wonder increased when he asked him more particularly
with reference to Holy Writ. But when he came to question him about
Patristic doctrine, he noticed Julien was totally ignorant, even to
the names of St.Jerome, St. Augustine, St. Bonaventure and St. Basil.
  "Yes," thought abbe Pirard, "that is the fanatical tendency to
Protestantism which I always remarked in Chelan- a too ready
acquaintance with Holy Writ."
  Julien had just said something, without being questioned on the
subject, about the date of Genesis and the entire Pentateuch.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_25 ^paragraph 50}
  "Ever this interminable reasoning about Holy Writ!" thought abbe
Pirard. "Though it is not private judgment, is it not the most
liberal Protestantism? And, side by side with this imprudent
knowledge, nothing about the Fathers to compensate for this tendency!"
  But the Director's astonishment knew no bounds when Julien, asked
about the authority of the Book, recited to him the entire book of
M. de Maistre, in place of maxims about the ancient Gallican Church.
  "Singular man, that Chelan!" thought abbe Pirard. "Did he teach
him the Book just to show him how to mock at it?"
  He tried in vain in his questioning of Julien to find out whether
that young man believed seriously in M. de Maistre's doctrine. The
young fellow mentioned only what his memory served.
  From that moment Julien was perfectly at his ease; he felt that he
was again master of himself. After a long examination it seemed to him
that M. Pirard's severity was somewhat softened. Indeed, but for his
stern principles, which for fifteen years he had adopted in his
treatment of the theological students, the Director of the seminary
would have embraced Julien for his learning's sake, the answers having
been so ready, clear, and precise.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_25 ^paragraph 55}
  "There is a good, healthy mind," he thought to himself, "but corpus
debile."
  "Do you often fall like that?" he asked Julien in French, pointing
with his finger to the floor.
  "That was the first time in my life. The doorkeeper's face
frightened me," Julien replied, stammering like a child.
  Abbe Pirard almost smiled. "That is the effect of the world's
vanity. You are accustomed, apparently, to smiling faces, veritable
images of lies. Truth is stern, monsieur. Is not our work here on
earth stern too? Your conscience must be aroused in order to be on
guard against this weakness for the vanities of life.
  "If you had not been recommended to me," continued abbe Pirard,
resuming the Latin with evident pleasure, "if you had not been
recommended to me by such a man as Chelan, I should have spoken to you
in the same worldly tone to which, it seems, you have been accustomed.
That pension which you ask, I should tell you, then, is the most
difficult thing in the world to obtain; but abbe Chelan would indeed
be paid but poorly if, after fifty-six years in the apostolic field,
he could not command a pension at the seminary."
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_25 ^paragraph 60}
  In conclusion abbe Pirard told Julien not to enter into any secret
society or in the Congregation without his consent.
  "I promise you on my word of honor," cried Julien, with all the
frankness of a sincere man.
  The seminary Director smiled then for the first time.
  "Such a word is out of place here," he said; "it recalls too much
the vain glory of the world where it is made an excuse for sin. You
owe me obedience by virtue of the seventeenth paragraph of the Bull of
Saint Pius V, Unam Ecclesiam. I am your superior ecclesiastic; in
this house it is all obedience, my son. How much money have you?"
  "There it is," thought Julien; "that is why he called me 'my dear
son.'"
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_25 ^paragraph 65}
  "Thirty-five francs, father."
  "Make careful note of what you are going to do with this money;
you will have to give an account."
  The trying interview lasted three hours, then Julien was ordered
to ring for the attendant.
  "Take Julien Sorel to cell No. 103," said abbe Pirard to the man. To
show some distinction, a separate room had been assigned to Julien.
  "Take his bag there, too," he added.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_25 ^paragraph 70}
  Julien looked down and recognized his valise, which had been near
him during the whole interview, though he had not noticed it.
  As they came to No. 103, a little room eight feet square, on the top
floor of the house, Julien noticed that it looked out on the ramparts,
where the beautiful valley, separated from the city by the Doube,
could plainly be seen.
  "What a charming sight!" cried Julien, but he did not know what he
was saying. The violent sensations that had rapidly succeeded one
another in the little time he had been in Besancon had drained him
of all emotion. Seating himself near the window, on the only chair
in the cell, he fell into a profound slumber. He did not hear the
supper bell nor vespers. It was as if he had been completely out of
the world. With the first rays of the sun the next morning, he awoke
to find himself lying on the floor.

{BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_26
                              CHAPTER 26
                    Society, or What the Rich Miss
-
    I am alone on the earth, no one deigns to think of me. Everyone
whom I see making a fortune has a cheekiness and a hard-heartedness
that I do not feel in myself. They hate me for my ready kindness.
Ah! soon I shall die, either of hunger or of the misfortune of
seeing such unfeeling men.
                                                           YOUNG
-
  BRUSHING his coat hastily, he went down stairs. He was indeed
late. An assistant proceeded to take him to task, but, instead of
excusing himself, Julien only crossed his arms before him, saying,
very contritely:
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_26 ^paragraph 5}
  "Peccavi, pater optime." ("I have sinned, excellent father.")
  It was a fine beginning. The clever ones among the seminarists saw
that they had to deal with a man who was not in the rudiments of the
art. Julien, though aware of being the object of general curiosity,
showed himself only reserved and silent. Following well-known
maxims, he considered his three hundred and twenty-one students
enemies; but the most dangerous in his eyes was abbe Pirard.
  After a few days Julien, obliged to choose a confessor, had a list
presented to him.
  "Good Lord! what do they take me for?" he said. "They think that I
don't know what talking means!" He chose abbe Pirard.
  Without a doubt it was a risky proceeding.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_26 ^paragraph 10}
  A young student, also a native of Verrieres, who at the very start
declared himself his friend, informed him that if he had chosen M.
Castanede, the Vice-Director of the seminary, he would have been
more prudent.
  "Abbe Castanede is the enemy of Pirard, who is suspected of being
a Jansenist," added the little seminarist, leaning towards him.
  Everything our hero did at first, like choosing a confessor,
though it appeared clever to him, was evidently very stupid. His vivid
imagination led him to regard his intentions as facts, and he
already believed himself possessed of consummate hypocrisy. His
self-delusion made him almost reproach himself for his too great
success in the art.
  "Oh, well, it is my only weapon. In another age it would be by
daring acts in the face of an enemy that I should have been
compelled to earn my bread." Julien's self-complacency gave him time
to look about him. He saw everywhere the appearance of sterling
virtue. Eight or ten seminarists were living in an odor of sanctity
and were having visions like St. Therese, or like St. Francois,
after receiving his marks in Mt. Vernia in the Apennines. But that was
a great secret, and friends were hiding it. These poor, visionary boys
were almost continually on the sick list. Another class of boys were
combining a robust faith with indefatigable application, working
themselves almost sick without accomplishing anything. Two or three
were distinguished for real talent, one, especially, by name of
Chazel; but Julien held aloof from them all. The rest of the three
hundred and twenty-one students were only coarse fellows who were
not quite sure that they understood the Latin which they repeated
all day long. Almost all were sons of peasants who preferred earning
their bread reciting Latin to following the plough.
  All this made Julien confident of a brilliant career.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_26 ^paragraph 15}
  "Everywhere," he would say to himself, "intelligence is in demand
when anything is to be done. Under Napoleon I should have been a
sergeant; among these future curates I am going to be a grand vicar.
All these poor devils," he would add, "grubbing from infancy, have
lived, until they came here, on skimmed milk and black bread at
home; they had meat five or six times a year. Like the Roman soldiers,
who saw in war only a holiday, these boors are delighted with the
delicacies of the seminary." Julien never read anything in their
dull eyes except the pleasure of a satisfying dinner past or to come.
  Such were the young men in the midst of whom he meant to distinguish
himself. But what Julien did not know, and what, moreover, everyone
took care not to tell him, was the fact that to be first in the
different courses in catechism, ecclesiastical history, and in
everything else that was taught at the seminary, was in the eyes of
all only a resplendent crime. Ever since Voltaire's time, and the
establishment of the government under the two Chambers, with its
heretical implication of private judgment, by which the people
acquired the vicious habit of doubting, the church of France has
been regarding books as its real enemies. It is submission that is
everything. Progress in studies, even in sacred studies, was therefore
suspected- for a good reason. For what would prevent a superior mind
from passing to the other side like Sieyes or Gregory? The trembling
Church leans on the Pope as its only hope of safety. Only the Pope
attempts to destroy the freedom of conscience. The only means at his
command is to dazzle the world, sick with this malady, with his
magnificent pomp and piety. When Julien half divined the truth, though
everything in the seminary seemed to hide it, he became much
disheartened. He had been working very hard and was making rapid
progress in all his priestly studies. All that, now, he thought
absurd, detaching from it all interest. There was nothing for him to
do any more.
  "I am going to be forgotten by the whole world," he thought. He
did not know that M. Pirard had received and had thrown into the
fire some letters in which was revealed the greatest passion, in spite
of their conventional form. Remorse was in conflict with love.
  "So much the better," abbe Pirard thought, "if it is not, after all,
a depraved woman whom this young man has loved."
  One day abbe Pirard opened a letter that was half effaced by
tears; it was a last farewell.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_26 ^paragraph 20}
  "At last," the letter read, "Heaven has given me the grace to
hate, not the author of my guilt, for I will always think of him the
dearest thing on earth, but the guilt itself. The sacrifice is made,
my dear- not without tears, as you see. The salvation of the beings
I have brought into the world, whom you have loved so much, demands
it. A just but terrible God will no longer avenge himself on them
for their mother's guilt. My dear Julien, don't judge me hastily!"
  The last part of the letter was scarcely legible. The address was
given as Dijon; but the hope was expressed that Julien would not
answer, or at least that he would use only such words as would be
proper to a woman who had returned to virtue again. Julien's
melancholy, aggravated by the poor nourishment which the
superintendent furnished the seminarians at eighty centimes per
dinner, began to tell on his health.
  One day Fouque appeared in his room.
  "Well, I have entered at last; I have been to Besancon five times to
see you, but always that wooden face! I have stood there at the door
waiting for you. Why in the devil don't you ever go out?"
  "It is a penance that I have inflicted on myself."
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_26 ^paragraph 25}
  "I see you are quite changed. I am glad to see you, anyhow. Two
five-franc pieces just inform me that I was only a fool not to have
put them in the right place at first."
  The conversation between the two friends was interminable. Julien
changed color when Fouque said:
  "By the way, do you know that the mother of your former pupils has
taken to religion?" and he spoke in a light manner that went hard with
the listener, whose soul was a prey to so many emotions.
  "Yes, yes, she is awfully devout. Why, they say she is going to make
a pilgrimage. But to the eternal shame of abbe Maslon, who has
played spy so long on poor M. Chelan, Madame de Renal would have
nothing to do with him. She goes to confession either to Dijon or to
Besancon."
  "She comes to Besancon?" asked Julien, his brow flushing.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_26 ^paragraph 30}
  "Often enough," replied Fouque.
  "Have you a 'Constitutionel' with you?"
  "What is that?" Fouque replied.
  "I ask you if you have some numbers of the 'Constitutionel' with
you?" Julien retorted, in the most matter-of-fact tone imaginable.
"They sell it for thirty centimes here."
  "What, even in the seminary, Liberals!" Fouque cried. "Poor France!"
he added, in the soft, hypocritical tone of abbe Maslon.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_26 ^paragraph 35}
  This visit would have made a deep impression on our hero if that
morning the little seminarist from Verrieres had not said something to
him, pointing to a great discovery. Since coming to the seminary
Julien's conduct had been only one long stretch of hypocrisy.
Nevertheless, he was disgusted with himself. What was of importance he
did sagely enough, but he cared nothing about details; and in the
seminary detail was everything. So it happened that already, in the
first few days, he had passed among his comrades as an espri fort.
But now he was to be betrayed.
  For, in their eyes, he had been convicted of an enormous crime; he
thought, he judged, for himself, in place of blindly following
authority. And, worse than all, abbe Pirard had not been of the
least service to him; indeed, the abbe had not once spoken a word to
him, except at confession, where he heard more than was told. It
would, indeed, have been quite different if abbe Castanede had been
chosen. But as soon as Julien became aware of his folly, he was no
longer disconcerted. Realizing the full extent of his mistake, he
began quickly to remove the distance with which he had kept himself
from the students. Then it was that these had their full revenge.
His advances were received with disdain, if not with derision. He
was made to feel then that since his entrance into the seminary
there had not been an hour, particularly during recreation, which
did not count either for or against him, with respect to the number of
enemies he was making, and that he had not won the friendship even
of the sincerer collegians or those less coarse among them. The
mistake he had to correct was indeed great, the task difficult.
Henceforth Julien was continually on his guard. He was going to
remodel his character completely.
  The movements of his eyes, for example, gave him a good deal of
concern- there was good reason for their being always lowered in
such places. "How presumptuous I was in Verrieres!" Julien said to
himself. "I thought I was living then. I was there only preparing
myself for life; here, at last, I am in the world, such as I will find
to the very end, surrounded by real enemies. What a terrible task to
be forever a hypocrite! It puts Hercules's labors in the shade. The
Hercules of our modern times is Sextus V, who for fifteen years
deceived, by his modesty, forty cardinals who believed him proud and
overbearing in his youth."
  "Knowledge is not anything here," he would say grimly. "Progress
in dogma, in sacred history, counts for nothing except what show it
would make. All that one can say of those things is just calculated to
make a fool like me fall into a trap. Pshaw! my real strength consists
in my rapid progress in tripping up these humbugs. Do they estimate
study at its true worth, or do they judge like myself? How foolish I
was! First in the class, which I always am, means only implacable
enemies. Chazel, who knows a good deal more, always puts in his
compositions something foolish, which brings him down to fiftieth in
the class. If he gets the first place it is because of some
oversight of his. Ah, a single word from Pirard would have been so
much to me!"
  From the moment that Julien became undeceived, the long devotional
exercises, like chapelet five times a week, and the Canticles of the
Sacred Heart, so horribly annoying to him at first, were now of the
greatest interest to him. Reflecting seriously on himself, and seeking
above all not to exaggerate his powers, Julien did not try at first,
like the collegians who served as an example to the rest, to do
something significant every moment; that is, to show a sort of
Christian perfection. In the seminary the rule was to eat a boiled egg
when progress in a devout life was to be announced.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_26 ^paragraph 40}
  Julien tried at first to arrive at the stage of non culpa; that
is, the stage in which the arms, the eyes, and other parts of the body
did not indicate anything of the world outside, but only a being
absorbed by the idea of the hereafter- the pure, spiritual life.
  Julien was continually finding written in chalk on the walls such
phrases as this: "What are sixty years of trial compared with an
eternity of light, or with an eternity of boiling oil in hell?"
Indeed, he did not despise these legends; he understood that it was
necessary to have them continually before one's eyes.
  "What am I going to do all my life?" he would say to himself. "I
am going to sell devout parishioners a place in heaven. How is that
place visible, anyhow? By the difference between my exterior and
that of a layman?"
  After several months of application, Julien still had a habit of
thinking. His way of looking, and of opening his mouth did not yet
announce that implicit faith which is ready to believe and to suffer
at the slightest word, so frequently seen in Italian convents and
preserved so faithfully in the paintings of Guerchin.
  It was with anger that Julien saw himself classed among the
self-denying by the coarse peasant boys. On great holidays the
students had sourkraut and sausage. Julien's table companions observed
that he was quite indifferent to that delicacy; that was his
earliest crime. His comrades saw in it only a little foolish
hypocrisy; nothing that he ever did made him more enemies.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_26 ^paragraph 45}
  "See that bourgeois," they would say, "playing the aristocrat,
pretending to despise the best thing we have had for a long time,
the proud fool! Damn!"
  "Yes, the ignorance of these young peasants is an immense
advantage to them," Julien would cry out when he was most discouraged.
"When they arrived at the seminary, the professor did not have to
rid them of that frightful number of worldly ideas which I brought
with me and which they read in my face, whatever I may do."
  Julien studied, with an attention that bordered on envy, the
coarsest of the peasants who would arrive at the seminary, when
their ratteen coat was removed to robe them in black; their
education was limited only to an illimitable respect for "hard and
flowing cash," as the phrase goes in Franche-Comte, when the heroic
and saintly worship of money is to be expressed.
  Happiness for these students, as for the heroes in Voltaire's
novels, consisted in a good dinner. Julien discovered in most all of
them an inherent respect for a man dressed in broadcloth.
  "What is there to gain," they would repeat among themselves, "by
complaining against a gros?"
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_26 ^paragraph 50}
  That was a word used in the Jura valleys for a rich man. How they
respected the richest of all, the government, may only be guessed. Not
to smile respectfully at hearing the name of the prefect was
equivalent, with Franche-Comte peasants, to an imprudence; now
imprudence with these poor devils is promptly paid by refusal of
bread.
  After being almost choked by the disdain he had for them, Julien
ended by pitying them. Did it not often happen that the parents of
most of his colleagues, on returning to their homes on a winter night,
found neither bread nor cabbage nor potatoes?
  "What is there astonishing about it," Julien would say, "if in their
eyes the happy man is first of all the one who has had a good
dinner, and after him the man with a good coat? My fellow students are
consistent; they see in the ecclesiastical calling a long continuation
of happiness, a good dinner, and a warm suit in the winter."
  Julien happened to overhear a young seminarist, who was gifted
with an imagination, saying to his companion, "Why couldn't I become
Pope like Sextus V, who tended pigs?"
  "Oh, they make Popes only of Italians," replied his friend. "But,
really, they all draw their lot from among our number for positions of
grand vicars or canons and bishops. M__ P__, the Bishop of Chalons, is
a carpenter's son, and my father is a carpenter."
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_26 ^paragraph 55}
  One day, during the dogma hour, abbe Pirard called Julien to him.
The poor fellow was delighted to step out of the physical and moral
atmosphere into which he had been plunged. Julien was again received
in the manner that had frightened him so much on his coming to the
seminary.
  "Explain to me, sir, what is it that is written on this playing
card," he said to him, with a look that was calculated to crush him.
Julien read:
  "Amanda Binet, Cafe de la Giraffe, before eight o'clock. Say that
you are from Genlis- my mother's cousin."
  Julien saw his great danger. Abbe Castanede's spies had stolen the
card from him.
  "The day I came here," he replied, looking at abbe Pirard's brow,
the latter's eyes being too much for him, "I was in great
perplexity. M. Chelan told me that I should find here a place full
of informers and tell-tales, where spying and jealousy among fellow
students are encouraged. Heaven has so decreed in order to show real
life to young priests and to inspire them with proper disgust for
the world and its pomp."
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_26 ^paragraph 60}
  "And so you have fooled me with your fine phrases, haven't you?"
replied the abbe furiously. "Little scoundrel!"
  "At Verrieres," Julien began again, coolly, "my brothers beat me
whenever they had occasion to be jealous."
  "Indeed, indeed!" cried M. Pirard, beside himself. Without being
in the least disconcerted, Julien continued:
  "The day I arrived at Besancon, towards noon I was hungry and I
entered a cafe; my heart was filled with repugnance for so profane a
place, yet I thought that breakfast would cost me less there than at
an inn. The lady who seemed to be the mistress of the place took an
interest in me. 'Besancon is an awfully wicked place,' she told me,
'and I am in dread about you; but if anything happens to you, you
can depend on me. Be sure to send for me, but before eight o'clock. If
the officers of the seminary refuse to deliver the message, say that
you are my cousin, coming from Genlis.'"
  "All this is going to be verified," cried abbe Pirard, who, scarcely
able to contain himself, was walking to and fro.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_26 ^paragraph 65}
  "Send him back to his cell."
  The abbe followed Julien and then shut the door.
  The latter immediately overhauled his grip, at the bottom of which
he had hidden the fatal card. But nothing was missing, though there
were signs of rummaging. And yet he had had his key about him all
the time.
  "What luck," Julien was saying to himself, "that I have never
taken advantage of the permission to go out given to me so
frequently by M. Castanede, and with such incomprehensible kindness!
If I had been weak enough to change my clothes and to see the pretty
Amanda, I should be lost now." As it was impossible to bring him to
commit himself in connection with the clue they had, they had simply
resorted to a calumny.
  Two hours later the Director summoned him.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_26 ^paragraph 70}
  "You have not lied," he said to him, looking at him less severely
than before; "but to have such an address about you is an imprudence
of which you cannot appreciate the full gravity, unfortunate young
man! In ten years perhaps you will see what trouble it will bring
you."

{BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_27
                              CHAPTER 27
                     The First Experience of Life
-
    The present, good God! It is the ark of the Lord- cursed be he who
touches it.
                                                         DIDEROT
-
  THE READER will permit a brief account of Julien's life at this
time. Details, indeed, are not wanting, but his experiences at the
seminary might be a little too dark for the soft coloring given in
these pages. It may recall memories to men of the present day that
might mar every pleasure, even that of reading a tale.
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_27 ^paragraph 5}
  Julien succeeded rather indifferently in his hypocritical efforts.
Occasionally he would be so disgusted with himself as to become
completely discouraged: he was not successful even in base
undertakings. The least help from without would have been an
inspiration to him, the difficulties being really not so very great;
but he was alone, like a bark in mid-ocean.
  "And even if I should succeed," he would say to himself, "to spend
my whole life in such awful company, amid such surroundings, it is
terrible! With gluttons who think only of the omelette which they
are going to have for dinner; or with Castanedes, for whom no crime is
black enough! Yes, there is power, but at what price, good Lord! The
will of man is mighty, I find that everywhere; but is it powerful
enough to overcome such disgust? The work of great men was easy;
whatever danger they encountered was at least attractive. But who,
except myself, knows the rottenness that is surrounding me?"
  That was the most trying period in his life. He would have been
mad with delight if he could have enlisted in one of those fine
Besancon regiments. Oh, he might master the Latin, but of what good
would that be for a living? Yet that would be the end of a career,
he thought; the end of everything; as good as death! That, in the
main, tells the story of his miserable days.
  "I was so often encouraged because I am so different from the
other young fellows," he would say. "Oh, well, I have lived long
enough to know that difference engenders hate-" a great truth that
came to him during one of his hardest days.
  He had worked hard for a week to please one of the students who
was giving himself an air of sanctity. He was walking with him in
the court, and was almost falling asleep over his companion's
nonsense. All at once it began to thunder, and the saintly scholar
cried out, repulsing him rudely:
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_27 ^paragraph 10}
  "Here, each one for himself in this world! I don't want to be struck
by lightning. Why, the Lord may rend you with a thunderbolt for a
heretic like Voltaire!"
  Angrily gritting his teeth, Julien cried out, lifting up his eyes:
  "Yes, I should deserve being punished by God if you put me to
sleep in all this storm."
  "Well, I am going to try and make a conquest of some other fool," he
mused.
  The hour for abbe Castanede's sacred history lesson came. Abbe
Castanede that day taught the young peasants, who had been harassed by
hard work and grinding poverty when they were at home, that that
creature the government, which to them seemed so terrible, had no real
or legitimate power except by virtue of what the vicegerent of God
on earth chose to give it.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_27 ^paragraph 15}
  "Become worthy of the grace of the Pope by the sanctity of your
lives, by your obedience; be an instrument in his hands," he said,
"and you will arrive at a commanding position, removed from all
control; a permanent position to which the government pays one-third
and the faithful the rest."
  After the lecture M. Castanede stopped for a while in the court.
  "It speaks well for a curate when it can be said of him, 'The man is
worth so much, the place is worth so much,'" he said to the gathered
pupils. "I have known, yes, I have known of mountain parishes where
the perquisites were worth more than a metropolitan curacy. There
was a great deal of money, too, without counting the capons, the eggs,
fresh butter, and a thousand other things. And there the curate is
first in everything; not a banquet to which he is not invited."
  Hardly had M. Castanede gone to his room, when the students broke up
into groups; Julien, not being in any one of them, was left alone like
a black sheep. He saw everywhere a coin tossed up in the air: if one
of the seminarians could guess head or tail, his companions would
immediately conclude that he would have one of the curacies with all
the perquisites.
  And then came stories. A certain young priest, hardly in his place a
year, had given a rabbit to an old curate's servant, and had thereby
obtained the privilege of calling on the vicar. A few months later,
when the curate died, he was chosen his successor. Another one
succeeded in having himself elected to a curacy in a large and wealthy
city by dining with an old paralyzed curate and gracefully carving his
meat for him. The seminarists, like young men in all professions,
exaggerated the effect of these petty means, believing them
extraordinary.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_27 ^paragraph 20}
  "I must take part in these conversations," Julien said. "When they
are not talking about good sausages and good curacies, they
entertain themselves with a worldly view of ecclesiastical doctrine,
with the dissensions between bishops and prefects, and between
mayors and curates."
  Julien saw, gradually looming up before him, a second God, more to
be feared and more powerful than the other, the Pope. It was
whispered, especially when M. Pirard was not near, that if the Pope
did not take the trouble to appoint all the prefects and all the
mayors in France, it was because he chose to leave it to the King of
France when the latter was named the eldest son of the Church.
  It was just at this time when Julien believed he sided with the book
on the Pope by M. de Maistre. Indeed, he astonished his companions;
but that, too, was a misfortune for him. He displeased them when he
expressed their own opinions better than they did. Chelan had been
as imprudent with Julien as with himself. After imparting to him the
habit of thinking correctly and of discarding vain words, he had
neglected to tell him that with a man of no influence such a habit
is a crime. Julien's fluency of speech was another offence. His
comrades only thought of him with horror; they called him Martin
Luther, "just because he is so proud of his infernal logic," they
would say.
  Several young seminarists had the freshness of color that Julien did
not possess; but he had white hands that revealed a certain element of
refinement. In that institution into which chance had placed him
that fact counted for little. The dirty boys with whom he had to
live said that it was only an indication of loose manners.
  But we fear of tiring the reader with the recital of our hero's
miseries; such, for instance, as the habit the strongest fellows
contracted of striking him from time to time. He was obliged to arm
himself with a piece of iron, and to give evident signs that he was
prepared to use it. Signs were, indeed, better in that place than
words, where everything passed under the eyes of spies.

{BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_28
                              CHAPTER 28
                             A Procession
-
    All hearts were moved. The presence of God seemed to come down
into these narrow gothic streets, strained on every side, and
gravelled by the care of the faithful.
                                                           YOUNG
-
  JULIEN in vain made himself humble and low. He was not successful-
something he had not expected.
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_28 ^paragraph 5}
  "Ah," he would say to himself, "all these professors are very
fine, chosen perhaps from a thousand; how is it they don't admire my
humility?"
  One of them seemed to take him at his word and to make it appear
as if he admired it; it was abbe Chas-Bernard, who had charge of the
cathedral ceremonies, and who for fifteen years had been watching
for a place in the canon. While waiting, he gave instructions in
sacred oratory. In his unenlightened period that course was among
those in which Julien almost always was first. Abbe Chas took occasion
to manifest great friendship for him. After the hour one day, he
took his arm and made the rounds of the garden with him.
  "Where is he going?" Julien asked himself. Then for hours he heard
the abbe speak of the ornaments in the cathedral. There were seventeen
chasubles, besides mourning ornaments, and there were also great
expectations from the old lady president Rubempre. This lady, who
was ninety years of age, had kept for sixty-six years her wedding gown
of fine Lyons material brocaded with gold.
  "Imagine, young man," abbe Chas would say, stopping short, with eyes
wide open, "imagine that material is stiff with gold. It is
generally believed in Besancon that by the lady president's will the
cathedral treasury will be increased by more than ten chasubles, not
to speak of four or five copes for the great holidays. I will even
go farther," added abbe Chas, lowering his voice; "I have reason to
think that she will also leave eight magnificent silver flambeaux
which, it is said, have been bought in Italy by the Duke of
Burgogne, one of whose ancestors was the favorite minister of
Charles the Bold.
  "But what is this man driving at with all this stuff?" Julien
thought; "all this adroit preliminary might last a century, and
nothing is coming. I must be on my guard; he is sharper than all the
rest. With them I can find out the secret well enough in about fifteen
days; I see, though, that this man's ambition has been suffering for
fifteen years."
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_28 ^paragraph 10}
  One evening, while exercising with fencing, Julien was called to
abbe Pirard.
  "To-morrow," the abbe said, "will be the feast of Corpus Domini;
abbe Chas-Bernard will want you to help him decorate the cathedral. Go
and obey." But immediately abbe Pirard called him back, saying in a
kindlier tone, "It is left to you now whether you will take
advantage of the opportunity, while you are in town, of walking
about."
  "Incedo per ignes," said Julien to himself. (There are enemies
hiding.)
  Early the next day Julien walked to the cathedral, with eyes on
the ground. The sight of the streets and the activity which reigned
all around him made him feel good. Everywhere people were standing
in front of their houses to watch for the procession. The time that he
had spent in the seminary seemed only a moment to him. His mind was
now at Vergy and now with the pretty Amanda Binet, whom he might meet,
the cafe being not very far away. He saw Chas-Bernard, from a
distance, at the door of his dear cathedral; he was standing there
jubilant and joyful. That day would be one of triumph for him.
  "I have been expecting you, my dear son," he cried, when Julien
was still at a distance. "Oh, you are indeed welcome! The labor for
this day will be long and arduous. Let us fortify ourselves first with
a little breakfast, then we shall have another at ten o'clock,
during high Mass."
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_28 ^paragraph 15}
  "I desire, monsieur," Julien replied, gravely, "not to be alone
for an instant. Please observe," he added, pointing to the clock,
"that I arrived here at one minute of five."
  "Ah, those wicked boys in the seminary have frightened you, have
they? You are right to be on your guard against them," said abbe Chas.
"But is a road less beautiful because there are thorns by the wayside?
Travellers pass on, leaving the prickly thorns to dry away. Now to
work, my son, to the work before us!"
  Abbe Chas was right in saying that the labor would be arduous. The
day before there had been a large funeral in the cathedral, and
nothing could be arranged then; in one morning, therefore, it was
necessary to cover the three Gothic pillars with a sort of red
damask to a height of thirty feet from the top. The Bishop had sent
four upholsterers from Paris, but these men could not do all the work,
and far from encouraging the Besancon men who assisted them, they
merely jeered at them. Julien saw that he would have to mount the
ladder himself, his agility serving him well. He took charge of the
local upholsterers himself. Abbe Chas was enchanted when he saw him
run up the ladder. When all the pillars were covered with the
damask, five large bunches of feathers were yet to be placed on the
great baldachin over the chief altar. A richly carved crown rested
on eight columns of Italian marble, but to reach the centre of the
baldachin, on top, it was necessary to walk along an old wooden
cornice at a height of forty feet from the floor. The idea of
walking on that cornice had almost spoiled the dashing gayety of the
Paris upholsterers. They looked down from where they stood, as if
measuring the risk they would run. In the end they refused to make the
dangerous trip across. Julien took the feathers, and, running up the
ladder, placed them in the form of a crown in the centre of the
baldachin. As he stepped down the ladder abbe Chas pressed him in
his arms.
  "Optime!" cried the good priest. "Oh, I will surely tell it to
Monseigneur."
  The ten-o'clock breakfast was a very cheering one. Never had abbe
Chas seen his church so pretty.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_28 ^paragraph 20}
  "My dear pupil," he cried to Julien, "my mother rents the chairs
in this venerable basilica, so that I can say I have been nursed in
this fine edifice. The Terror of Robespierre ruined us; but when I was
eight years old I assisted at the Masses, and they fed me from the
daily Mass. No one could fold a chasuble better than I; the lace was
never torn. Since the reestablishment of the Church under Napoleon,
I have had the honor of directing everything in this venerable pile.
Five times a year my eyes see it bedecked with all these beautiful
hangings; but never has it been so resplendent, never has the damask
been so beautifully draped around these magnificent pillars."
  "At last he is going to tell me his secret," thought Julien; "now
that he is talking about himself, he is going to open his heart."
  But nothing imprudent was said by that man who was evidently in
great exultation. And he had worked so hard!
  "Well, it is all right," said Julien, "the good wine was not spared.
What an example for me! But this is a feather in his cap!-" a phrase
inherited from the army surgeon.
  When the Sanctus of the Mass rang out, Julien wanted to throw a
surplice over his shoulders and follow the Bishop in the procession.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_28 ^paragraph 25}
  "But the thieves, my dear, but the thieves!" cried abbe Chas, "you
are not thinking about that? The procession is going to pass now;
you and I will have to watch here. We shall, indeed, be fortunate if
we miss only a couple of yards of this fine lace around the pillars;
that, too, was a gift from Madame de Rubempre; it is from the famous
count, an ancestor of hers; it is of pure gold, my dear," added the
abbe whispering in his ear, apparently very much excited; "nothing
gilt about that. I put you in charge of the northern wing; do not
leave it, do not go out. I myself will look out in the southern wing
and the nave. Look sharp with those who are in the confessional; it is
among them that the thieves are found, and they are just waiting for
the moment when our backs are turned."
  As he finished speaking it struck a quarter to twelve. The sound
of the great bell reverberated within, the full, solemn peal moving
Julien to his very depths. His imagination carried him far above the
earth. The odor of incense, and the rose leaves scattered before the
Holy Sacrament by little boys dressed like St. John, combined to bring
him to a state of the highest exaltation.
  The pealing of the bell should not have given Julien any other
idea than that twenty men were working for fifty centimes, aided by
fifteen or twenty other devoted men. He should have thought of the
cords and of the clapper, and of the danger coming from the bell
itself, which had once fallen down. He should have thought, also, of a
way of diminishing the pay of the bell-ringers, or of paying them only
with some indulgence or other that would leave the Church's purse
intact. But in place of such sage reflections, Julien's soul,
exalted by the magnificent sound, was wandering in ethereal heights.
Never would he make a good priest or a wise administrator! Souls
that are thus moved are fit only for artists. Here was seen Julien's
defect. Fifty other seminarists, necessarily made attentive to the
realities of life by popular hatred and Jacobinism, would have thought
only of the wages of the bell-ringers if they had heard the sound from
the belfry. They would have examined with the genius of Bareme if
the degree of emotion it caused was worth the money the ringers
received. If Julien had thought of the material interest of the
cathedral, his imagination would have gone farther still, perhaps to a
saving of forty francs to the vestry, and also another additional
expense of twenty-five centimes.
  While the procession was making its way through Besancon, stopping
now and then before the brilliant stands erected by the authorities, a
solemn silence reigned in the church. The light was dim; an
agreeable freshness prevailed; it was still fragrant with the
perfume of flowers and incense. The silence, the profound solitude,
the depth of the nave made Julien's reverie inexpressibly sweet. He
had no fear of being troubled by the abbe Chas, who was busy in
another part of the church. Though charged to stand guard in the
northern wing, his soul was in reality far away from his material
surroundings. He was the more free to muse, since in the
confessional he could see only a few pious women. His eye really
looked without seeing. But his attention was somehow drawn to two
richly-dressed women, one kneeling before the confessional, the
other seated on a chair. He did not at first notice them particularly,
yet, whether it was from a feeling of duty or from the elegant
attire of the women, he remarked that there was no priest in the
confessional. It was singular, he thought, that these handsome women
were not kneeling before the altar if they were devout, or were not in
front of some balcony if they were not.
  "How becoming that gown is! What grace!" He walked slower, to
observe them to better advantage. The one who was in the
confessional happened to turn her head slightly on hearing the noise
of Julien's footsteps echoing amid all the silence. All at once she
gave a cry and fell in a dead faint.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_28 ^paragraph 30}
  In fainting she fell backwards. As her friend, who was near her,
sprang to her assistance, Julien saw, over the shoulders of the
fainting woman, a twisted pearl necklace he knew quite well. The woman
was Madame de Renal.
  The lady who was trying to raise the fainting woman's head, so as to
prevent her from falling at full length, was Madame Derville.
Julien, beside himself, sprang forward. Madame de Renal's fall would
perhaps have caused also that of her friend if Julien had not assisted
them both. Madame de Renal's pale face, in which there was not a
sign of consciousness, rested on his shoulder. He helped Madame
Derville place a chair for the support of her head, he himself
remaining on his knees.
  Madame Derville, turning around, recognized him.
  "Go away, monsieur, go away," she said, with great anger. "Why, it
is you above all she must not see; the sight of you will be terrible
to her. She was so happy before you came! Your actions are vile! Go,
if you have any shame left."
  It was all said with such authority that Julien, weakened by his
emotion, immediately retreated.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_28 ^paragraph 35}
  "Oh, she has always hated me," he said to himself, thinking of
Madame Derville.
  Presently the nasal chanting of the foremost priest in the
procession was heard in the church. Abbe Chas-Bernard called to Julien
several times, but without making himself heard. At length he took
Julien by the arm, as the latter, almost unconscious, was leaning
against a pillar. The abbe wished to present him to the Bishop.
  "You don't feel well, my son," said the abbe to him, observing his
paleness, "and you are hardly in a condition to walk; you have
worked too hard." The abbe gave him his arm.
  "Come, sit down on this bench here, before the holy water, behind
me; I will hide you." They were then opposite the wide entrance. "Now,
don't get nervous, we have twenty minutes before Monseigneur comes.
When he appears, I will help you rise, for I am strong, even if I am
old."
  But when the Bishop passed, Julien trembled so that abbe Chas
renounced the idea of presenting him.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_28 ^paragraph 40}
  "Oh, you need not feel it so much, I will find another occasion."
  In the evening he brought to the seminary chapel ten pounds of
candles, saved, as he said, through Julien's care, by the promptness
with which he had extinguished them. The poor boy, nearly extinguished
himself, was incapable of a single idea from the time he had seen
Madame de Renal.

{BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_29
                              CHAPTER 29
                        The First Advancement
-
       He knew his age, he knew his department, and he is rich.
                                                   LE PRECURSEUR
-
  JULIEN had not yet emerged from the profound sadness into which he
had been plunged in the cathedral, when, one morning, the severe
abbe Pirard summoned him.
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_29 ^paragraph 5}
  "I see that abbe Chas-Bernard has written me something good about
you. On the whole, I am quite satisfied with your conduct; you are
extremely imprudent and heedless without appearing so, yet your
heart has so far been good and even generous; the mind is superior.
Altogether, I see in you a spark which must not be neglected.
  "After fifteen years of labor I am about to leave this
institution. My crime consists in having permitted the students
private judgment, and in not having protected more strongly the secret
society of which you spoke to me in confession. Before leaving I
wish to do something for you; I intended doing it two months ago-
for you deserve it- if it had not been for that charge concerning
the address of Amanda Binet that was found with you. I appoint you
Reader in the Old and New Testament."
  Julien, full of gratitude, was inclined at first to fall on his
knees to offer his thanks to God; but, yielding to a more natural
impulse, he approached abbe Pirard, and taking his hand, carried it to
his lips.
  "What! what is that?" remonstrated the Director, sternly. But
Julien's eyes told more than his action.
  Abbe Pirard looked at him with astonishment, as a man would
naturally do who for fifteen years had lost every trace of emotion.
Yet this attention moved the Director; his voice changed.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_29 ^paragraph 10}
  "Ah, well, my son, I feel attached to you; Heaven knows it is
against my own will. I should be just, and have neither hatred nor
love for anybody. Your career is a difficult one. I see in you
something that is offensive to the rabble. Jealousy and calumny will
pursue you. In whatever place Providence will place you, those about
you will never look at you but to hate you; and if they pretend to
love you, it will be only the more surely to betray you. For that
there is only one remedy- trust in God alone, who has given you, in
order to punish you for your presumption, this necessity of being
despised. Let your conduct be pure; it is the only resource that I see
for you. If you hold to the truth without faltering, sooner or later
your enemies will be confounded."
  It had been so long since Julien had heard a friendly voice that the
weakness may be pardoned him- he burst into tears. Abbe Pirard
opened his arms; it was a happy moment for both.
  Julien was wild with joy. That promotion was the first he had
obtained; the advantages were very great. To understand them it must
be known that he had been condemned to pass entire months without a
moment to himself, and always in immediate contact with young men
who were, for the most part, unbearable. Their shouts alone were
enough to grate on a delicate organization like his. The noisy
merriment of the well-fed and well-clothed peasants was expressed with
all the force of iron lungs. Now Julien would dine alone, nearly an
hour after the students. He also received a key to the garden, where
he could walk about at times when it was deserted.
  To his great astonishment, Julien saw that he was being less
hated. In fact, he had expected even greater hatred than before. His
secret desire that he should not be spoken to, which, nevertheless,
was so evident, and which made so many enemies for him, was no
longer taken as a mark of hauteur. In the eyes of these coarse fellows
who surrounded him, it was now only a feeling suitable to his dignity,
and so the hatred and scorn visibly diminished, especially among the
youngest students, now his pupils, whom he had always treated with
much politeness. Indeed, he even came to have partisans; it became
rude to call him "Martin Luther."
  But why should his friends or his enemies be mentioned? All that
is bad enough, and the worse for being true. Yet these are the only
teachers of morals the people have, and without these what would
become of them? Can a newspaper take the place of a curate?
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_29 ^paragraph 15}
  From the time Julien received his appointment, the Director of the
seminary never spoke to him but in the presence of witnesses. There
was in this proceeding as much prudence for master as for pupil; but
it was above all a test. The invariable principle of the severe
Jansenist was: if a man has any worth, put an obstacle in the way of
all his desires and undertakings; if he is of the proper stuff, he
will know well enough how to overcome all difficulties.
  As it was then the hunting season, Fouque took it into his head to
send a deer and a boar to Julien, making it appear as coming from
the latter's family. The dead animals were placed in the passage
between the kitchen and the refectory, where all the students saw them
as they went to dinner. The animals were a great curiosity. The
boar, dead as it was, frightened the youngest boys, though they took
delight in feeling its tusks. Nothing else was talked of for a week.
This gift, which placed Julien's family in a social rank that was to
be respected, dealt a mortal blow to envy; he was now placed in
unquestionable superiority. Chazel and the most distinguished scholars
now made advances, and were almost ready to complain to him for not
having informed them of his parents' wealth, and for thus allowing
them to be lacking in respect for people of means.
  The annual recruiting took place, from which Julien was exempt by
virtue of being a theological student. That circumstance moved him
profoundly.
  "There is another opportunity gone in which, twenty years ago, a
heroic career would have opened for me."
  As he was walking in the seminary garden he heard some masons who
were working on the wall talking among themselves.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_29 ^paragraph 20}
  "So we must go now; there is the new draft."
  "In the time of the other one, sure, a mason could get to be an
officer, and even a general."
  "See what it's now; it is only tramps who are going; everyone who
has anything stays at home."
  "He who is born miserable stays miserable; that's all."
  "Say, is it so, what they say, that the other one is dead?"
asked a third mason.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_29 ^paragraph 25}
  "It is the gros who say that, that is all. The other frightens
them."
  "Oh, what a difference! How everything went in his time! And to
say that he was betrayed by his marshals! Could they be traitors?"
  The conversation consoled Julien somewhat. In withdrawing, he
said, with a sigh:
  "The only king the nation holds in grateful memory!"
  During the examination which then took place, Julien acquitted
himself brilliantly. He saw that Chazel himself was doing his best.
The first day the examiners, who had been nominated by the famous
vicar de Frilaire, were somewhat put out to find on their list, either
as first or second, this Julien Sorel, who had been designated as
the Benjamin of abbe Pirard. There were bets in the seminary that in
the general examination Julien would be first, an honor that would
carry with it a dinner with the Bishop. But at the conclusion of the
session, when the questions turned on the Church Fathers, a cunning
examiner, after asking Julien about St. Jerome and his passion for
Cicero, began to speak of Horace and Virgil and other profane writers.
At the suggestion of his fellow students, Julien had committed to
memory a large number of quotations from these authors. Carried away
by his success, he forgot where he was, and was reciting and
paraphrasing, under the examiner's leading, several odes of Horace.
After allowing him thus to enmesh himself for about twenty minutes,
the examiner all at once changed countenance and severely rebuked
him for having spent his time in profane studies and for harboring
useless, if not wicked, ideas.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_29 ^paragraph 30}
  "I am a fool, monsieur, and you are right," said Julien, modestly,
perceiving the stratagem of which he was the victim.
  That trick was indeed considered ignoble, even at the seminary;
yet that did not prevent abbe de Frilaire, the man who skillfully
organized the Congregation in Besancon, and whose despatches to
Paris made judges, prefects, and even general officers of the garrison
tremble, from putting the number 198 opposite Julien's name. He had
the pleasure of thus mortifying his enemy, the Jansenist Pirard.
  For ten years his main effort had been directed toward having the
latter removed from the seminary. The abbe, following the line of
conduct which he had indicated to Julien, was sincere, pious,
devoted to his duties; but Heaven in its wrath had given him a bilious
temperament, so that he felt deeply every slight, every insult,
without being ever able to forget. He would have handed in his
resignation long before, but he believed himself useful in the
position where Providence had placed him. "I am preventing the
progress of Jesuitism and idolatry," he would say.
  Before the examination, he had not spoken to Julien for nearly two
weeks. On receiving the official notice announcing the result of the
examination, he saw 198 placed opposite the name of his pupil, whom he
looked upon as the glory of the institution. The only consolation
for this stern person now was to concentrate on Julien more
attention than usual. It was with joy that he discovered in the latter
neither anger, nor a desire for revenge, nor discouragement.
  A few weeks afterwards Julien trembled on receiving a letter bearing
the postmark of Paris.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_29 ^paragraph 35}
  "So," he thought, "Madame de Renal is remembering her promises."
  A gentleman signing his name Paul Sorel, saying he was a relative of
his, sent him a draft for five hundred francs. It was added that if
Julien continued his studies with success in the Latin authors, a like
sum would be sent to him every year.
  "It is she. Yes, it is her kindness," said Julien, softened. "She
wants to console me, but why is there not a word of feeling in it?"
  He was deceived about the letter. Madame de Renal, guided by
Madame Derville, had given herself wholly to penitence. Yet, in
spite of herself, she often thought of that singular personage who had
crossed her path and had changed her entire existence. But she
refrained stoutly from writing to him.
  If we spoke the language of the seminary, we might recognize a
miracle in this gift of five hundred francs, and say that it was M. de
Frilaire himself whom Heaven had directed to make a gift to Julien.
Twelve years before, abbe de Frilaire had arrived in Besancon with a
little slender satchel, which, if the story is true, represented all
his worldly goods. Now he was one of the richest men in the
Department. In the course of his prosperous career he had bought the
half of a piece of property of which the other half had fallen to M.
de la Mole. From this grew out a lawsuit between the two men.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_29 ^paragraph 40}
  In spite of his brilliant position in Paris and his connection
with the Court, Marquis de la Mole felt it dangerous to struggle at
Besancon with a Grand Vicar who was reputed to make and unmake
prefects. In place of petitioning for an indemnity of fifty thousand
francs to be put in some way on the budget, and of giving up to abbe
de Frilaire this dragging lawsuit about that sum, the Marquis remained
stubborn, believing he was in the right- a good reason!
  Now, if the question is not out of place, what judge is there who
has not a son or a cousin to push forward in the world? In order to
enlighten the blindest, it must be said that a week after he
received the first judgment, abbe de Frilaire took the Bishop's
carriage, and, in his own person, brought the Cross of the Legion of
Honor to his attorney. M. de la Mole, somewhat put out of
countenance by his opponent's address, and feeling that his
attorneys were weakening, asked abbe Chelan for advice, who put him in
correspondence with M. Pirard.
  The relations between these two had lasted for some years previous
to our history. Abbe Pirard entered with great zest into the affair.
After frequent interviews with the Marquis's attorneys, and a diligent
study of the case, he came to the conclusion that it possessed
merit, and he became openly the solicitor of the Marquis de la Mole,
as against the all-powerful Grand Vicar. The latter was outraged at
such boldness, and on the part of a little Jansenist at that.
  "See! see what nobility is, that pretends to be so powerful!" abbe
de Frilaire would say to his friends. "Why, M. de la Mole has not sent
a miserable little Cross to his agents at Besancon, and allows them
even to be ousted. And yet they write me that this noble peer does not
let a week pass without displaying his cordon bleu in the salon of
the Lord High Chancellor." In spite of abbe Pirard's activity and M.
de la Mole's intimate connection with the Ministers of Justice, and
with the most important officials, all that was accomplished after six
years of vexation was that the lawsuit had not been lost.
  In constant correspondence with abbe Pirard about this affair,
into which entered so much passion, the Marquis came eventually to
appreciate the abbe's sterling character. Gradually, though there
was an immense social distance between the two, their correspondence
took a personal, friendly turn. Abbe Pirard informed the Marquis
that he was being compelled, through sheer insults, to resign. In
the anger which the ignoble trick used against Julien awakened in him,
he related the little story to the Marquis. This great lord was not
avaricious. Unable to prevail upon abbe Pirard, urge as he might, to
accept even a reimbursement for the postal expenses occasioned by
the suit, he had sent five hundred francs to the favorite pupil. M. de
la Mole himself wrote the letter- a fact that made the abbe reflect.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_29 ^paragraph 45}
  One day the latter received a little note, requesting him, as it was
a pressing matter, to go, without delay, to an inn in a suburb of
Besancon. There he found M. de la Mole's steward waiting for him.
  "The Marquis has charged me to bring his carriage here. He hopes
that after reading this letter you will decide to leave for Paris in
four or five days. I will occupy myself, in the meantime, in
inspecting the Marquis's lands in Franche-Comte. Then, on the day that
you determine, we shall leave together for Paris."
  The letter was very brief.
  "Leave, my dear monsieur, all this provincial chicanery; come,
breathe the calm air of Paris. I send you my carriage, and one who has
orders to wait for four days for your decision. I will wait for you
myself at Paris until Tuesday. You need only say yes, on your part,
monsieur, to accept one of the best curacies in the neighborhood of
Paris. The richest among your future parishioners has never seen
you, but he is more devoted to you than you think; it is the Marquis
de la Mole."
  No doubt the stern abbe Pirard loved the seminary, to which for
fifteen years he had given every thought, even if it was peopled
with enemies. M. de la Mole's letter was like the arrival of a surgeon
charged with performing a painful but necessary operation, though
his dismissal was indeed certain. He asked the steward to meet him
in three days.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_29 ^paragraph 50}
  During the first forty-eight hours he was in a fever of uncertainty.
At last he wrote M. de la Mole. A letter he wrote to the Bishop was
a masterpiece of ecclesiastical style, but somewhat long. He had found
it extremely difficult to form unobjectionable and respectful phrases.
At the same time, that letter, destined to give a painful hour to M.
de Frilaire, sitting opposite his patron, told in detail of his
every annoyance, even to the little chicaneries which, though
endured without complaint for a period of six years, had at last
forced abbe Pirard to leave the diocese. They had stolen the wood from
his wood-house, he said; they had poisoned his dog, besides doing
other disreputable things!
  When the letter was finished, he had Julien called, though the
latter, having retired at eight o'clock like the other students, was
already asleep.
  "Do you know where the Bishop lives?" he asked him in good Latin.
"Take this letter to Monseigneur. I will not hide the fact from you
that you are going into a pack of wolves; be all eyes and ears, but
not a lie in your replies! Do not forget that the one who is going
to ask you questions will find, perhaps, a real joy in knowing that he
can injure you. I am indeed happy, my son, in letting you know this
before leaving you; for I will not hide from you that the letter you
hold is my resignation."
  Julien was stupefied; for he loved M. Pirard. Prudence in vain
told him: "After the departure of this good man the Sacred Heart party
may humiliate me, if not drive me out." He could not give him a
thought. But what embarrassed him most was that he wanted to frame a
pretty speech, and was not equal to the occasion.
  "Well, aren't you going?"
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_29 ^paragraph 55}
  "From what they say, monsieur," replied Julien, timidly, "during
your administration you have not laid anything by. I have six
hundred francs-" tears compelled him to stop.
  "That also will be noted," cried the ex-Director, coolly. "Go to
the Bishop; it is late."
  It happened that night abbe de Frilaire did the honors in the
Bishop's drawing-room, as Monseigneur himself was dining at the
prefecture. It was to M. de Frilaire, whom he did not know, that
Julien gave the letter. Julien was astonished to see the man boldly
read the letter addressed to the Bishop. The vicar's fine face was
expressive of pleasing surprise, yet also of great gravity. While he
was reading, Julien, struck by the handsome features, was observing
him closely. The face would have been much more dignified if it had
not a conscious shrewdness in some features, that bordered almost on
deceit. The long nose formed a perfectly straight line with the
brow, giving to the profile the lines of a fox.
  The abbe, who seemed so occupied with M. Pirard's resignation, was
attired with an elegance that pleased Julien, who had never seen
anything like it in a priest.
  Julien did not know until later what was abbe de Frilaire's forte.
The latter knew how to amuse his Bishop, an able old man, who was more
at home in Paris, and who regarded Besancon as a sort of exile. The
Bishop's sight was very poor, and he was very fond of fish; abbe de
Frilaire took out the bones whenever fish was served to Monseigneur.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_29 ^paragraph 60}
  Julien was silently gazing at the abbe, who was reading the
resignation for the second time, when all at once the door opened, and
a magnificently dressed lackey entered. Julien scarcely had time to
turn towards the door when a little old man appeared, wearing the
pectoral cross. Julien fell on his knee, and the Bishop, giving him
a kindly smile, passed on. The handsome abbe followed the latter,
and Julien remained alone in the salon to examine the pious
magnificence at his leisure.
  The Bishop of Besancon, with ability that remained unimpaired in
spite of the Emigration, was seventy-five years of age, and was not at
all worried as to the lease of another ten years.
  "Who is that seminarian with the fine face whom I think I passed
just now? Should they not, according to my rule, be in bed by this
time?"
  "This one is very much awake, I assure you, Monseigneur, and he
brings good news; it is the resignation of the only Jansenist who
remains in your diocese. This terrible abbe Pirard has at last
understood what we mean."
  "Ah, indeed," replied the Bishop, laughing. "I'll wager you cannot
replace him by a man as good as he; and to show you how I value this
man, I am going to invite him to dinner to-morrow."
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_29 ^paragraph 65}
  The vicar wished to put in a word as to the choice of a successor,
but the prelate, little disposed to talk business, replied:
  "Before taking in another, let's see something about this one.
Call that student; truth is in the mouths of children."
  Julien was called.
  "I am going to be between two inquisitors," he thought. But never
did he feel possessed of so much courage.
  When he entered, two valets, better attired than Valenod himself,
were unrobing Monseigneur. That prelate, before inviting M. Pirard,
wished to question Julien about his studies. Happening to question him
about dogma, he was greatly astonished. Soon he led up to the
humanities, to Virgil, Horace, Cicero. "Those names," thought
Julien, "cost me number 198. I have nothing to lose now; I am going to
do my best." He succeeded. The prelate, an excellent humanist himself,
was delighted.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_29 ^paragraph 70}
  At the dinner at the prefecture a highly distinguished young lady
had recited the poem of the Madeleine. He was in the humor of
talking of literature, and so forgot abbe Pirard, and all other
affairs, in discussing with the seminarian whether Horace was rich
or poor. The prelate recited several odes, but with one his memory was
a little treacherous, and Julien forthwith modestly recited the entire
ode. What astonished the Bishop more than anything else was that
Julien did not leave off his conversational tone; he recited the
twenty or thirty Latin lines as if he were speaking of an incident
at the seminary. They spoke a long time about Virgil and Cicero, the
prelate unable to refrain from passing a pretty compliment on the
young student: "No one could have done better."
  "Monseigneur," replied Julien, "your seminary can offer you one
hundred and ninety-seven young men less unworthy of your high
approbation."
  "How is that?" asked the prelate, astonished at the number.
  "I can prove, by official figures, what I have the honor of saying
to Monseigneur. At the annual examination at the seminary, on the
subjects that have given me Monseigneur's approval just now, I
received the number 198."
  "Ah, this is abbe Pirard's Benjamin," replied the Bishop,
laughing, and looking at M. de Frilaire. "We should have expected
that; it is fair play. Were you not awakened, my son, to be sent
here?" he added, addressing Julien.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_29 ^paragraph 75}
  "Yes, Monseigneur. I have never been out alone from the seminary
except once, to help abbe Chas-Bernard decorate the cathedral at the
feast of Corpus Domini."
  "Optime," said the Bishop. "So it was you who had the courage to
place the bunches of feathers on the baldachin. They make me tremble
every year; I am always afraid it will cost some man's life. My son,
you will go very far; but I do not wish to arrest your career, which
will be brilliant, by having you die of hunger, and he ordered some
biscuits and Malaga wine to be brought, to which Julien did great
honor; but more so abbe de Frilaire, who knew that his Bishop loved to
see everyone eat with a good appetite.
  The prelate, more and more pleased with the way the evening was
passing, touched on ecclesiastical history. He saw that Julien was
perfectly ignorant on that subject. The prelate passed to the moral
condition of the Roman empire at the time of Constantine. That was the
end of the paganism, accompanied then by so much restless doubt,
which, in the nineteenth century, brings dismay to so many hearts.
Monseigneur noticed that Julien did not even know the name of Tacitus.
  "I am, indeed, very glad," said the Bishop, cheerily; "you relieve
me of my embarrassment. For ten minutes I have been seeking a way of
thanking you for the pleasant evening which you have given me, and,
certainly, in a manner which was not expected. I was not looking for a
doctor in a pupil at my seminary. Although the gift is not very
canonical, I am going to give you a Tacitus." The prelate ordered
eight handsomely bound volumes to be brought, and proceeded himself to
write on the title page of the first volume a compliment in Latin, for
the Bishop prided himself on his Latinity. He ended by saying, in a
very serious tone, that contrasted sharply with the rest of the
conversation: "Young man, if you are discreet, you shall one day
have the best curacy in my diocese, and not a hundred leagues from
my Episcopal Palace; but you must be discreet."
  Julien, burdened with the volumes, left the Bishop as it struck
midnight. Monseigneur had not said a word to him about abbe Pirard.
Julien was most of all astonished at the Bishop's extreme
politeness; he had no idea that such urbanity could be so gracefully
united with such dignity. Julien was struck by the contrast he saw
when he came to abbe Pirard, who was impatiently awaiting him.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_29 ^paragraph 80}
  "Quid tibi dixerunt?" he called out, loudly, as he saw him from
a distance. ("What have they said to you?")
  Julien had great difficulty in putting the Bishop's conversation
into Latin.
  "Speak French, and repeat Monseigneur's exact words, no more and
no less," said the ex-Director of the seminary in his hardest and
roughest tones. "What a strange gift on the part of a Bishop to a
young seminarist!" he exclaimed, turning the leaves of the superb
Tacitus, of which the gilt nearly took his breath away.
  Two o'clock struck before he permitted his favorite pupil to
withdraw to his own room, after receiving a full account of what had
taken place.
  "Let me have the first volume of your Tacitus, where the Bishop
has written his compliment," he said to him. "This Latin epigram
will be a thunderbolt for you in this house after I leave.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_29 ^paragraph 85}
  "Erit tibi, fili mi, successor meus tanquam leo quaerens quem
devoret." ("For you, my son, my successor will be like unto a
raging lion seeking to devour.")
  The next morning Julien perceived something strange in the manner in
which his comrades spoke to him. It was more than reserved. "That," he
thought, "is the effect of M. Pirard's resignation. It is all over the
house that I pass for his favorite; I shall pay for that." There
was, on the contrary, complete absence of hatred in the eyes that
gazed on him in the corridors. "What can it mean?" he thought.
"There must be some trap; I am going to be on my guard." Finally,
the little Verrieres student said to him with a smile:
  "Cornelii Taciti opera omnia."
  At that, everybody, even those who envied him, congratulated Julien,
not only on the magnificent gift which he had received from
Monseigneur, but also on the two hours' conversation with which he had
been honored. Every little detail seemed to be known. From that moment
he was no longer envied; everyone bowed and scraped to him.
  Abbe Castanede, who the day before had treated him vilely, took
him by the arm and invited him to breakfast.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_29 ^paragraph 90}
  Toward noon, abbe Pirard left his pupils, not without delivering
an earnest address.
  "Do you desire the honors of the world?" he said to them, "all
social advantages, the pleasure of ruling, you who ridicule the laws
and are insolent toward all? Or do you desire your eternal
salvation? The only thing that you can do is to open your eyes and
take your choice between the two roads."
  Hardly had he left when the devotees of the Sacred Heart of Jesus
trooped into the chapel to intone a Te Deum. No one at the seminary
took the ex-Director's address seriously. "He is sour on account of
his dismissal," was said on all sides. Not a single seminarian was
kindly enough to believe in the voluntary resignation from a place
which brought one into close relations with the rich merchants.
  Abbe Pirard went to the prettiest suburb of Besancon, where, under
the pretext of business, which he did not have, he intended to
remain two days.
  The Bishop had invited him to dinner, and, to please vicar de
Frilaire, tried to spur him on to brilliancy. Dessert had been served,
when there arrived from Paris the news that abbe Pirard had been
elected to the magnificent curacy of N__, four leagues from the
capital. The good prelate congratulated him sincerely on his good
fortune. He saw a happy ending to the whole affair, which not only put
him in very good humor, but gave him also the highest opinion of the
abbe's ability. He gave him a certificate in magnificent Latin,
imposing silence on abbe de Frilaire, who was about to remonstrate.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_29 ^paragraph 95}
  In the evening, Monseigneur displayed his admiration before the
Marquise de Rubempre. That was a great piece of news for the upper
circles of Besancon; everybody was guessing over the influence that
had been used in abbe Pirard's behalf. Abbe Pirard was already seen as
Bishop. The shrewdest, believing that M. de la Mole had become
Minister, only tolerated that day the imperious airs abbe de
Frilaire assumed in society.
  The next day abbe Pirard was accompanied by a great crowd in the
streets, the merchants even coming to the door of their stores when he
went to ask about the Marquis's affairs. For the first time he had
been received with politeness. The severe Jansenist, outraged by
what he ascertained, consulted long with the attorneys he had chosen
for the Marquis de la Mole, and left for Paris.
  He had the weakness to tell the two or three friends who accompanied
him to the carriage, the coat of arms of which they greatly admired,
that, after having managed the affairs of the seminary for fifteen
years, he left Besancon with savings amounting only to five hundred
and twenty francs. His friends embraced him with tears, saying among
themselves, "The good abbe might have spared himself that lie; it was,
indeed, too ridiculous." The rabble, blinded by the love of money,
could not comprehend that there could be such a man in the world as
abbe Pirard, who had been forced for six years to struggle with
Marie Alacoque, the Sacred Heart of Jesus, the Jesuits, and the
Bishop.

{BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_30
                              CHAPTER 30
                         An Ambitious Person
-
    There is now only one nobility, the title of Duke; Marquess is
ridiculous; at the word "Duke" people turn their heads.
                                                 EDINBURG REVIEW
-
  THE MARQUIS DE LA MOLE received abbe Pirard without any of those
little formalities that are so polished, and yet can appear so
condescending in a great lord. It would have been time lost, and the
Marquis was so occupied with his large interests that he could not
spare a moment. For six months he had been intriguing at once with the
King and with the nation in behalf of a certain Minister, who, as a
return, had made him duke. The Marquis had for many years asked in
vain of his attorney in Besancon for a clear and precise statement
of the lawsuit in Franche-Comte. How could the celebrated attorney
explain if he did not understand it himself? But the little note the
abbe handed to him explained everything.
                                          {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_30 ^paragraph 5}
  "My dear abbe," said the Marquis to him, limiting to five minutes
the exchange of personal courtesies, "My dear abbe, in the midst of my
so-called prosperity, I have not the time to occupy myself seriously
with two or three little affairs that are, however, of some
importance- my family and my business. On the whole, I take good
care of the fortunes of my house, and I have no reason to complain;
I take care also of my pleasures, and that is above everything, at
least in my eyes," he added, surprising a look of astonishment on abbe
Pirard.
  Though a man of a practical turn, the abbe was astounded at
hearing an old man talk so frankly about his pleasures.
  "Lawyers have died in my service," the Marquis continued; one of
them died day before yesterday of consumption; but for my business
in general, would you believe me, monsieur, that for three years I
have despaired of finding a man who, while he thinks he is writing for
me, deigns to give the least attention to what he is doing? But all
this is simply a preface.
  "I esteem you, and I can say even, although I see you now for the
first time, I admire you. Would you like to be my secretary at eight
thousand francs, or, if you like, at double that amount? I will gain
by it, I'll swear, and I will make it part of my business to keep that
fine curacy for you until we agree to separate."
  The abbe refused, but toward the end of the conversation the
embarrassment in which he saw the Marquis placed gave him an idea.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_30 ^paragraph 10}
  "I left in the seminary a poor young man, who, if I am not mistaken,
will have a very hard time of it. If he were not simply a cleric he
would by this time be in pace. Just now the young man does not
know anything except Latin and the Scriptures; but it is not at all
improbable that some day he will show a great deal of talent both in
preaching and in communal work. I don't know what he will do, but he
has the sacred fire, and he will be heard from. I was thinking of
recommending him to our Bishop, if there ever came one to us who would
concern himself with his diocese."
  "Where is this young man from?" asked the Marquis.
  "He is said to be the son of a carpenter in our mountains; but I
should think that he is rather the natural son of some rich man. I
received an anonymous letter with a draft for five hundred francs
for him."
  "Oh, yes, that is Julien Sorel," said the Marquis.
  "How do you know his name?" blushing over the directness of the
question.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_30 ^paragraph 15}
  "That I will not tell you," replied the Marquis.
  "Oh, well," said the abbe, "you can try him as a secretary; he is
willing to work and is discreet. Anyhow, you can try him."
  "Why not?" said the Marquis. "But is he one that would let his
pockets be lined by the prefect or the chief of police, or by some
other one who is playing spy on me? That would be an objection."
  Assured by abbe Pirard, the Marquis took a thousand-franc note,
saying, "Send this to Julien Sorel and have him come here."
  "One can easily see," said abbe Pirard, "that you live in Paris; you
cannot imagine the tyranny that chafes us provincials, especially if
we happen to be priests not in good odor with the Jesuits. They will
not let Julien Sorel go, and will invent most clever excuses; they
will say he is sick, that the letter has been lost, and the like."
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_30 ^paragraph 20}
  "I may take a letter from the Minister to the Bishop," said the
Marquis.
  "Oh, I was almost forgetting something," said the abbe. "The young
man, although of lowly birth, is very proud, and will be of no use
whatever if his pride is in the least wounded; you would send him away
as a dolt."
  "I like that," said the Marquis. "I will make him a companion to
my son; will not that be all right?"
  Soon afterwards Julien received a letter, written in strange
handwriting, coming from Chalons. It contained an order on a
Besancon merchant, with the request that he depart for Paris without
delay. The letter was signed fictitiously, but, on opening it,
Julien trembled; a leaf fell at his feet, the sign agreed upon between
him and abbe Pirard.
  Less than an hour afterwards Julien was called again to the
Bishop, by whom he was received with paternal kindness. While reciting
Horace to Monseigneur, the latter congratulated him on the great
prospects awaiting him in Paris. He, on his part, with profuse thanks,
was waiting for an explanation of it all. Julien could not guess
anything; Monseigneur was so kind to him. One of the little priests at
a word from the Bishop wrote to the Mayor, who hastened to bring the
passport himself; but the traveller's name was left blank.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_30 ^paragraph 25}
  Before midnight Julien was at Fouque's house, who was as much
astonished as delighted over the future awaiting his friend. "That
will wind up with you," said the Liberal elector, "with a place
under government, which will oblige you now and then to be scandalized
by the newspapers. It is through your shame that I will hear news of
you. Remember, though, speaking financially, that to earn a hundred
louis in a good concern where one is his own master is better than
to receive four thousand francs under the government, even under
King Solomon."
  Julien saw in this only the narrow spirit of the country
bourgeois. He was at last to step on the stage of great affairs. The
pleasure of going to Paris, where he imagined there were so many
clever, if hypocritical, men, who were quite as polished as the Bishop
of Besancon eclipsed everything in his eyes. He represented himself to
his friend, however, as being without the liberty of choice after
receiving the letter from abbe Pirard.
  At noon the next day there arrived at Verrieres the happiest young
man alive, intent upon seeing Madame de Renal. First he went to his
friend, the good abbe Chelan, but was received somewhat coolly.
  "Do you think you are under any obligations to me?" said M.
Chelan, without responding to his salutation. "Come and take breakfast
with me while they are getting another horse for you. You will leave
Verrieres without seeing anybody."
  "To hear is to obey," replied Julien, with his seminary look, though
it was no longer a question of theology or of good Latin.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_30 ^paragraph 30}
  Jumping on the horse, he rode for about a league, and entered a
lonely little wood, where he hid himself. At sunset he mounted his
horse again, and reached the house of a peasant who agreed to sell him
a ladder and carry it for him to the little wood overlooking the Cours
de la Fidelite in Verrieres.
  "Perhaps I've done wrong," said the peasant, taking leave of him;
"but what is the difference? My ladder is sold, and at a profit, and I
myself have sown wild oats."
  The night was very dark. Towards one o'clock in the morning, Julien,
carrying the ladder, entered Vergy. As soon as he could he reached the
bed of the stream, about six feet deep, that wound around M. de
Renal's garden between two walls. Julien lightly mounted the ladder.
  "What reception will the dogs give me, I wonder?" he thought; but
the question immediately presented itself in reality. The dogs began
to bark, and came leaping toward him; but he patted them, and they
began licking his hands. Climbing from terrace to terrace, over the
closed gates, he was quickly under the window of Madame de Renal's
sleeping-room, eight or ten feet above the ground.
  There were the shutters with the little heart-shaped opening which
Julien knew so well. To his disappointment the opening did not show
that there was a light within.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_30 ^paragraph 35}
  "Good Lord!" he thought, "Isn't the room occupied to-night by Madame
de Renal? Where is she sleeping? The family is at Vergy, for the
dogs are here; but I may meet M. de Renal in this room in the dark, or
a stranger, and then what a scandal!"
  The most prudent thing for him to do was to retire, but such a
procedure was out of the question for Julien. "If there is a
stranger in the room, I will save myself as best I can, leaving the
ladder where it is. But if it is she, what reception is awaiting me?
She has begun to repent, and is extremely devout, I have not the least
doubt about that; but, anyhow, she has not forgotten everything, since
she has written to me." Such reasoning decided him.
  With a trembling hand, but yet resolved to see her or die, he
threw little pebbles against the shutter. No answer. He rested the
ladder against the window and struck the shutter with his hand, softly
at first, then louder.
  "In this darkness," thought Julien, "I could be shot." This idea
reduced the enterprise to a question of mere bravado. "This room is
occupied to-night," he thought, "and whatever woman is in the room she
is awake now. I have nothing to fear from her; I must try only not
to be heard by the people in the other rooms."
  He descended, and, resting the ladder against the shutter, mounted
again, this time passing his hand through the opening. To his great
delight he found the fastening bar. He drew this out, and found that
the shutter was not held by anything else, but yielded to his pulling.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_30 ^paragraph 40}
  "I must open it gradually and let her recognize my voice."
  He opened the shutter wide enough to admit his head, and
whispered: "It is a friend." He was assured that nothing disturbed the
silence of the room, which was wrapped in darkness. It was a bad sign.
"Look out for the pistol," he reflected; then, with his finger, he
ventured to tap on the window pane. No answer. He gave louder taps.
"If I have to break the window I am going to finish this."
  As he was giving a loud knock, he thought he saw in the darkness a
white form crossing the room. Indeed, there was no doubt he saw a
white figure advancing slowly towards him. Then, all at once, he saw a
cheek pressed against the glass right opposite his eyes. He drew
back trembling, but the night was so dark that even then he was not
certain if it was Madame de Renal. He feared a cry of alarm. The
dogs were running around then, and half yelping at the foot of the
ladder.
  "It is I," he said, louder; "a friend!" The white phantom
disappeared.
  "Please open. I must speak to you, I am so unhappy," and he
knocked at the window as if he would break the glass.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_30 ^paragraph 45}
  With a little click the window fastener was removed. Then, opening
it widely, he lightly leaped into the room. The white form
retreated. He took hold of the arms; it was a woman. All his ideas
vanished. If it were she, what was she going to say? What was he to do
now? When a little cry told him it was Madame de Renal, he clasped her
in his arms. She trembled, having scarcely any force to repulse him.
  "Wretch! what are you doing here?" Her tremulous voice could
hardly articulate those words. Julien saw that her anger was not
assumed.
  "I have come to see you after fourteen months of cruel separation."
  "Go, leave me instantly. Oh, why has M. Chelan prevented me from
writing to you? I would then have avoided this horror." She repulsed
him rudely. "I have repented of my wickedness. Heaven has deigned to
open my eyes," she said, in a broken voice. "Go, leave me!"
  "After fourteen months of misery I will certainly not leave you
without speaking; I want to know all that you have done. I have
loved you enough to deserve some confidence; I want to know
everything."
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_30 ^paragraph 50}
  Madame de Renal, in spite of herself, felt in her heart the
imperiousness of his tone. Julien, who was pressing her in his arms
passionately, and was trying to overcome her efforts to disengage
herself, suddenly released her. That movement gave Madame de Renal
some assurance.
  "I want to push away the ladder," he said, "so that we may not be
compromised if a servant, awakened by the noise, should go around
the house."
  "On the contrary, go!" she said, indignantly. "What do I care for
anyone! It is Heaven who sees all this, and will punish me for it. You
are deceived by the sentiments which I did have for you, but which I
have no longer. Do you hear, monsieur Julien?"
  He pushed away the ladder softly, so as not to make any noise.
  "Is your husband in town?" he asked her, not out of bravado, but
rather from habit.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_30 ^paragraph 55}
  "Don't talk to me, or I will call my husband. I am wicked enough, as
it is, not to have driven you out long before this. Anyhow, I have
pity on you," she said, trying to wound his pride, a point on which
she knew he was sensitive.
  The refusal on her part to speak familiarly, the manner of
severing a tender relation on which he had counted so much, made
Julien now mad with love.
  "What! is it possible that you do not love me any more?" he said, in
his most persuasive tone. She did not reply; she was weeping bitterly;
in truth she had not the strength to speak.
  "So, I am completely forgotten by the only person I have ever loved!
Oh, what is life to me!" All his courage had departed when the
danger of meeting a man had disappeared. He was now moved only by
love.
  She wept a long time in silence. He took her hand, but she tried
to withdraw it; yet after a few nervous movements she allowed it to
remain in his. The darkness was profound, and they were sitting on the
bed. "How different it was fourteen months ago," thought Julien, his
tears falling fast; "and so absence surely destroys all human
sentiment!"
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_30 ^paragraph 60}
  "Please tell me what has happened to you," said Julien, a little
embarrassed by the silence and by the broken sobs he heard.
  "Oh, no doubt," replied Madame de Renal, in a hard voice, in which
there was something severe and reproachful, "my actions since your
departure are known everywhere; you were so imprudent! When I was in
despair, the worthy M. Chelan visited me. For a long time he tried
in vain to obtain a confession from me. One day he had the idea of
accompanying me to the church in Dijon where I made my first
communion. He was the first to speak." Madame de Renal was interrupted
by her sobs.
  "Oh, what shame! I confessed all! The good man was kind enough not
to overwhelm me with reproach; he was as much affected as I was.
Then every day I wrote you letters which I did not dare send; I put
them away carefully, and when I was beside myself with misery, I
shut myself in my room and re-read them. Finally, M. Chelan took
them away from me. Some of them, more prudent than the rest, he sent
to you, but you did not answer."
  "I swear I have not received a single letter from you at the
seminary."
  "Good Lord! Who has intercepted them?"
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_30 ^paragraph 65}
  "Imagine my suspense! Before seeing you in the cathedral I did not
know whether you were still alive."
  "God has been kind to me in making me understand how much I have
sinned against Him, against my children, against my husband,"
replied Madame de Renal; "but my husband never loved me with the
love I imagined you had for me."
  Julien fell into her arms, beside himself with joy; but Madame de
Renal repulsed him again, continuing, firmly:
  "My venerable friend, M. Chelan gave me to understand that in
marrying M. de Renal I had plighted to him all my affections, even
those of which I was not aware, and which I had not experienced before
our intimacy. Since the sacrifice of those letters, which were so dear
to me, my life has been, if not happy, at least quiet. Do not be
afraid; you can be a friend of mine, the best of my friends."
  But Julien was covering her hands with kisses, and she knew he was
still crying.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_30 ^paragraph 70}
  "Oh, don't cry, you make me unhappy. Now, you tell me what you
have done." Julien could not speak.
  "I want to know what sort of a life you led in the seminary," she
repeated, "since you are going away from there."
  Mechanically Julien spoke of the numerous intrigues and jealousies
which he encountered at first, then of his tranquil life from the time
he was made assistant professor. "It was then," he added, "after a
long silence, which doubtless was destined to make me realize, what
I see only too well now, that you do not love me any more, and that
I am absolutely nothing to you-" Madame de Renal pressed his hands-
"It was then that you sent me the five hundred francs."
  "Never," said Madame de Renal.
  "It was a letter postmarked at Paris and signed Paul Sorel, in order
to avoid suspicion." They had a little conversation about the possible
origin of the letter, and then gradually their manner changed. Without
being aware of it both Madame de Renal and Julien stopped talking
formally. Something tender crept into their tone. Though they could
not see each other for the darkness, their voices told everything.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_30 ^paragraph 75}
  Julien passed his arm around her waist, a movement full of danger.
She tried to remove his arm, but he, with his usual cleverness,
withdrew her attention from it by an interesting little account, and
the position of the arm was forgotten. After conjectures about the
sender of the letter with the five hundred francs, Julien resumed
his recital. He became more self-composed in speaking to her of his
past life, which, beside what was taking place at that moment,
interested him but slightly. His attention was directed mainly to
the manner in which his visit would end.
  "Now you must go," she kept saying from time to time, speaking
quickly.
  "What a shame to show me the door!" he thought; "that will be enough
to poison my whole life, and she will never write to me. Lord knows
when I will come back here again." From that moment all that was
pleasant in Julien's position disappeared.
  Seated beside the woman he adored, and pressing her almost in his
arms, there in the room where they had formerly been so happy, he
saw that she was shedding tears; he felt, by the movement of her
breast, that she was choking with sobs. Then, all at once, he became
the cool strategist, calculating with as much sang-froid as when, in
the seminary, he saw himself the butt of an awkward pleasantry on
the part of his stronger comrades.
  Julien lengthened his recital, and spoke of his unhappy life since
his departure from Vergy.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_30 ^paragraph 80}
  "So," Madame de Renal was saying to herself, "after a year's
absence, deprived almost entirely of any remembrance of me, while I
was forgetting him, he was only thinking of the happy days that he had
spent in Vergy!" Her sobs redoubled.
  Julien saw the effect of his speech, and understood that he must
play his trump card. He began abruptly about the letter which he had
just received from Paris.
  "I have just taken leave of the Bishop."
  "What! aren't you going back to Besancon? Are you going to leave
here for good?"
  "Yes," replied Julien, resolutely; "yes, I will leave this place
where I am forgotten by the one whom I have loved best in all my life,
and I will leave it never to see it again. I am going to Paris."
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_30 ^paragraph 85}
  "You are going to Paris?" broke in Madame de Renal, distractedly,
her voice choked by sobs.
  Julien had need of this encouragement. He was going to try something
that might decide everything against him, and, before that
exclamation, he did not know the effect it would produce; now he no
longer hesitated. The fear of self-reproach resumed its empire over
him, and he added, frigidly, as he rose:
  "Yes, Madame, I leave you forever; I trust you will be happy.
Adieu!"
  He made a few steps toward the window and had already opened it.
Madame de Renal sprang toward him and fell into his arms. And so,
after three hours' bickering, he obtained all he so ardently
desired. If it had come sooner, this return to their tender
sentiments, this great love of theirs would have been something divine
for Madame de Renal. But obtained thus, with art, it was only a
pleasure. Julien wished, absolutely, in spite of her remonstrances, to
light the lamp.
  "Do you want," he said to her, "that I should not have the least
recollection of having seen you again? Shall the love which is now
dwelling in your charming eyes remain lost to me, and shall the
whiteness of this pretty hand remain invisible? Think of it! I am
leaving you, perhaps for a long time, for a very long time."
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_30 ^paragraph 90}
  Madame de Renal could not refuse to respond to this idea that
brought her again to tears; but dawn was beginning to outline the tree
tops on the mountains to the east of Vergy.
  Instead of departing, Julien, intoxicated with love, asked Madame de
Renal if he could spend the whole day hidden in her room, and if he
could remain until the following night.
  "And why not?" she answered. "This backsliding of mine destroys
all my self-respect and effects my everlasting wretchedness,
anyhow!" and she pressed him to her breast. "My husband is not the
same any more; he is suspicious; he thinks I have led him into this
whole affair, and he is angry with me. But if he hears the slightest
noise I am lost; he will drive me out like the fallen woman that I
am."
  "That is M. Chelan's phrase," said Julien. "You would not have
spoken so to me before my cruel departure for the seminary. Then you
loved me." Julien was rewarded for the sang-froid he put in his tone.
  He saw the woman suddenly forgetting the risk she ran with her
husband present in the house in thinking of the greater danger of
seeing Julien doubt her affection. Daylight grew apace and lighted
up the room. Julien again was jubilant with pride when he saw in his
arms, and almost at his feet, that beautiful woman, the only one he
had ever loved, who, a few hours before, had been held in check by her
fear of God and by her idea of duty. Resolutions that had been
strengthened by a year's constancy had to yield before his courage.
                                         {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_30 ^paragraph 95}
  Soon they heard a noise in the house. Something of which she had not
thought before came now to trouble Madame de Renal.
  "That spiteful Elisa is going to come into this room. What are you
going to do with this ladder?" she asked him. "Where can we hide it? I
am going to carry it to the woodshed!" she cried, all at once,
joyfully.
  "But you will have to pass the servants' room," replied Julien,
astonished.
  "I will leave the ladder in the hall, and I will call the servant to
go on an errand for me."
  "Think of something to say to him in case he notices the ladder in
passing it in the hall."
                                        {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_30 ^paragraph 100}
  "Yes, my darling," cried Madame de Renal, covering him with
kisses; "you must hide yourself right under the bed. Elisa might
come in while I am out."
  Julien was astounded at her sudden gayety. "And so," he thought,
"the nearness of material danger, far from troubling her, makes her
gay, because remorse has left her! What a superior woman! Ah, there is
a heart in which it is glorious to reign!"
  Madame de Renal took up the ladder. It was indeed too heavy for her,
and Julien came to her assistance. He admired that elegant figure,
seemingly so frail, yet strong enough, if necessary, to carry the
ladder without aid. She carried it quickly along the corridor on the
second floor, where she laid it lengthwise against the wall. She
called the servant, and, in order to give him time to dress himself,
she went to the dovecot. Five minutes later, when she returned to
the hall, the ladder was gone. What had become of it? If Julien had
been outside of the house the danger would not have been so great; but
at that moment, if her husband saw the ladder, it would be terrible.
  Madame de Renal ran everywhere; finally she discovered the ladder
under the roof, where the servant had hidden it. That circumstance was
singular, almost alarming.
  "What is the difference what happens for the next twenty-four hours?
But when Julien is gone, will not all this mean horror and remorse for
me?" She had a vague idea of committing suicide at some future time.
Yet, after a separation which she had begun to think was eternal, he
had come back to her, she saw him again, and what had he not done to
show her how much he loved her!
                                        {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_30 ^paragraph 105}
  In speaking of the incident to Julien, she said:
  "What can I say to my husband if the servant tells him that he found
a ladder?" She mused a while. "In twenty-four hours they will find the
peasant who sold it to you," and she threw herself into Julien's arms,
pressing him convulsively. "Oh, to die like this!" she cried, covering
him with kisses; "but that is no reason why you should die of hunger,"
she added, smiling.
  "Come! First I am going to hide you in Madame Derville's room; it is
always kept locked."
  She went to watch at the end of the hall while Julien ran through.
  "Be careful about opening it if anybody knocks," she said, locking
the door; "but it will only be the children playing."
                                        {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_30 ^paragraph 110}
  "Let them go out into the garden under the window," said Julien, "so
I may have the pleasure of seeing them; make them talk."
  "Oh, yes, yes," cried Madame de Renal, withdrawing.
  She soon came back with oranges, biscuits, and a bottle of Malaga
wine. Bread she had not been able to steal.
  "What is your husband doing?" asked Julien.
  "He is writing about some business connected with the farmers."
                                        {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_30 ^paragraph 115}
  Eight o'clock struck; there was now a good deal of stir in the
house. If Madame de Renal was not seen, they would look for her all
over the house; she was, therefore, obliged to leave him soon. She
came back, despite all prudence, bringing him a cup of coffee,
afraid he would die of hunger. After breakfast she succeeded in
leading the children under the window of Madame Derville's room. He
found them grown larger and looking a little different. It might
have been, perhaps, that his ideas of them had changed. Madame de
Renal talked with them of Julien, the eldest speaking with a great
deal of friendship for their former tutor, the youngest scarcely
remembering him.
  M. de Renal did not go out that morning; he continually went
around the house, busy with the farmers to whom he was selling his
potatoes. Until dinner time Madame de Renal had not a minute to give
to her prisoner. When dinner was announced and served, she had the
idea of stealing a plate of hot soup. As she noiselessly approached
the door, carrying the plate, she found herself face to face with
the servant who had hidden the ladder in the morning. He was then
advancing quietly in the hall as if to listen; probably Julien was
imprudently walking about. The servant retired a little confused.
  Madame de Renal entered Julien's room. When he saw her again, he
trembled.
  "You are afraid," she said to him. "Well, I- I would brave any
danger without flinching; I am afraid of only one thing, that is
when I will be alone after you leave," and she ran away.
  "Ah," said Julien, admiringly, "remorse is the only danger before
which that soul recoils."
                                        {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_30 ^paragraph 120}
  In the evening she returned; M. de Renal had gone to the Casino, his
wife telling him she had a severe headache. Sending Elisa out on an
errand, she retired to her room, and hastened to open it for Julien.
She found that Julien was indeed famished. Madame de Renal went down
to the pantry to look for bread; and then Julien suddenly heard a cry.
Madame de Renal came back and told him that, coming into the pantry
without a light, and feeling for the shelf where the bread was kept
with her arms stretched out, she had touched a woman's arm. It was
Elisa who had uttered the cry Julien heard.
  "What was she doing there?"
  "Oh, she was stealing sugar, or perhaps she was spying," said Madame
de Renal, with complete indifference. She had found a pate and a loaf.
  "What have you there?" asked Julien, pointing to the pockets of
her apron.
  Madame de Renal had forgotten that she had filled them with bread at
dinner. Julien pressed her in his arms with more passion than ever.
Never did she seem to him so beautiful. "Even at Paris," he was saying
to himself, confusedly, "I should not meet a finer character."
                                        {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_30 ^paragraph 125}
  She had all the awkwardness of a woman little accustomed to such
manoeuvres. Yet she possessed the genuine courage of a person
fearing only dangers of a higher order and far more terrible.
  While Julien was devouring the food and his mistress was joking with
him about the simplicity of the repast, the door of the room was
suddenly shaken with great violence. It was M. de Renal.
  "Why have you locked yourself in?" he cried.
  Julien had only time enough to slip under the sofa.
  "What! you are all dressed?" said M. de Renal, entering; "you are
eating, and you have locked the door?"
                                        {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_30 ^paragraph 130}
  Ordinarily, such a question, asked with conjugal indifference, would
have disconcerted Madame de Renal; but now she felt that her husband
only had to lower his eyes to see Julien, seated as he was in the
chair the latter had occupied a moment before, opposite the sofa,
and the very danger of the situation gave her self-possession. The
headache served as an excuse.
  While telling her at length about the game of billiards he had won
at the Casino, which had netted him nineteen francs, her husband cried
out: "Why!"
  She saw on a chair, three feet from them, Julien's hat. With
increased self-possession she began to undress, and, passing quickly
before her husband, threw her skirt on the chair on which the hat lay.
M. de Renal soon left her.
  She begged Julien to commence again to tell her about his life at
the seminary. "Yesterday I was not listening to you; I was only
thinking, while you spoke, of summoning enough courage to send you
away." She was the incarnation of imprudence and they talked very
loud. At two o'clock in the morning they were interrupted by a violent
blow against the door.
  "Open right away, there are thieves in the house. Saint Jean found a
ladder in the hall this morning."
                                        {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_30 ^paragraph 135}
  "This is the end, now," said Madame de Renal, throwing herself
into Julien's arms; "he is going to kill us both. He knows there are
no thieves in the house. I will die in your arms, happier in my
death than I have ever been in my life!" She did not reply to her
husband, who was getting angrier every moment; she only embraced
Julien with greater passion.
  "Save Stanislaus's mother!" he said to her, with a look of
authority. "I am going to leap out of the window, into the yard, and
escape through the garden. The dogs will recognize me. Make a bundle
of my clothes and throw it into the garden as soon as you can; in
the meantime let him break in the door. Above all, no confession! I
forbid you. It is better that he should be suspicious than certain."
  "You will kill yourself jumping," was the only reply; it was her
only concern.
  She went to the window with him. Then, taking just enough time to
hide his clothes, she opened the door to her husband, who was in a
boiling rage. Looking all over the room and into the closet without
saying a word, he disappeared. Julien's clothes were thrown out to him
and he seized them, running quickly towards the other side of the
garden on the river bank. As he was running he heard the whistle of
a ball and at the same time the report of a gun.
  "It is not M. de Renal," he thought; "his aim is not as good as
that."
                                        {BOOK_ONE|CHAPTER_30 ^paragraph 140}
  As the dogs were running silently by his side, a second ball
struck the paw of one of them, for the animal began to yelp with pain.
Julien leaped over the terrace wall, and, running for fifty paces
alongside of it, turned in another direction. He heard voices
calling to him to halt, and distinctly saw the servant, his enemy,
take aim again.
  A farmer on the other side also took aim; but Julien had already
reached the river bank, where he proceeded to dress himself. An hour
later he was a league away from Vergy, on the Genoa road. "If they
have any suspicions," thought Julien, "they will look for me on the
road to Paris."

{BOOK_TWO
                               BOOK TWO
-
              She's not pretty- she doesn't wear rouge.
                                               SAINTE-BEUVE

{BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_1
                              CHAPTER 1
                          Country Pleasures
-
          O country home, when shall I look upon you again!
                                                          VIRGIL
-
  "MONSIEUR is, I suppose, expecting the Paris mail?" said the
innkeeper to him where he stopped for breakfast.
                                           {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_1 ^paragraph 5}
  "To-day's or to-morrow's, it makes no difference," replied Julien.
  The mail coach arrived. There were two empty seats.
  "Hello, 'tis you, my dear Falcoz," said a traveller who hailed
from Geneva to another one climbing into the coach at the same time
with Julien.
  "I thought you were fixed for good in the neighborhood of Lyons,"
said Falcoz, "in a delicious little valley by the Rhone."
  "Nicely fixed! I've just escaped."
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_1 ^paragraph 10}
  "What! you escaping? You, Saint-Giraud, with that fine face of
yours? You've done something bad, have you?" Falcoz replied, laughing.
  "Pshaw! as you please! I am escaping from the abominable life a
fellow leads in the provinces. I love the freshness of the woods and
the rustic quiet, as you know. You frequently accused me of being
romantic. I've never in my life wanted to hear anything about
politics, and it's politics that drove me away."
  "But what party do you belong to?"
  "To no party; that's what's my ruin. Here's my political platform: I
love music, I love painting, and a good book is an event for me. I
am going on forty-four years. How long am I to live yet? Fifteen,
twenty, thirty years at most. Oh, well! I believe that in thirty years
the Ministers will be a little sharper, but as honest as ever! The
history of England is my mirror for the future. Always a king trying
to increase his power here; an ambitious deputy hungering for glory
and a few hundred thousand francs like Mirabeau there; and so our rich
provincials will never sleep well. They'll call that being
'liberal,' and 'loving' the people. The hankering for a peerage or for
a seat in the Privy Council is enough to spur on everybody. In the
ship of state everybody wants to be captain because it pays well.
Isn't there the least bit of a place for a common passenger?"
  "Well, well, it's natural for you to joke like that, with your
disposition. Have the late elections chased you out of the province?"
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_1 ^paragraph 15}
  "My misfortune dates back earlier. Four years ago I was forty, and I
had five hundred thousand francs; now I am four years older, and,
probably, I have fifty thousand francs less, which I have lost in
the sale of my Monfleury chateau near the Rhone- a superb location! At
Paris I was tired of the perpetual comedy of what you call the
civilization of the nineteenth century. I was hungering for good
fellowship and simplicity. So I buy myself a little piece of ground in
the mountains near the Rhone- nothing prettier on earth! The vicar
of the village and the neighborhood squires courted me for a space
of six months. I gave them dinners, of course. I have left Paris, I
tell them, in order not to talk nor hear anyone talk about politics.
You can see it; I haven't subscribed to a single paper. The fewer
letters the letter carrier brings me, the better. It was not the
vicar's fault. Anyhow, I was asked for a thousand things. I wanted
to give every year two or three hundred francs to the poor. But they
asked donations for pious associations, for the St. Joseph, for the
Virgin, and the rest. I refused, of course. Then they insulted me. I
was foolish enough to take it seriously. I can't go out of a morning
to enjoy the mountain scenery without finding something to take me out
of my reveries and disagreeably recall me to man and his wickedness.
At the processions of the Rogation, indeed, of which the song
pleased me- I think it's a Greek melody- they didn't bless my
fields, because the vicar said they belonged to an infidel. The cow of
a pious old peasant woman dies. She says that it's because of the
nearness of a pond belonging to me- an infidel, a Paris philosopher-
and eight days after, I find my fish with their whites up, poisoned
with lime. Treachery surrounds me in all forms. The justice of the
Peace, good man as he is, but fearful for his position always, decides
against me. The rustic quiet becomes a snare and a delusion. Once
abandoned by the vicar, who is chief of the Congregation in the
village, and no longer supported by the retired captain- the chief
of the Liberals- all fall away from me, even to the mason whom I
have supported for a whole year, and to the wheelwright, who wants
to sauce me when he tends to my wagons. Then in order to have some
support and to win a few of my lawsuits, I become a Liberal; but, as
you say, these devilish elections come, they ask me for my vote."
  "For an unknown candidate?"
  "Not at all; for a man I know only too well. I decline. Frightful
imprudence! From that moment, with the Liberals also on my hands, my
position becomes intolerable. I believe that if it had entered the
vicar's head to accuse me of murdering my servant, there would have
been twenty witnesses from both parties who would have sworn they
saw me do it."
  "You want to live in the country without indulging your neighbors,
without even listening to their scandals? What idiocy!"
  "Well, anyhow, it's all over; Monfleury is sold. I lose fifty
thousand francs, true; but I am happy! I leave that hell of
hypocrisy and chicanery. I am going to seek solitude and rustic
quiet at the one place in France where they are still to be found-
in a fourth story overlooking the Champs Elysees. And then I will
deliberate, if I don't commence my political career there in the Roule
quarter, in giving bread to the parish."
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_1 ^paragraph 20}
  "All that wouldn't have happened under Bonaparte," said Falcoz, with
anger and regret in his eyes.
  "Well and good; but why wasn't he able to remain in his place-
your Bonaparte? All that I'm undergoing now is his work!"
  At this point Julien became more attentive. He had understood from
the first that the Bonapartist Falcoz was the old school friend whom
M. de Renal had thrown over in 1816, and the philosopher
Saint-Giraud was a brother of the Chief of Department in the
prefecture of __, who knew how to turn the houses of the Commune to
good account.
  "And all that your Bonaparte did," continued Saint-Giraud. "A
harmless man of forty, inoffensive, too, with a fortune of five
hundred thousand francs, can't settle in the provinces and enjoy
peace; the priests and the nobility drive him out!"
  "Oh, don't speak ill of him," cried Falcoz. "Never had France
enjoyed such esteem in the eyes of the nations than during the
thirteen years of his rule. Then there was something of glory in
everything one did."
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_1 ^paragraph 25}
  "Your emperor- what the devil!-" replied the forty-four-year-old
gentleman, "was not great, except on the battlefield and when he
restored the finances in 1802. But what does his conduct after that
mean? With his chamberlains, his pomp, and his receptions at the
Tuileries, he only gave a new edition of monarchical nonsense. It
had been removed for a time, and a century or two might have passed
without it. Only the nobles and the priests want to go back to the old
regime, only they don't have the hand of iron with which to convince
the public."
  "Why, that's the language of the old pamphleteer!"
  "Who is chasing me away from my property?" continued the
pamphleteer, angrily. "The priests whom Napoleon recalled with his
Concordat, and who are not treated as the state treats physicians,
attorneys, astronomers, in whom it sees only citizens, without
troubling itself about their means of earning a livelihood. Would
there now be your insolent gentlemen if your Bonaparte had not made
them barons and counts? No; that's old now. After the priests, it is
these petty little country gentlemen who have been most overbearing to
me and forced me to become a Liberal."
  The conversation seemed to be interminable: it was a subject that
was to occupy the attention of France for half a century. As
Saint-Giraud kept on repeating that it was impossible to live in the
provinces, Julien timidly mentioned the example of M. de Renal.
  "Well, young man, you're just right," cried Falcoz. "He became the
hammer so as not to be the anvil, and a terrible hammer at that! But I
see him hoodwinked by this Valenod. Do you know that fool? There's one
for you! What will your M. de Renal say when he finds himself
removed one fine morning, and Valenod in his place?"
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_1 ^paragraph 30}
  "He will remain alone with his crimes," said Saint-Giraud. "You
are acquainted in Verrieres, young man? Well, well, Bonaparte-
confound him and his monarchical nonsense!- has made possible the de
Renals and the Chelans, who have led the way for the Valenods and
the Maslons."
  This conversation, with its pessimistic politics, astonished Julien,
and drew his attention away, for a moment, from his voluptuous
reveries.
  He was not much impressed with the first sight of Paris, at a
distance. His air-castles of the future were still in contrast with
his recollection of the twenty-four hours that he had just spent at
Verrieres. He swore to himself never to abandon his friend's children,
and to leave nothing unturned in order to protect them if the
insolence of the priests produced a republic, together with
persecution of the nobility. What would have happened on the night
of his arrival at Verrieres if, at the moment of placing the ladder
against the window of Madame de Renal's bedroom, he had found the room
occupied by a stranger or by M. de Renal? How delightful were the
first two hours, when she was so eagerly desirous of seeing him, and
when he was pleading his cause before her, seated by her side in the
dark! A heart like Julien's is pursued by such recollections for a
lifetime. The rest of the interview was the same as in the first
period of their love, fourteen months before.
  Julien was aroused from his profound reverie by the stopping of
the coach. They had just come on the postal premises, Rue J.- J.
Rousseau.
  "I want to go to Malmaison," he said to a cabman, who drew near.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_1 ^paragraph 35}
  "At this hour, monsieur? Why?"
  "None of your business."
  To Malmaison all real devotion turns. We shall not relate Julien's
transports at Malmaison. He wept with emotion. Indeed, in spite of
those new, white walls in the park? Yes, for Julien, as for posterity,
nothing came between Arcole, St. Helena, and Malmaison.
  As it was evening, Julien hesitated before it. He had strange
notions of this place of "perdition." A great mistrust prevented him
from admiring Paris as it was. He was touched only by the monuments
left by his hero.
  "Here I am in the centre of intrigue and hypocrisy. Here rule the
protectors of the abbe de Frilaire."
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_1 ^paragraph 40}
  On the evening of the third day, curiosity led him to the project of
seeing everything before presenting himself to the abbe Pirard. The
abbe tartly explained to him the mode of life he was to lead at M.
de le Mole's house.
  "Now, if in a few months you do not make yourself useful, you will
return to the seminary, but in good grace. You will live with the
Marquis, who is one of the great lords of France. You will be
dressed in black, but as though in mourning, not like an ecclesiastic.
I require that three times a week you will pursue your theological
studies at the seminary where I will introduce you. Every day, at
noon, you will present yourself at the library of the Marquis, who
will employ you in writing letters on pending lawsuits and other
affairs. The Marquis makes a note on the margin of every letter he
receives, as to what sort of an answer it requires. I have represented
that in three months you will be able to write replies in a way that
he will be able to sign eight or nine out of a dozen that you will
present for his signature. At eight o'clock at night you will put
his desk in order, and then you will be at liberty."
  "It may be," continued abbe Pirard, "that some old lady or some
pleasant-voiced gentleman might show you some great advantages, or,
more boldly, offer you a purse to show them the letters received by
the Marquis."
  "Well, monsieur?" cried Julien, reddening.
  "'Tis singular," said the abbe, with a bitter smile, "that, poor
as you are, and after a year at the seminary, you still have
virtuous indignation. You must have been exceedingly blind. Is that
the force of blood?" said the abbe under his breath, as if speaking to
himself.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_1 ^paragraph 45}
  "What is singular," he added, looking at Julien, "is that the
Marquis knows you. I don't see how. He is going to give you, to
start with, a hundred louis extra. He is a man who is all caprice;
that is his failing. He will have some puerilities with you. If he
is satisfied with you, your income may reach in a leap to eight
thousand francs.
  "But mind you," continued the abbe, severely, "he isn't giving you
all that money for your pretty eyes; it is a question of usefulness.
In your place, indeed, I should talk very little, especially with
anyone unknown to you.
  "Ah!" said the abbe, "I have some information for you. I was
forgetting M. de la Mole's family. There are two children; a daughter,
and a son of nineteen, who is elegant, indeed, yet is sort of a
fool, who doesn't know at noon what he will do at two o'clock. But
he has character; he is brave, too; he has been in the Spanish
campaign. The Marquis hopes- I do not know why- that you may become
a friend to the young Count Norbert. I have said that you were a
good Latinist; perhaps he counts on your teaching his son a few
ready-made phrases from Cicero or Virgil. In your place I shouldn't
allow myself to become familiar with this handsome young man, and
before yielding altogether to his polished manners, which are somewhat
spoilt by cynicism, I should see them more than once.
  "I will not hide from you that our young Count may despise you at
first, because you are only a little bourgeois. His ancestor was a
courtier, and had the honor of having his head cut off in Place de
Greve, on the 26th of April, 1574, for a political intrigue. You are
the son of a Verrieres carpenter, and, what is more, in his father's
employ. Consider well these differences, and study well the family
history in Moreri; all the flatterers who dine at the house make
delicate allusions to it from time to time.
  "Take care how you answer Count Norbert's pleasantries, who is chief
of the Hussars and a future peer of France; and give me no cause for
regret, in consequence."
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_1 ^paragraph 50}
  "It seems to me," said Julien, blushing considerably, "that it is my
duty even not to answer a man that looks down on me."
  "You have no idea of that disdain; it will show itself only in
exaggerated compliments. If you are to be a fool, you will allow
yourself to be taken in by them; but if you are to make a mark, you
would seem to be."
  "When that doesn't suit me, would I seem ungrateful if I return to
my little cell, No. 108?"
  "No doubt," replied the abbe, "all the flatterers of the house
will calumniate you; but I- I will be myself. Adsum qui feci. I will
say that the resolution came from me."
  Julien was dejected by the abbe's bitter, discouraging tone. It
had completely spoilt his last reply. The fact was, the abbe had a
conscientious scruple about his affection for Julien, and it was
with a sort of religious terror that he went over to the other
extreme.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_1 ^paragraph 55}
  "You will see, also," he added, with the same ill grace as if
performing a painful duty, "you will see Madame de la Mole, the
Marquise. She is a tall, blonde woman, pious, proud, perfectly
polished, and insignificant. She is the daughter of the old Duke de
Chaulnes, so well known for his royal prejudices. This great lady is a
sort of an abridged, accentuated form of what is really the
character of women of her rank. She doesn't hide, indeed, that the
fact she has ancestors who went to the Crusades is her only claim to
distinction. Money is indeed an after-consideration. Does that
surprise you? We are not in the provinces any more, my son.
  "You will see in the Salon some great lords speaking of our
princes in an exceedingly light fashion. As for Madame de la Mole, she
respectfully lowers her voice every time she names a prince, and
more so when it is a princess. I should not advise you to say in her
presence that Philip II and Henry VIII were monsters. They were kings,
and that gives them inalienable right to the respect of men like you
and me, of ignoble birth. However," added M. Pirard, "we are
priests; for she will take you for one. Under that title she considers
us mere valets that are necessary to her salvation."
  "Monsieur," said Julien, "it seems to me that I shall not remain
long in Paris."
  "Indeed; but notice there's no fortune for men of our class,
except by the side of the great dignitaries. With a sort of
indefinable something that is in your character- at least as far as
I can see- if you do not rise, you will be persecuted; there is no
middle ground for you. Don't fool yourself. Men see that it does not
give you any pleasure when they talk to you; under our social
conditions you are doomed to misery if you do not reach greatness.
  "What would become of you at Besancon, without the caprice of the
Marquis de la Mole? One day you will understand all that queer
action in your behalf, and, if you are not a fool, you will have
eternal gratitude for him and his family. How many poor abbes, wiser
than you, have lived for years in Paris, with their fifteen sous and
with their ten sous for argumentation, at the Sorbonne? Recall what
I related to you last winter about the first years of the Cardinal
Du Bois. Your pride, perhaps, is greater than his talent?
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_1 ^paragraph 60}
  "I, for example, who am a quiet and mediocre kind of a man, I hope
to die in my seminary. I have been foolish enough to become attached
to it. Ah, indeed! I was about to be removed when I handed in my
resignation. Do you know what I had then? I had a capital of five
hundred and twenty francs, no more and no less. Not a friend, hardly
an acquaintance or two. M. de la Mole, whom I had never seen, drew
me out of a difficulty; and he only had to say a word, and I should
have received a curacy where the parishioners are people of means
and of no extraordinary vices, and the income would have made me
ashamed, so out of proportion would it have been to my work! I have
never spoken to you so long except to put a little ballast into that
head of yours.
  "Oh, yes! another word. I have the misfortune of being irascible; it
is possible that you and I may cease to speak. If the Marquise's pride
or the lame pleasantries of her son should make the house decidedly
uncomfortable, I advise you to finish your studies in some seminary at
a distance of thirty leagues from Paris, and rather toward the North
than toward the South. There is more civilization in the North,
and," he added, lowering his voice, "I must tell you that the
neighborhood of Paris newspapers makes little tyrants afraid.
  "If we continue to find pleasure in seeing each other, and if the
Marquise's house is not agreeable to you, I will make you my vicar,
and I will give you half of what the curacy brings in. I owe you that,
and more, too," he added, interrupting Julien's reply of thanks,
"for the singular offer which you made me at Besancon. If, in place of
having five hundred and twenty francs, I had not had anything, you
would have come to my assistance."
  The abbe's voice ceased to be sharp. To his great shame, Julien felt
tears in his eyes; he was dying to throw himself into his friend's
arms. He could not refrain from saying, with all the courage he
could summon:
  "I have been hated by my father from the cradle; that was one of
my greatest miseries, but I will not complain any more of chance. I
have found a father again in you."
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_1 ^paragraph 65}
  "Now, now," said the abbe, embarrassed; then assuming his old
authority as Director of the seminary: "You must not call it chance,
my child; always say Providence."
  The cab stopped. The coachman raised the bronze knocker on an
immense door. It was the Hotel de La Mole, and in order that the
passers-by might not be in doubt, those words could be read on a
slab of black marble over the door.
  This ostentation displeased Julien. "They are so afraid of the
Jacobins; they see a Robespierre and his charrette behind every hedge.
Though frequently laughing over it, yet they advertise their house
so that the canaille would recognize it and pillage it in case of an
uprising." He communicated this thought to abbe Pirard.
  "Ah, poor child, you will soon be my vicar. What a frightful idea is
that of yours!"
  "There is nothing more simple."
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_1 ^paragraph 70}
  The proud bearing of the porter, and especially the clean court,
struck him with admiration. The weather was beautiful.
  "What magnificent architecture!" he said to his friend.
  It was one of those mansions with a low facade in the Faubourg St.
Germain that were built at the time of Voltaire. Vogue and
architectural beauty were then never so far apart.

{BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_2
                              CHAPTER 2
                       Admission into the World
-
    A ridiculous and touching memory: the first salon in which at
eighteen I appeared, all alone and without support! A woman's glance
was enough to intimidate me. The more I wished to please, the more
clumsy I became. I made up the falsest of ideas; either I gave up
without any reason, or I looked at a man as my enemy because he gave
me too serious a look. But then, in the midst of the wretched woes
of my timidity, how beautiful a beautiful day was!
                                                            KANT
-
  JULIEN stood stock still in amazement.
                                           {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_2 ^paragraph 5}
  "Now collect yourself," said abbe Pirard; "you have just said
something dreadful, and now you are only a child. Where is that nil
mirari of Horace? Remember that the crowd of servants here are
going to sneer at you after they see you established here; they will
see in you only an equal unjustly placed above them; they will be
hail-fellow-well-met, and will offer you good advice, but only to lead
you to some egregious folly."
  "Let them try," said Julien, defiantly, biting his lip.
  The drawing-rooms they passed through on the first floor before
arriving at the Marquis's library would have seemed to you, reader,
rather depressing than magnificent. Indeed, if they had been offered
to you, you would have declined with thanks. Dulness and wearisomeness
seemed native there. But Julien was more than ever enchanted.
  "How can anyone be unhappy," he thought, "when one lives in such a
splendid place?" Presently they arrived at the most cheerless room
of all, where it was scarcely light enough to see. There they found
a thin little man, with fine, sparkling eyes, in a blond wig. The abbe
turned toward Julien and introduced him; it was the Marquis. Julien
scarcely recognized him, for he was so polite; he was no longer that
haughty lord whom he had seen at the abbey Bray-le-Haut. It seemed
to Julien that his wig was too thick, and that observation relieved
him somewhat of his shyness. The descendant of the friend of Henry III
gave the impression, at first, of lacking in dignity; he was so thin
and restless. Julien, however, noticed that the Marquis was politer
even than the Bishop of Besancon. The interview did not last three
minutes.
  As they walked out the abbe said to Julien:
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_2 ^paragraph 10}
  "You looked at the Marquis as if you were looking at a picture. I am
not so polished among these people; you know more about such things
than I do, but it seemed to me your steady gaze was not the politest
thing in the world."
  They went back to the cab. Down the boulevard they stopped, and
the abbe led Julien to a great apartment. Julien saw no furniture; all
he could see was a magnificent clock, with figures that, according
to his ideas, were quite indecent. Just then a gentleman, very
elegantly attired, smilingly approached, and Julien half saluted
him. The gentleman then smiled again, familiarly laying his hand on
Julien's shoulder. The latter, in his surprise and anger, trembled and
fell back. Abbe Pirard, in spite of his gravity, was shaking with
laughter. The gentleman was only a tailor.
  "I give you your liberty for two days," said the abbe to him as they
were leaving; "it is not until then that you will be presented to
Madame de la Mole. If it were anyone else but I, you would be kept
like a young girl during the first moments of your stay in this modern
Babylon. Just go ahead at once if you have any inclination to be wild,
and I will be quit of my weakness for you. Day after to-morrow this
tailor will bring you two suits. Don't forget to give a five-franc
piece to the boy who helps try them on. By all means don't let your
voice be known to these Parisians. Just say a word and they will
know how to lampoon you; that is their forte. Come to me at noon,
day after to-morrow; go now where you like. Oh, I was forgetting.
Order yourself some boots, some shirts, and a hat at the addresses
which I give you here." Julien looked at the handwriting.
  "Yes, it is the handwriting of the Marquis," said the abbe; "he is a
very active man who sees everything, who likes to act better than to
command. He is going to take you with him just to spare himself that
sort of annoyance. You think you will be able to do everything that
active man will indicate with only a hint? Well, that is what the
future will show. Be careful!"
  Julien entered the shops indicated by the addresses without saying a
word. He noticed with what respect he was received, the shoemaker even
writing his name on his book as M. Julien de Sorel.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_2 ^paragraph 15}
  At Pere la Chaise, a very obliging gentleman, who was an out and out
Liberal, offered to show him the tomb of Marechal Ney, which
discreet politics left without the honor of an epitaph. But on leaving
this Liberal, who pressed him to his breast with tears in his eyes,
Julien missed his watch.
  Rich with such experiences, he presented himself at noon the next
day to abbe Pirard, who gazed on him for a long time in silence.
  "You may turn out to be a perfect fool," said the abbe to him,
severely.
  Julien looked well enough, but somewhat crestfallen. He was
handsome, though; but the abbe was too provincial himself yet to see
that Julien had that stoop of the shoulders which in the provinces
is considered both elegant and imposing. When the Marquis saw
Julien, he looked at him with different eyes.
  "Would you have any objection if M. Sorel took dancing lessons?"
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_2 ^paragraph 20}
  The abbe was petrified.
  "No, not at all," he answered; "Julien is no priest."
  The Marquis ran up the little bare staircase two steps at a time: he
was going himself to install our hero in a pretty apartment which
looked out on the garden. He asked him how many shirts he had bought.
  "Two," replied Julien, intimidated slightly to see a great lord come
down to such details.
  "Very well," replied the Marquis, in a serious, imperative tone that
somewhat sobered Julien, "very well; go and get twenty-two more.
Here is your first quarter's salary."
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_2 ^paragraph 25}
  As he left the room, the Marquis called an old man:
  "Arsene," he said to him, "you will wait on M. Sorel."
  A few minutes later Julien found himself alone in a magnificent
library. It was a delicious moment. In order not to be surprised, he
hid himself in a little dark corner, whence he gazed rapturously at
the finely bound volumes.
  "Why, I can read all that," he was saying to himself "How can I ever
find it disagreeable here? M. de Renal would be put in the shade by
the hundredth part of what the Marquis has done for me; but here are
the copies I have to make."
  After that was done Julien ventured to approach the books. He was
wild with joy when he took out a volume of Voltaire. Opening the
door to see if anyone came, he gave himself up to the pleasure of
turning over each of the eighty volumes. They were magnificently
bound, the chef d'oeuvres of the best bookbinder in London. That was
all that was needed to bring Julien's admiration to ecstasy.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_2 ^paragraph 30}
  An hour later the Marquis entered, and, looking at the copies, noted
with astonishment that Julien had written cela with two "l's."
  "So all that the abbe has told me about his knowledge is a little
fairy tale!" The Marquis was quite disconcerted, yet he said, gently:
  "You are not sure of your spelling, are you?"
  "That is so," said Julien, without thinking in the least of the
injustice he was doing himself. He was softened by the kindness of the
Marquis, and was thinking, by contrast, of the acrid tone of M. de
Renal.
  "It will be time lost, this experiment with the little priest from
Franche-Comte," thought the Marquis, "for I needed a man who is sure."
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_2 ^paragraph 35}
  "Cela is written with only one 'l,'" said the Marquis to him.
"When you have finished copying, look in the dictionary for the
spelling of the words of which you are not sure."
  At six o'clock, when the Marquis called him, he looked with
evident pain at Julien's feet.
  "I must blame myself," he said; "I did not tell you that at
half-past five o'clock you must dress."
  Julien looked nonplussed.
  "I mean that you must put on stockings; but Arsene will remind you
of it. To-day I will make excuses for you."
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_2 ^paragraph 40}
  As he said this, M. de la Mole led Julien into the drawing-room,
which was resplendent with gilt. On such occasions M. de Renal would
not have failed to walk fast in order to pass first through the
door; that little vanity of his old patron made Julien walk on the
heels of the Marquis, causing the latter a good deal of pain from
his gout.
  "Oh, he is such a stick when he walks!" the latter muttered to
himself. He presented him to a tall, imposing-looking woman, his wife.
Julien found her overbearing, somewhat like Madame de Maugiron, the
wife of the sub-prefect of the arrondissement of Verrieres, when she
would be at a St. Charles dinner.
  A little dazzled by the extreme magnificence of the drawing-room,
Julien did not understand anything M. de la Mole said. The Marquise,
however, scarcely deigned to notice him. There were several men
present, among whom he recognized, with indescribable pleasure, the
young Bishop of Agde, who was gracious enough to speak to him before
the ceremony at Bray-le-Haut. That young prelate, somewhat
disconcerted by the appealing glances of Julien, did not care to
recognize the provincial.
  The gentlemen seemed to be exceedingly quiet. In Paris loud talk
is banned, and anything like lively conversation out of place. A pale,
tall, handsome young man, with moustaches and with a remarkably
small head, came in at half-past six.
  "You always make us wait," said the Marquise. At this he kissed
her hand.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_2 ^paragraph 45}
  Julien learned that he was Count de la Mole. He found him charming
from the very first.
  "Is it possible," he said to himself, "that this is the man whose
little sarcasms will drive me out of the house?" But as he was
examining Count Norbert, Julien remarked that he was in boots and
spurs. "And I," he sighed, "I am in slippers, apparently like an
inferior."
  The company seated themselves at the table. Julien heard the
Marquise utter some words in a reproving tone, just as a
well-formed, blonde young woman seated herself opposite to him. She
did not appear attractive to him; but, as he looked at her closer,
he thought he had never seen such beautiful eyes; but they seemed
cold. Then, too, there was an expression of imperious ennui on her
face.
  "Madame de Renal had beautiful eyes," he thought, "and fashionable
people were always complimenting her; they had nothing in common
with these." Julien did not have enough experience to know that what
was scintillating so brightly in Mademoiselle Mathilde's eyes was
exactly what he had in his mind. When Madame de Renal's eyes grew
bright, it was through the fire of passion or from virtuous
indignation at the recital of some wicked deed. Toward the end of
dinner Julien found a word to express Mademoiselle de la Mole's
style of beauty. "She is sparkling," he thought. Except the eyes,
she cruelly resembled her mother, who displeased him more and more,
and at whom he no longer looked. On the other hand, Count Norbert
seemed admirable from every point of view. Julien was so carried
away by him that he no longer had any idea of jealousy or hatred
because he happened to be richer or nobler than himself. Julien saw
that the Marquis was becoming somewhat bored. At the end of the second
course, the latter said to his son:
  "Norbert, I bespeak your friendship for M. Julien Sorel, who is
going to be my chief assistant, and of whom I intend to make a man, if
that is possible. He is my secretary," said the Marquis to his
neighbor, "and he writes cela with two 'l's.'"
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_2 ^paragraph 50}
  Everybody looked at Julien, who inclined his head, but more markedly
toward Norbert. His face, however, left a good impression. The Marquis
happened to speak of the kind of education which Julien had
received, for one of the company had attacked him on Horace.
  "It was precisely in speaking of Horace that I succeeded so well
with the Bishop of Besancon," said Julien to himself, "apparently
these people know only that author." From that moment he was himself
again. It was easier for him now, for he had decided that Mademoiselle
de la Mole was not a woman to his liking. Since leaving the seminary
he had put men aside without allowing himself to be in the least
disconcerted by them. He would have regained his complete
self-composure if the dining-room had not been so magnificent.
  There were two mirrors, each eight feet high, in which he could
see the person addressing him, and these frightened him to some
extent. His sentences were not too long for a provincial, and his fine
eyes, in which timidity appeared and reappeared with his answers,
enhanced the beauty of his expression. He was declared to be
attractive.
  That sort of an examination gave a piquant turn to the monotonous
dinner. The Marquis made a sign to the speaker to push Julien hard.
"Is it really possible that there is something in him?" he thought.
  Julien replied cleverly, and lost enough of his timidity to show,
not that he had genius- an impossible thing in Paris- but that he
was possessed of new ideas, even if they were not elegantly
expressed and were not always apropos. One could see that he had
mastered the Latin.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_2 ^paragraph 55}
  Julien's adversary was an Academician of Inscriptions, with whom
Latin was not precisely a specialty. He found Julien to be a very good
humanist. Having no dread himself of blushing, he tried his best to
embarrass Julien. In the heat of the combat the young man even
forgot the magnificent furniture of the dining-room and began to
express ideas on the Latin poets which his opponent had never heard.
The latter really admired the young secretary's knowledge.
  Luckily there crept into the discussion the question as to whether
Horace was rich or poor, an agreeable, pleasure-loving, reckless
man, turning out verse to amuse himself, like Chapelle, the friend
of Moliere and la Fontaine, or a poor devil of a poet laureate,
following the court and writing odes on the King's birthday like
Southey, the defamer of Lord Byron. Then there was discussed the
condition of society under Augustus and George IV, the two epochs when
aristocracy was at its zenith; but at Rome it was snatched by Mecenas,
who was only a knight, and in England the power of George IV had
been reduced merely to that of the Doge of Venice.
  This discussion seemed to draw the Marquis out of the bored state
into which he had passed at the beginning of dinner. Julien did not
understand all those modern names like Southey, Lord Byron, George IV,
which he just heard for the first time; but it escaped no one that
whenever the question turned on the history of Rome or on a
knowledge that could be derived from the works of Horace or Martial or
Tacitus, his superiority was unquestionable. Julien artlessly
expressed certain ideas he had learned from the Bishop of Besancon
in the various discussions he had had with that prelate. They were
found not bad.
  After the discussion on the poets, the Marquise, who had made it a
rule in life to admire what amused her husband, deigned to cast her
eyes on Julien.
  "The young abbe's awkwardness, perhaps, is the guise of a
well-informed man," said the Marquise to the Academician in Julien's
hearing. Conventional phrases sufficed for the mistress of the
house. She adopted that phrase in speaking of Julien, and was
congratulating herself on inviting the Academician to dinner. "He
has amused M. de la Mole," she thought.

{BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_3
                              CHAPTER 3
                           The First Steps
-
    That immense valley, filled with dazzling lights and so many
thousands of men, overcame me. Not one person knew me. All were
superior to me. I lost my head.
                                            Poemi dell'av. REINA
-
  EARLY NEXT DAY Julien was copying the letters in the library, when
Mademoiselle Mathilde entered by a little secret door that was
hidden by the books. While Julien was admiring that contrivance,
Mademoiselle Mathilde appeared very much astonished, if not positively
displeased, at meeting him there. Julien saw that standing there in
her curl papers she appeared severe, almost masculine. Mademoiselle de
la Mole was in the habit of stealing books from her father's
library, and Julien's presence made her usual appropriation impossible
that morning. This made her so angry that she went to look for the
second volume of Voltaire's "Princess of Babylon," a worthy finish
to the eminently monarchical and religious education at the Sacred
Heart! This poor girl, at the age of nineteen, had already the great
need of something stimulating in order to be interested in a novel.
                                           {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_3 ^paragraph 5}
  Toward three o'clock Count Norbert appeared in the library, with a
newspaper in his hand, to prepare for a speech he had to make that
evening. He was very glad to meet Julien, though he had entirely
forgotten his existence; his manner toward him was perfect. He
proposed a horseback ride.
  "My father will give us leave to go out until dinner time," he said.
Julien appreciated the word us, and found it charming.
  "Why, Monsieur le Comte," said Julien, "if it were a question of
hewing down an eighty-foot tree and of removing the bark and making
planks out of it, I should come out all right; but to go horseback
riding- I have never done that more than half a dozen times in my
life."
  "Well, let this be the seventh time."
  In reality Julien was recalling the entrance of the King at
Verrieres, and thought himself rather an adept equestrian.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_3 ^paragraph 10}
  Coming back from the Bois de Boulogne, when they were in the
middle of the Rue du Bac, he fell in the mud as he tried to avoid a
cab. It was well he had two suits of clothes.
  At dinner the Marquis, wishing to talk to him, asked him something
about the horseback ride. Norbert very generously hastened to reply.
  "The Count is very kind to me," said Julien; "I thank him very much,
and I know the value of it. He was good enough to give me the gentlest
and prettiest horse imaginable; but he could not tie me on, and for
lack of that precaution I fell down in the middle of that fine, long
street near the bridge."
  Mademoiselle Mathilde tried in vain to smother a laugh, and then
indiscreetly asked for details. Julien spoke with a good deal of
artlessness, unaware of the grace with which he was speaking.
  "I augur well for that little priest," said the Marquis to the
Academician, "a simple provincial in such a strait! That is what I
have never seen and never expected to see; and to think he even
tells of his mishap before ladies!"
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_3 ^paragraph 15}
  Julien put his hearers in a good humor over his misfortune, and at
the close of dinner, when the general conversation took another
turn, Mademoiselle Mathilde asked her brother for the details of the
accident. As she continued these questions, and as Julien
encountered her eyes now and then, he ventured to reply directly,
although he was not addressed, and all three ended by laughing as if
they were three young persons in a country town.
  The next day Julien heard two lectures on theology, and then
returned to copy a score of letters. He found near him, in the
library, a handsomely dressed young man, but whose general
appearance betokened pettiness and envy.
  The Marquis entered. "What are you doing here, Monsieur Tanbeau?" he
asked the newcomer, sternly.
  "I believed-" replied the young man, smiling slightly.
  "No, monsieur, you did not believe; it is some scheme, but it is
an unfortunate one."
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_3 ^paragraph 20}
  Young Tanbeau arose, furious, and disappeared. He was a nephew of
the Academician, Madame de la Mole's friend, and was devoting
himself to letters. The Academician brought it about that the
Marquis should employ him as a secretary. Tanbeau, who was working
in another room, knowing with what favor Julien had been received,
wished to share it, and therefore had come into the library that
morning.
  At four o'clock Julien ventured, after some hesitation, to present
himself before Comte Norbert; the latter was about to go out horseback
riding again, and, though somewhat embarrassed, was perfectly polite.
  "I believe," he said to Julien, "that you will do all right after
a while, and after a few weeks I shall be delighted to go out riding
with you."
  "I desire to thank you for the kindness you have shown me. Believe
me, monsieur," added Julien, very seriously, "I am sensible of my
obligation to you. If your horse was not hurt by my awkwardness
yesterday, and is not used now, I should like to ride him to-day."
  "My dear Sorel, you are running a risk. Suppose I make objections
that will recall your prudence? The fact is it is four o'clock, and we
have not much time to lose."
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_3 ^paragraph 25}
  When he jumped on the horse, he asked the young Count what one ought
do to keep from falling.
  "Lots of things," replied Norbert, laughing aloud. "For example,
lean backward."
  Julien put the horse into a gallop; they were then at Place Louis
XVI.
  "Ah, you are a bold young fellow," said Norbert. "There are too many
carriages in charge of reckless drivers, and once on the ground the
tillburys will run over you. They are not going to risk spoiling the
horse's mouth by stopping short."
  Twenty times Norbert saw Julien on the point of falling, but at last
the ride ended without an accident. When they returned the young Count
said to his sister:
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_3 ^paragraph 30}
  "I present you to a dare-devil."
  At dinner, speaking to his father across the table, he rendered
ample justice to Julien's daring. What he said was the greatest praise
he could give to a horseback rider.
  The young Count had that morning heard the grooms speaking of
Julien's fall as they were attending to the horses, and ridiculing him
outrageously. In spite of this kindness Julien soon felt how perfectly
isolated he was in the midst of the family. All their ways seemed
strange to him, and his awkwardness was a source of constant delight
to the servants.
  Abbe Pirard had left for his curacy. "If Julien is a feeble
plant," he thought, "he will perish; but if he is a man of courage, he
will come out all right by himself."

{BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_4
                              CHAPTER 4
                         The Hotel de la Mole
-
    What is he doing here? Would he feel content? Would he think
that he was agreeable?
                                                         RONSARD
-
  IF EVERYTHING seemed strange to Julien in the noble drawing-room
of the Hotel de la Mole, the pale young man, in his turn, appearing
always in black, seemed very singular to the persons who deigned to
notice him. Madame de la Mole proposed to her husband to have him sent
away on business on days when certain personages were to dine.
                                           {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_4 ^paragraph 5}
  "I wish to push my experiment to the very end," replied the Marquis.
"Abbe Pirard thinks we are wrong in breaking the pride of those around
us. 'We lean only on what offers resistance,' etcetera. This one
will be remarked only because his face is unfamiliar; for the rest, he
is a deaf-mute."
  "If I want to recognize the people here," said Julien to himself, "I
must write down the name and a word or two about the great people whom
I shall meet here."
  In the first line he put down the names of five or six friends of
the family, who were assiduous in their attentions to him, believing
him to be a protege of the Marquis.
  These were poor, spiritless hangers-on, to be found in all
aristocratic drawing-rooms. In justice to them it must be said that
they were not meek to all alike. Everyone of them might have allowed
himself to be bullied by the Marquis, but would have resented a
slighting word from Madame de la Mole.
  There was too much pride, too much tediousness in the life of the
master and mistress of the house; they were too long accustomed to
outraging other people's feelings for their diversion to expect true
friendship. Yet, except on rainy days or when their ennui was
insufferable, which was, indeed, very rare, they were found to be
perfectly polite.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_4 ^paragraph 10}
  If the five or six men who tried to be patronizing to Julien had
deserted the mansion, the Marquise would have been alone, and, in
the eyes of women of her rank, lack of company is not to be borne.
It is too significant of a fall from grace.
  The Marquis was perfect to his wife in this respect, taking care
to have the drawing-room always well filled. He did not invite peers
alone, for his new colleagues were not polished enough to be always
admitted among his friends, nor amusing enough to be received as
subalterns. Julien found this out later. The diplomacy that entered
into the amusement of the bourgeois was not to be found in such a
house as that of the Marquis, except in extreme cases.
  Such is the imperious sway of the desire for amusement in this
wearisome century, that even on company days everybody fled as soon as
the Marquis left the drawing-room. They could not amuse themselves
about God, the priests, the King, men of rank, or artists favored by
the Court. Nothing could be said about Beranger, the Opposition
journals, Voltaire, or Rousseau; in fine, everything that would
imply freedom of speech was banned.
  Neither an income of one hundred thousand ecus nor a cordon bleu
could be proof against such a drawing-room law. The least shadow of
levity seemed gross, in spite of the high tone and perfect politeness.
Everybody, nevertheless, wished to be agreeable, and, therefore, was
more or less of a bore.
  The young people who came to pay their respects, fearing to speak of
anything that would cause the least remark, or that would betray
forbidden reading, usually kept quiet after a few passing remarks on
Racine and on the weather.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_4 ^paragraph 15}
  Julien observed that the conversation was ordinarily kept alive by
two Viscounts and five Barons whom M. de la Mole had known in the
Emigration. These gentlemen enjoyed an income of from six to eight
thousand livres. Four of them held out for the "Quotidienne," but
the others stoutly clung to the "Gazette de France." Each man then had
some anecdote to relate; one was about the Chateau, in which the
word admirable was not spared. Julien remarked that the speaker had
five Crosses, the rest having only three at most.
  There were usually in the hall ten servants in livery, who served
ices or tea every quarter of an hour, and at midnight a sort of supper
with champagne. For that reason Julien stayed through a whole
evening at times; but he could not understand how one could listen
seriously to the commonplaces in the finely gilt drawing-room.
Sometimes he would look at the speakers to see if they themselves were
not mocking at what they were saying. "Why, my M. de Maistre, whom I
know by heart, had said that a hundred times better," he would say
to himself, "and even he is tiresome." Julien was not alone in
perceiving the mental asphyxia. Some consoled themselves with ices,
others with the pleasure of saying, for the rest of the evening, "I
have just left the Hotel de la Mole, where I learned that Russia-"
  Julien learned from one of his patronizing friends that Madame de la
Mole had rewarded the poor Baron Le Bourguignon, a sub-prefect
during the Restoration, only six months before, with a prefecture
for his marked attention of twenty years.
  That great event redoubled the zeal of these gentlemen. If they were
sensitive before, they were no more so after that. Rarely was there
seen a direct lack of consideration, but Julien overheard now and then
at the table two or three little dialogues between the Marquis and his
wife that were indeed cruel for those who sat beside them. These noble
personages, indeed, did not hide their disdain for anyone who had no
seat in the chariot of the King. Julien remarked that the word
"Crusade" was the only one that imparted anything serious or
respectful to their expression. The respect that they usually showed
had in it something of complaisance.
  In the midst of all this magnificence, Julien was interested only in
M. de la Mole. He heard him say one day that Le Bourguignon's
promotion was not ungratifying to him, since it was an attention to
the Marquise. Julien learned more about it through abbe Pirard.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_4 ^paragraph 20}
  One morning, as the abbe was working with Julien in the Marquis's
library over the eternal lawsuit with de Frilaire, the latter said
to him suddenly:
  "Monsieur, is it one of my duties, or is it a great kindness, that I
should dine with the Marquise every day?"
  "Why, it is a signal honor," replied the abbe, scandalized. "M.
N., the Academician, who for fifteen years has paid such marked
attention to her, has never been able to obtain that for his nephew,
M. Tanbeau."
  "For me it is the most disagreeable thing in connection with my
position here. I was bored less at the seminary; I see universal
yawning, even to Mademoiselle de la Mole, who should by this time be
accustomed to the amenities of visitors; I am always afraid of falling
asleep. Please secure permission for me to dine at forty sous in
some insignificant restaurant."
  The abbe, who was by this time a veritable parvenu, was very
sensitive to the honor of dining with the great lord. While he was
endeavoring to explain himself to Julien, a slight noise made them
turn around. Julien saw Mademoiselle de la Mole, who had come to
look for a book. He flushed. She had heard all; but she really then
began to think something of Julien.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_4 ^paragraph 25}
  "He was not born on his knees," she thought, "like this old abbe.
Lord! how ugly that man is!"
  At dinner Julien did not dare look at Mademoiselle de la Mole,
who, however, was gracious enough to speak to him. That evening a
great deal of company was expected, and she asked him to remain. Young
Parisian girls do not like gentlemen of a certain age who are not tidy
about their dress. Julien did not need much sagacity to perceive
that M. Le Bourguignon's colleagues, who had remained in the
drawing-room, had the honor of being the object of Mademoiselle de
la Mole's sarcasm. Whether it was affectation on her part or not,
she was outrageous to these people.
  Mademoiselle de la Mole was the centre of a little group that formed
almost every night behind the Marquise's armchair. There were
Marquis de Croisenois, Count de Caylus, Viscount de Luz, and two or
three other young officials, friends of Norbert and his sister.
These young gentlemen were seated on a large sofa. At the end of the
sofa, opposite the brilliant Mathilde, Julien was sitting on a
little low, straw-bottomed chair. That modest position was envied
him by all; but Norbert had his father's young secretary remain there,
speaking to him from time to time in the course of the evening.
  Mademoiselle de la Mole had asked him during the day as to the
height of the mountain on which the citadel of Besancon was placed,
but Julien could not tell whether the mountain was higher or lower
than Montmartre. He frequently laughed outright at what was said in
that little group, but he was incapable of putting in a word. It was
like a strange language which he understood, but could not speak.
  Mathilde's friends were in constant warfare with the people who kept
on arriving in the drawing-room. The friends of the house came first
under their fire, being better known than the rest. Julien was very
attentive, everything having its interest for him.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_4 ^paragraph 30}
  "Oh, here is M. Descoulis," said Mathilde, "he is not wearing a
wig any more. Why, does he want to get the prefecture by his genius?
Look how he displays that brow which he says is replete with lofty
thoughts!"
  "He is a man that knows everybody," said M. de Croisenois; "he
frequently visits my uncle the Cardinal. He is capable of nursing a
lie with anyone of his friends for years, and he has two or three
hundred friends. He knows how to bolster up friendship, he does;
that is his forte. He has grovelled before the door of one of his
friends at seven o'clock on a winter morning. Yes, he gets angry
from time to time, which leads him to write seven or eight letters.
Then he becomes appeased, and writes seven or eight letters over the
charms of friendship. But it is in frank and candid expansion of
soul that this man shines best of all. This manoeuvre appears best
when he has any favor to ask. One of my uncle's vicars is inimitable
when he gives an account of the life of M. Descoulis since the
Restoration. I will bring him here some day."
  "Bah! I don't believe in anything of the kind; it is only provincial
jealousy among these small people," said Count de Caylus.
  "M. Descoulis will make a name in history," continued the Marquis;
"he has made the Restoration with abbe de Pradt and MM. de
Talleyrand and Tozzo di Borgo."
  "That man has gone through millions," said Norbert, "and I cannot
conceive how he is going to reward my father's little epigrams,
which are often abominable enough. 'How many friends have you
betrayed, my dear Descoulis?' he asked him the other day, from one end
of the table to the other."
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_4 ^paragraph 35}
  "But what if he has betrayed anyone?" asked Mademoiselle de la Mole.
"Who is not a traitor?"
  "Hello!" cried Count de Caylus to Norbert, "I see M. Sainclair is
here, that famous Liberal. What the deuce does he want here? Why, I
must go and talk to him; they say he is brilliant."
  "But how will your mother receive him?" asked M. de Croisenois;
"he has such extravagant, free, independent ideas."
  "See," said Mademoiselle de la Mole, "there is that independent
man who is bowing to the very ground before M. Descoulis, as he
takes his hand! I thought he was going to carry it to his lips."
  "Descoulis knows how to use power better than we give him credit
for," replied M. de Croisenois.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_4 ^paragraph 40}
  "Sainclair comes here to get into the Academy. See, Croisenois,
how he salutes Baron L. Why, he would be less obsequious if he fell on
his knees," said M. de Luz.
  "My dear Sorel," said Norbert, "you may be brilliant- but you come
from the mountains; never, never, greet anyone the way this great peer
did, if he were a god himself."
  "Oh, there is brilliancy par excellence! Baron Baton!" said
Mademoiselle de la Mole, laughingly, imitating the voice of the
footman who had just announced him.
  "I think even you are making fun of him. What a name!" said M. de
Caylus.
  "'Oh, what's in a name?' he said one day," replied Mademoiselle de
la Mole. "Imagine the Duke de Bouillon being announced for the first
time in a drawing-room! It is only a matter of being used to it, in my
opinion."
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_4 ^paragraph 45}
  Julien withdrew from the sofa, not appreciative enough of the
delicate raillery to laugh over it. He was taking it seriously. He saw
in the remarks of the young people only a general contempt, of which
he disapproved. His provincial or English prudery made him see in it
all only spite. Of course, he was mistaken.
  "Count Norbert," he said to himself, "whom I have seen spoiling
three sheets of paper writing a few lines to his colonel, would be
very happy if, in his whole life, he wrote a page like M. Sainclair."
  Being unknown, Julien glided among the people unperceived, and
successively approached several groups. He followed Baron Baton with
his eyes from a distance, desirous of hearing him speak. That
brilliant man seemed nervous, and Julien saw that he was not at his
ease until he had found three or four piquant phrases. It seemed to
Julien that that sort of genius required room for expansion; the Baron
was not content with words, but needed at least four phrases of six
lines each to shine.
  "That man is delivering a dissertation, he is not talking," said
some one behind Julien. He turned round and blushed with pleasure to
hear the man called Count Chalvet. That man had figured in the
"Memorial de Sainte- Helene," and in the little bits of history
dictated by Napoleon.
  Count Chalvet was astute in his remarks, clear, just, vivid, and
deep. If he said anything, it appeared clear at once. What he said was
facts, and it was a pleasure to listen to him. In politics, however,
he was very cynical.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_4 ^paragraph 50}
  "Oh, I am an Independent," he was saying to a gentleman wearing
three badges, whom he was evidently mocking. "Why should I be of the
same opinion to-day that I was six weeks ago? Why, my opinion would be
my tyrant."
  A quartette of grave young gentlemen who surrounded him made long
faces, evidently displeased at the light tone. The Count saw that he
was going too far. Happily he perceived the good M. Balland, a very
Tartuffe of goodness. The Count began to converse with him. It was
understood then that the poor Balland was going to be sacrificed.
  For the sake of his morals and morality in general M. Balland, after
a few very difficult steps in high society, had married, though
horribly ugly, a very rich woman, who soon died; then another very
rich woman, whom no one ever saw in society. He enjoyed in all
humility his income of sixty thousand livres, and had even some
flatterers in his train.
  Count Chalvet spoke of all that to him without the least pity. There
was a crowd of about thirty persons around them, with a smile on
everyone, even on the grave young gentlemen, the hope of the century.
  "Why does he visit M. de la Mole if he is evidently the butt?"
thought Julien. Approaching abbe Pirard, he asked that question of
him. M. Balland had glided away.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_4 ^paragraph 55}
  "Good!" said Norbert. "He is one of the spies around my father;
there remains only that limping Napier."
  "Is that a riddle?" thought Julien. "But, then, why does the Marquis
receive M. Balland?"
  The stern abbe changed countenance as he heard the lackeys
announce some one again.
  "Why, this is like the Basile hole; I see here only men with a
damaged character." The abbe did not know the tenor of fashionable
society. Indeed, among his Jansenist friends, he was known to have
very strong opinions about the men who cleverly find entrance to
drawing-rooms through diplomacy or wealth to serve any and every
party. For a while he replied to Julien's questions out of the
abundance of his grieved heart. Then he suddenly stopped, unhappy over
the idea that he was always speaking ill of the world. He thought it
was wicked. A bilious man, a Jansenist, and yet a believer in
Christian charity, his life in the world was a continual struggle.
  "What a face that abbe Pirard has!" said Mademoiselle de la Mole, as
Julien approached the sofa again. Julien did not like that, but she
was certainly right. M. Pirard was without doubt the most virtuous man
in the drawing-room, but his beet-like face, contorted by the stings
of his conscience, made him hideous.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_4 ^paragraph 60}
  "After this, what is there in faces?" thought Julien. "It is when
abbe Pirard's scruples are awakened by some little peccadillo that
he looks most atrocious; while in this face of a Napier, who is
known as a spy to everybody, one reads only happiness and
tranquillity." Abbe Pirard had made some great concessions to his
party, for he had taken a servant and was well dressed.
  Julien then remarked something unusual in the drawing-room; for
everyone had his eyes turned to the door. There was a hush all
round. The footman announced the famous Baron de Tolly, to whom the
elections had directed general attention.
  Approaching nearer, Julien saw him very distinctly. The Baron had
presided over an election district and had had the luminous idea of
throwing out several square bits of paper bearing the vote of one of
the several parties; and, in order to compensate himself for the loss,
he had replaced them by other bits of paper bearing the vote of one
who was more agreeable to him. That little manoeuvre was seen by
several electors, who straightway proceeded to pay the Baron de
Tolly some compliments. The gentleman was still pale from that
little affair. Some evil-minded persons even spoke of the galleys.
He was received coolly by M. de la Mole, and he slipped out as soon as
he could.
  "If he leaves so soon, he is going to M. Comte" (a celebrated
prestidigitateur), said Count Chalvet; and everybody laughed.
  In a group of quiet persons, intriguers, but men of intelligence,
who one after another had been ushered into the drawing-room, the
little Tanbeau was endeavoring to win his spurs. If he had not yet the
cleverness of speech of the people around him, he made up for it, as
one could see, by his great energy.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_4 ^paragraph 65}
  "Why shouldn't that man be sentenced to ten years imprisonment?"
he was saying to the group as Julien approached. "It is at the
bottom of a dungeon that such reptiles should be placed. They should
die out of the sight of men. If not, their venom will prove more
noxious than ever. What is the good of fining him a thousand ecus?
He is poor; well and good; so much the better. But his party will
pay for him; he should have been fined five hundred francs and
sentenced to ten years solitary confinement."
  "Good Lord! who is that monster you are talking about?" thought
Julien, who was admiring the young man's vehement tone and energetic
gestures. The little, thin, drawn face of the Academician's nephew was
positively hideous at that moment. Julien soon ascertained that he
spoke of the greatest poet of the age.
  "Oh, monster!" muttered Julien, half aloud, generous tears suffusing
his eyes. "You little scoundrel!" he thought, "I will see you about
that later. There, now, these are the tailenders of the party of which
the Marquis is the head. And the illustrious man he is berating, how
many Crosses, how many sinecures, would he not have received if he had
sold himself not even to such a disreputable ministry as de Nervale's,
but only to some of those honest men who followed him?"
  Abbe Pirard made a sign to Julien just as M. de la Mole had
whispered something to him. But when Julien, who was listening
respectfully to the effusions of a Bishop, was at liberty again, he
approached his friend, who was now beset by that abominable little
Tanbeau. That little wretch was heaping coals on him as the cause of
Julien's success.
  "When will death deliver us of that old putrefaction?" It was in
such terms, in picturesque biblical style, that the little literary
gentleman spoke in that moment of the venerable Lord Holland. He had
at his fingers' ends the biography of all prominent men, and he
began to review those who might rise to influence under the new King
of England.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_4 ^paragraph 70}
  Abbe Pirard passed into an adjoining room, with Julien following.
  "The Marquis does not like scribblers, I warn you. That is his
sole antipathy. You can learn Latin and Greek if you like, and the
history of Egypt and Persia, and he will honor you as a savant. But
don't go to writing a page in French, especially on matters above your
station in life. He will call you a scribbler and will take you for
a fool. Why, living in the mansion of a great lord, don't you know
that famous phrase of the Duc de Castries about d'Alembert and
Rousseau? 'How can he reason about anything when he has not an
income of a thousand ecus?'"
  "Everything is known here," thought Julien, "just as at the
seminary." He had written eight or ten glowing pages, a sort of eulogy
on the old army surgeon, who, he felt, had made a man of him. "And
that little drawer has always been locked," said Julien to himself. He
quickly ran up to his room and burned the manuscript, returning
immediately to the drawing-room. The brilliant nonentities had now
left; only the gentlemen with the decorations remained.
  Around the table, that had been brought in all set, were seven or
eight noble, devout women between thirty and thirty-five years of age.
The brilliant wife of the Marechal de Fervaques walked in, excusing
herself for the lateness of the hour, it being after midnight. She
took her place beside the Marquise. Julien experienced a great
emotion, for she had the eyes and the general appearance of Madame
de Renal.
  The group around Mademoiselle de la Mole had not yet diminished. She
was busy with her friends, passing compliments on the unhappy Count de
Thaler. He was the only son of the wealthy Jew who loaned money to
kings when at war with their subjects. The Jew had just died,
leaving his son an income of a hundred thousand ecus a month and a
name that was only too well known. Such a fortune demanded either
simplicity of character or moral strength. Unfortunately the Count was
a man possessed of not a single virtue that was attributed to him by
his flatterers.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_4 ^paragraph 75}
  M. de Caylus was saying that he could not bring himself to the
decision even to ask in marriage Mademoiselle de la Mole, to whom
the Marquis de Croisenois, a Duke with only an income of ten
thousand livres, was paying a great deal of attention.
  "Oh, don't accuse him of having a will," said Norbert, pityingly.
That hit off the weakness of Count de Thaler precisely. In that
respect he was worthy of being a king. For, taking advice from
everybody, he had not the courage to follow any definite plan.
  "His face shows that," said Mademoiselle de la Mole.
  It presented a singular mixture of indecision and disappointment,
with some suggestion of self-importance appearing from time to time.
That was usually accompanied with that decisive tone which the richest
man in France ought to have, especially when he is handsome and not
quite thirty-six.
  "He is timidly insolent," M. de Croisenois said.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_4 ^paragraph 80}
  Count de Caylus, Norbert, and two of the other moustached young
men would chaff him as much as they liked, without any suspicion on
his part, and send him home promptly at one o'clock.
  "Are those Arabian horses that are waiting for you at the door
just now?" Norbert asked him.
  "Oh, no, it is a less expensive team I have," replied M. de
Thaler. "The off horse cost me five thousand francs and the other
one is worth only one hundred louis; but I want you to know that I
don't use them except at night. Their gait is exactly alike; they
are well matched."
  Norbert's remark gave the Count the idea that it was quite proper
for a man like him to have a passion for horses. He left, and the
other gentlemen departed soon after, greatly amused over him.
  "And so," thought Julien, as he heard them laughingly go down the
stairs, "this gives me an idea of the other extreme of my position.
I have not an income of twenty louis a year and I find myself side
by side with a man who has twenty louis an hour, and he is made
sport of." Such a view cured him of his envy.

{BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_5
                              CHAPTER 5
                     Sensibility and a Pious Lady
-
    A slightly lively idea there comes off as rudeness, so
accustomed are we to words without dimension. Woe to him who invents
while he speaks!
                                                         FAUBLAS
-
  AFTER several months' trial, the day came when Julien received
from the steward of the house the third quarter of his salary. M. de
la Mole had also given him charge of the administration of his estates
in Brittany and Normandy, where Julien made frequent visits. He was
charged especially with the correspondence relative to the famous suit
with abbe de Frilaire. M. Pirard had given him the necessary
instructions.
                                           {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_5 ^paragraph 5}
  From the short notes which the Marquis pencilled on the margin of
the letters he received, Julien could write replies that were almost
always signed.
  At the theological school his professors complained of his lack of
application, but they regarded him none the less as one of their
most promising students. Julien had then gone to work with great
ardor, and the bloom had departed from his cheeks. But his paleness
was viewed sympathetically by the young seminarists. He found these
less troublesome and less enslaved to the franc than those at
Besancon. They thought he had consumption.
  The Marquis had given him a horse. Fearing that he might be met
riding, Julien hastened to tell them that the exercise was
prescribed by a physician.
  Abbe Pirard had brought him into some Jansenist circles, where his
astonishment knew no bounds. The idea of religion was inextricably
bound up in his mind with hypocrisy and greed. He admired those pious,
stern men who were not thinking of revenue. Several Jansenists had
shown him friendship and given him some kindly advice. A new world
seemed to open before him. He made the acquaintance of that Count
Altamira, a Liberal, six feet tall, who in his own country had been
condemned to death. That strange contrast, religious zeal and love
of liberty, struck him with great force.
  A little coolness had come between Julien and the young Count.
Norbert had found that he answered too readily the little ironies of
several of his friends. Julien, having made a few awkward passes,
had resolved also never to speak to Mademoiselle Mathilde. He was
treated uniformly with a great deal of kindness in the house, but he
felt that he had been put back to some extent. His good provincial
sense explained this to him with the proverb, "Everything is beautiful
that is new."
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_5 ^paragraph 10}
  Perhaps he was clearer in his vision than at first, or perhaps the
first enchantment of Parisian politeness had passed away. When he
would cease work, he would be prey to dreadful ennui. It was the
effect of that admirable politeness which is so nicely graduated to
every station in life. The most obtuse sensibility would see in it
something artificial.
  No doubt one might object to the provinces as being possessed of too
little polish; but at least one has some heart there. Never was
Julien's pride injured in the Hotel de la Mole; but often, after a
day's work, he was ready to burst into tears. In the provinces a
restaurant waiter takes some interest in you if an accident befalls
you as you enter the cafe, even if his commiseration over your
mishap is only an excuse for repeating his tantalizing regrets. At
Paris the great aim of all is to hide that they are laughing at you;
but you are always nothing to them.
  We pass over in silence a mass of little adventures which might have
covered Julien with ridicule had he not been in some way above
ridicule. A foolish sensitiveness made him commit a thousand
gaucheries. All his pleasures took the form of precaution. He
practised pistol shooting every day and was one of the best pupils
of the most famous fencing master. When he had a little time, in place
of reading, as before, he would run to the stable and ask for the most
vicious horse, though in his rides with the riding master he almost
invariably fell off.
  The Marquis found him in every way suitable, because of his
quickness, his silence, and his intelligence. Gradually he intrusted
all his difficult affairs to him. At times, when his lofty ambition
would permit, the Marquis would transact his business with a great
deal of sagacity, prudently investing his fortune in houses and lands.
But he was subject to caprice, and would throw away a hundred louis
and grumble about a hundred francs, being as desirous, like other rich
men, of the amusement his business would afford him as of profits. The
Marquis had really need of a man to bring some order into his affairs.
  Madame de la Mole, although usually very dignified, found occasion
now and then to speak lightly of Julien. The unexpected coming
from a sensitive person is the horror of great ladies; for it is the
antipodes of convention.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_5 ^paragraph 15}
  Two or three times the Marquis took his part:
  "If he is ridiculous in your salon, he triumphs in the library."
Julien, on his part, found out the Marquise's weakness. She deigned to
interest herself in a Baron Joumate, an inane sort of a man, who
passed his life at the Chateau uttering commonplaces. He was tall,
thin, and ugly. Madame de la Mole would have been delighted, perhaps
for the first time in her life, if she could have made a match between
him and her daughter.

{BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_6
                              CHAPTER 6
                         A Way of Pronouncing
-
    Their exalted mission is to judge with calm the little events of
the people's everyday living. Their wisdom must anticipate great rages
over little causes, or over events that the voice of fame transfigures
by carrying them afar.
                                                         GRATIUS
-
  FOR A BEGINNER, who out of pride would not ask any questions, Julien
did not commit too many follies. One day he was suddenly pushed into a
cafe in Rue St. Honore by a tall man in a red overcoat, who, having
his attention attracted by his dark clothes, looked at Julien just
as before at Besancon Mademoiselle Amanda's lover had done.
                                           {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_6 ^paragraph 5}
  Julien had too often reproached himself for having allowed that
first insult to take this stare lightly. Upon demanding an
explanation, the man in the overcoat insulted him outright. It all
took place in the cafe, in the presence of a great crowd, even
passers-by stopping at the door. By a sort of provincial precaution,
Julien always carried pistols about him. He began to finger these
nervously, but he had enough self-control to say only to his
adversary:
  "Monsieur, your address? I despise you!"
  The constant iteration of these words made an impression on the
crowd.
  "That man must surely give him his address."
  The man in the overcoat, hearing that decision repeated so often,
threw into Julien's face five or six cards. Fortunately none of them
struck his face, for he had promised himself not to use his pistols
except on the defensive. The man then went away, not without turning
around several times, shaking his fist at him insultingly.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_6 ^paragraph 10}
  Julien arose, bathed in perspiration. "So then, I am in the power of
every man," he thought, "if I am to be moved so lightly at every turn.
How can I kill that humiliating sensitiveness?" he muttered, with
rage. "But where can I find a second?"
  He did not have a friend. True, he formed several acquaintances, but
all eventually, at the end of six weeks, kept at a distance from him.
  "I am unsociable," he thought, "and now I am cruelly punished for
it."
  Then he thought of looking up an old lieutenant of the 96th,
called Lieven, a poor devil with whom he had frequently fenced. With
him Julien was sincere.
  "I should like very much to be your second," said Lieven, "but on
one condition: if you don't wound your man you shall fight with me
on the spot."
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_6 ^paragraph 15}
  "Agreed!" cried Julien, enchanted, and they went to the address of
M. C. de Beauvoises, as indicated on the card, in Faubourg St.
Germain.
  It was seven o'clock in the morning. Not until he presented
himself did Julien think that this might be the young relative of
Madame de Renal who was formerly with the Embassy in Rome or in
Naples, and who had given a letter of introduction to the singer
Geronimo.
  Julien had given to the tall footman one of the cards that had
been thrown at him and one of his own. After he and his second had
been kept waiting three-quarters of an hour, they were shown into an
elegantly furnished room, where they found a tall young man dressed
like a fashion plate. His features had the perfection and inanity of
Greek beauty; his head, carried remarkably erect, was covered with
beautiful blond hair, carefully dressed.
  "It was to have himself fixed up that way," thought the lieutenant
of the 96th, "that this damned fool made us wait." His robe, his
morning pantaloons, everything, even to his embroidered slippers,
was marvellously correct. His face, noble though expressionless,
announced something conventional and clever- the ideal diplomat a la
Metternich. Napoleon did not have a relish for such cleverness in
the officers about him.
  Julien, to whom the lieutenant of the 96th explained that to be kept
waiting so long after the cards had been tossed in his face was even a
greater insult, entered rather brusquely. He intended at first to be
insolent, but he was checked by the demand for good breeding. Julien
was so astonished at M. de Beauvoises's politeness and tone, in
which dwelt a reserve of authority, and, more than all, at the
admirable elegance all around, that in the twinkling of an eye he gave
up the idea of being insulting. His man surely was not the man of
the day before!
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_6 ^paragraph 20}
  His astonishment was so great at finding such a distinguished
gentleman in place of that coarse fellow whom he was seeking that he
could not find a single word. He presented one of the cards that had
been thrown at him.
  "That is my name," said the young diplomat, on whom Julien's black
coat at seven o'clock in the morning did not make a great
impression, "but I do not understand how the honor-"
  The pronunciation of the last few words imparted to Julien a
little of his former anger. "I have come for our little affair,
monsieur," Julien explained.
  M. Charles de Beauvoises, after thinking a little, seemingly
satisfied with the cut of Julien's coat, said to himself- "He is
from Staub, that is clear. That vest is in good taste and the boots
are also good; but, on the other hand, that black coat so early in the
morning! That is good to escape a bullet with."
  After the explanation he resumed his perfect politeness, assuming
almost a tone of equality with Julien. The affair being a delicate
one, the conversation lasted some time, but toward the end Julien
could not refuse the evidence. That elegant young man before him
offered not the slightest resemblance to that ruffian who had insulted
him the night before.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_6 ^paragraph 25}
  Julien was very much disgusted when he left. He had observed
Chevalier de Beauvoises' self-complacency; it was thus he called
himself, when Julien called him simply "monsieur." He admired that
gravity which was more or less in reserve, but was never wholly
abandoned. He was astonished at his peculiar way of moving his
tongue in pronouncing certain words. Yet, with all that, there was
no longer any reason for seeking a quarrel.
  The young diplomat, indeed, very graciously offered to fight the
duel, but the ex-lieutenant of the 96th, having sat through a whole
hour, his legs straight out before him, his hands on his hips, with
elbows back, decided that his friend M. Sorel would not seek a
German quarrel with a man because the latter's cards had been stolen.
  Julien walked out in a bad humor. Chevalier de Beauvoises'
carriage was in the court before the step. By chance Julien happened
to raise his eyes, recognizing his man of the night before in the
coachman. To see him and to pull him off his seat by his long coat and
to pound him with his fist was all done in a trice. Two footmen ran to
their comrade's assistance and gave Julien a number of blows. The
latter then drew out his pistol and fired, the servants taking to
their heels. All that was the affair of a moment.
  Chevalier de Beauvoises, who walked down the step with the utmost
self-possession, asked in a lordly tone:
  "What is this? What is this?"
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_6 ^paragraph 30}
  He was evidently very curious about it, but his diplomatic
importance did not permit him to show any more interest. When he found
out what the affair was about, his gravity disputed in his face with a
little humor- something that should never appear in a diplomatic
countenance.
  The lieutenant of the 96th understood that M. de Beauvoises wished
to fight, but he had the diplomacy to reserve to his friend the
privilege of initiative.
  "Indeed," he cried, "that is ground enough for a duel!"
  "I think so too," replied the diplomat. "I am going to chase out
this rascal," he said to his footman. "Let another man get up on the
box."
  The carriage door was opened, the Chevalier doing the honors to
Julien and his second. Then they looked around for a second for M.
de Beauvoises, who indicated a secluded spot. The conversation was
friendly enough; there was nothing singular in the scene except the
diplomat in his gown.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_6 ^paragraph 35}
  "These gentlemen," thought Julien, "though very noble, are not as
tired of life as those who dine at M. de la Mole's; and I see why," he
added, an instant later, "why they permit themselves so many
indecencies at times." The conversation had turned on coryphees who
had been well received by the public in a ballet given the night
before. The gentlemen had alluded to some piquant anecdotes of which
Julien and his second, the lieutenant of the 96th, were absolutely
ignorant.
  Julien was not foolish enough to pretend to know them, and readily
confessed his ignorance.
  That candor pleased the Chevalier's friend, who related more stories
with greater detail.
  One thing astonished Julien as the carriage stopped for a moment
at an altar constructed in the middle of the street for the procession
of Corpus Christi. The gentlemen had permitted themselves many
questionable pleasantries. The curate, according to them, was the
son of an archbishop. Never at the house of the Marquis de la Mole,
who wished to become a Duke, had any one dared say such a thing.
  The duel was quickly over. Julien received a wound in the arm, which
was staunched with handkerchiefs. They fortified him with brandy,
and Chevalier de Beauvoises begged Julien to permit him to take him
home in the same carriage that had brought them to the scene of the
duel.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_6 ^paragraph 40}
  When Julien indicated the de la Mole mansion, there was an
exchange of glances between the young diplomat and his friend.
Julien had his second there, but he found the conversation of the
other gentlemen infinitely more amusing than that of the good
lieutenant of the 96th.
  "My Lord! a duel! is that all it is?" thought Julien. "Oh, how
glad I am that I found that coachman again! What would it have been
for me if I had not resented that insult in the cafe!"
  The amusing conversation was not interrupted. Julien understood then
that diplomatic affectation is not without its uses.
  "Ennui, then, is not inherent," he said to himself, "in
conversations between men of quality. These gentlemen amuse themselves
about the Corpus Christi procession, venturing, even, to tell with the
utmost detail some risque anecdotes! They need only reason in
political affairs, and that lack is more than compensated by the grace
of their manner and the perfect impassiveness of their expression."
  Julien felt very strongly drawn to them. "How glad I should be to
see them often!"
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_6 ^paragraph 45}
  They had hardly gotten away when Beauvoises went to seek
information. It was not very encouraging; he was very curious to
know about his man. Would it be proper to make him a visit? The little
information he received was not calculated to make him feel very
proud.
  "Oh, that is horrible!" he said to his second; "it is impossible
that I can ever acknowledge that I fought a duel with only M. de la
Mole's secretary, and that because my coachman stole my visiting
cards! That much is sure, there is something of the ridiculous in
the whole affair."
  The same evening de Beauvoises and his friend were telling everybody
that this young Sorel, otherwise a very proper young man, was the
natural son of an intimate friend of Marquis de la Mole. That passed
without difficulty. Once the rumor was started, the young diplomat and
his friend deigned to call on Julien during the two weeks he
remained in his room.
  Julien confessed to them that he had only once in his life been to
the opera.
  "That is frightful," he was told. "Why, it is the only place to
which people go. The first time you go out it must be to see 'Count
Ory.'"
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_6 ^paragraph 50}
  At the opera, de Beauvoises presented him to the famous singer
Geronimo, who was enjoying great success. Julien almost courted the
Chevalier; the mixture of self-respect, of mysterious importance,
and of fatuity had a charm for him. True, the Chevalier stammered a
little, because he often had the honor of seeing a great lord who
had that impediment in his speech. Never, however, had Julien seen
united in one person the folly that amuses and the perfection of
manner that a poor provincial should do his best to imitate. He was,
therefore, frequently seen at the opera with Chevalier Beauvoises.
That companionship was making a name for him.
  "Oh, indeed!" said M. de la Mole to him one day; "so, then, you
are the natural son of a rich gentleman of Franche-Comte, my
intimate friend?"
  The Marquis interrupted Julien as the latter was about to protest
that he had not assisted in any manner in spreading that rumor: "M. de
Beauvoises did not want it known that he fought a duel with a
carpenter's son."
  "I know it, I know it," said M. de la Mole to him. "It is left for
me now to make the story true or false; but I wish to ask a favor of
you which will take only half an hour of your time. At the opera, at
half-past eleven, you must be in the vestibule when the great people
are leaving. I see in you yet some provincial mannerisms of the
country. You must get rid of them. Besides, it is not a bad idea to
have you know, if only by sight, the important personages to whom I
may send you on business one day. Go to the box office in order to
make yourself known; you have received cards."

{BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_7
                              CHAPTER 7
                          An Attack of Gout
-
    And I got an advancement, not because I deserved it, but because
my master had the gout.
                                                      BERTOLOTTI
-
  THE READER is perhaps surprised over that free and easy tone. We
have forgotten to say that for about a week the Marquis had been
confined to his home by gout. Mathilde and her mother were at Hyeres
with the Marquise's mother. Count Norbert saw his father only for a
moment. They were friendly to each other, but they had nothing to say.
M. de la Mole, reduced only to Julien, was astonished to find so
many good ideas in him, and often had him read the paper to him.
                                           {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_7 ^paragraph 5}
  The young secretary after a while was able to pick out the most
interesting passages. There was a new newspaper which the Marquis
abhorred, swearing he would never read it; yet every day he spoke of
it. Julien laughed. The Marquis, disgusted with contemporary
history, had him read from Livy, the sight translations of the Latin
text affording him a great deal of pleasure.
  One day the Marquis said to him in that excessively polite tone
which made Julien so impatient:
  "Permit me, my dear Sorel, to make you a present of a blue coat.
When you find it convenient to take it and to come to me, you will
be in my eyes that young man, the brother of Count Chaulnes; that is
to say, the son of my friend the old Duke."
  Julien did not understand what he meant. The same evening,
however, he came to see him in a blue coat. The Marquis treated him
like an equal, and Julien saw the difference in the polite tone. He
would have sworn before that caprice of the Marquis that it was
impossible to be treated with greater consideration. "What admirable
tact!" Julien thought.
  When he rose to leave, the Marquis excused himself for not being
able to accompany him to the door on account of his gout.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_7 ^paragraph 10}
  That singular event greatly engrossed Julien's mind. "Is he having
sport with me?" he asked himself. He went to consult M. Pirard, who,
less polished than the Marquis, replied to him only with a laugh and
passed to another subject.
  The next day Julien presented himself to the Marquis in his black
coat, with his portfolio and letters for signature. He was received in
the old way; but in the evening, in his blue coat, it was the same
as the night before.
  "Since you do not get tired of the visits that you are kind enough
to make to a poor sick man," said the Marquis to him, "you must tell
him about the little incidents of your life; but candidly, and without
thought of anything but to state it clearly and interestingly. For one
must amuse one's self," continued the Marquis; "that is the only thing
real in life. True, it is something to return safe from a war, or to
receive a present of a million; but if I had Rivarol beside my chair
he would relieve me of an hour of suffering and weariness every day! I
knew him very well at Hamburg during the Emigration." And the
Marquis related some stories about Rivarol and the Hamburgers, who
join four words to make one.
  M. de la Mole, reduced solely to the society of the little abbe,
wished to arouse the latter by piquing Julien's pride in an appeal
to his sense of honor. Since the truth was asked, Julien resolved to
tell all, but to keep in reserve only two things- his frantic
admiration for a name which always put the Marquis in a bad humor, and
his perfect agnosticism, which was not proper for a future curate. His
little affair with Chevalier de Beauvoises appeared in course of time.
  The Marquis laughed until the tears came into his eyes at the
scene in the Rue St. Honore with the coachman who had insulted him. It
was a frank, free hour in the relations between patron and protege. M.
de la Mole interested himself in this singular character. At first
he had smoothed over Julien's awkwardness in order to enjoy it, but he
soon found it more interesting to correct it. "All the other
provincials who arrived in Paris admire everything; he holds
everything in contempt. They have too much affectation; he not enough.
Only fools can take him for a fool."
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_7 ^paragraph 15}
  The attack of gout did not leave him during the cold season, which
lasted several months.
  "A man attaches himself to his little foible," the Marquis said to
himself. "Why should I be ashamed of attaching myself to this little
abbe? He is original; I will treat him like a son. Oh, well, where
is the foolishness? This little caprice, if it lasts, will cost me,
perhaps, a little five hundred louis in my will."
  Once the Marquis knew the fine character of his protege, he put some
new affair in his hands every day.
  Julien remarked with horror that the great lord would give
contradictory decisions on the same subject, that might lead to
difficulties. Julien no longer worked with him, but carried about a
little book in which he wrote down his instructions, and the Marquis
then went accordingly. Julien had also taken an assistant, who
transcribed the instructions as to the disposition of several
matters on a separate book. This book also contained copies of every
letter that was written.
  That idea at first seemed to be the very height of folly and
tiresomeness; but in two months the Marquis saw the advantage of it.
Julien proposed to hire a clerk who came from a banker to keep an
account of every item of income and expenditure in connection with the
letters with which Julien dealt.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_7 ^paragraph 20}
  These measures gave the Marquis such a clear idea of his affairs
that he had the pleasure of undertaking two or three new
speculations without the aid of an agent who always stole from him.
  "Take three thousand francs for yourself," said he one day to his
assistant.
  "Monsieur, my conduct might be criticised."
  "What difference is it to you?" replied the Marquis, piqued.
  "Be good enough, then, to take a check and write with your own
hand on this account book. This check will give me three thousand
francs." It was abbe Pirard who gave him the idea of the entire
book-keeping system.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_7 ^paragraph 25}
  The Marquis, with the annoyed face of a Marquis de Moncade, made
that memorandum while listening to the report of M. Poisson, his
steward.
  In the evening, when Julien appeared in his blue coat, there was
nothing said about the affair. The Marquis's kindness flattered our
hero's pride to such an extent that, in spite of himself, he had a
feeling of attachment for the amiable old man; but not in the sense in
which it is understood in Paris. He was, after all, not insensible;
and no one, since the death of the army surgeon, had spoken to him
with so much kindness.
  He remarked with astonishment that the Marquis had a consideration
for him that he had not seen even in the old soldier.
  He understood then that the army surgeon was prouder of his Cross
than the Marquis was of his cordon bleu. The Marquis's father was a
great lord. One day, at the conclusion of a morning meeting, Julien,
dressed in his black coat, was quite entertaining to the Marquis.
The latter detained him for two hours, and insisted upon giving him
some bank notes his agent had just brought from the Bourse.
  "I hope, Monsieur le Marquis, I am not lacking in respect for you if
I ask for the privilege of a word?"
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_7 ^paragraph 30}
  "Go on, my young man."
  "It is to ask the Marquis to be gracious enough to allow me to
refuse the gift. It is not the man in the black coat that is addressed
now; it might spoil the charm which you are good enough to recognize
in the man in blue."
  He saluted him with great respect and left without raising his eyes.
  This trait amused the Marquis. That night he spoke of it to abbe
Pirard.
  "I want to assure you of one thing, my dear abbe: I know of Julien's
origin, and I command you not to keep back any information on that
matter. His procedure this morning was nobility itself, and I myself
will ennoble him."
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_7 ^paragraph 35}
  After some time the Marquis could walk out.
  "Go to London for two months," he said to Julien. "The special
courier and others will bring you the letters which I receive,
together with my notes; you will write the answers and send them back,
putting each answer with the letter. I have calculated that the
delay will be only a matter of five days."
  On going to Calais, Julien was astonished at the trifling
character of the business for which he was sent away.
  We shall not describe the sentiment of hate and horror with which he
touched English soil. With his boundless passion for Bonaparte, he saw
in each officer a Sir Hudson Lowe; in each great lord a Lord Bathurst,
ordering the indignities of St. Helena, for which he received the
reward of ten years in the Ministry.
  At London he was conscious most of all of his infatuation. He had
entered into a friendship with some young Russian nobles.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_7 ^paragraph 40}
  "You are predestined, my dear Sorel," they said to him; "you have
naturally what we try so hard to cultivate, that cool, calculating air
by which you manage to be a thousand leagues away from your
surroundings."
  "You don't understand your age," said Prince Korasoff to him;
"always do the opposite of what is expected of you. On my honor,
it's the only religion now. Don't be either foolish or affected; for
then people will expect of you foolishness and affectation, and that
will be the end of you."
  Julien covered himself with glory one day in the drawing-room of the
Duke Fitz-Folke, who had invited him to dinner together with Prince
Korasoff. They waited an hour for him. The manner in which Julien
conducted himself in the midst of the twenty persons who awaited him
is yet spoken of by the young secretaries of the London Embassy. His
expression on his entrance was inimitable. He desired to see,
despite the persuasions of the dandies, his friends, the
celebrated Philip Vane, the only philosopher whom England had produced
since Locke. This philosopher had just finished his seventh year in
prison.
  "The aristocracy do not take him very lightly," thought Julien.
  "Vane is unhonored, vilified."
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_7 ^paragraph 45}
  Julien found him very cheerful in spite of the rage of the
aristocracy.
  "There," Julien said to himself, as he walked out of the jail, "he
is the only man I have seen in England."
  "The most useful idea with tyrants is that of God," Vane had said to
him. "We shall suppress the rest of the philosophy as cynical."
  On his return M. de la Mole asked him: "What amusing idea do you
bring me from England?" Julien did not answer. "What idea do you bring
with you, amusing or not?" asked the Marquis, again.
  "First," said Julien, "the wisest Englishman is a perfect fool for
one hour of the day; he is possessed with the mania for suicide, which
is the god of that country. Second, genius loses twenty-five per
cent in value on arriving in England. Third, nothing in the world is
as beautiful, admirable, softening, as English scenery."
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_7 ^paragraph 50}
  "Now, it is my turn," said the Marquis. "First, why did you say at
the Russian Ambassador's ball that there are in France thirty thousand
young men twenty-five years of age who ardently desire war? Do you
think that that is agreeable to Kings?"
  "A man does not know what to say when speaking to those
diplomats," said Julien; "they have a way of commencing serious
discussions. If one holds to what is written in the newspapers, he
is taken for a fool; if one permits himself something true and
trite, they are astonished. One does not know what to say in reply.
And next morning you are informed by the First Secretary of the
Embassy that you have said something awkward."
  "Not bad," said the Marquis, laughing. "Well, I bet, Monsieur
wiseacre, that you don't know what you have done in England."
  "Pardon me," replied Julien; "I have been to dinner once a week at
the house of the English Ambassador, who is the most charming of men."
  "You have gone to seek that Cross I have here," replied the Marquis.
"I don't want you to take off your black coat- though I am
accustomed to your entertaining conversation when you are dressed in
blue- until further notice. Now, listen; when I see that Cross, you
shall be the younger son of my old friend Duke de Chaulnes, who, no
doubt, has seen diplomatic service for six months. Now notice,"
added the Marquis, seriously, with an abrupt gesture; "notice that I
do not want you to leave your present position. It is always as
embarrassing for the protector as for the protege. If my lawsuits
bother you too much, or if you are no longer agreeable to me, I will
provide a curacy for you like that of our friend abbe Pirard, that
is all," added the Marquis, dryly.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_7 ^paragraph 55}
  That Cross was a satisfaction to Julien's pride. He spoke longer
than usual in reply. He did not take the remarks amiss, though they
were capable of various interpretations, a shade of hardness being
quite evident.
  The Cross brought him one singular visit. It was that of Baron
Valenod, who came to Paris to thank the Minister for his baronetcy and
to have an audience. He was about to be named Mayor of Verrieres in
place of M. de Renal. Julien was very much amused when Valenod gave
him to understand that it was discovered that M. de Renal was a
Jacobin.
  The fact of the matter was that in the election for which
preparations were being made, the new Baron was a candidate of the
Ministry, and at the College of the department, which was indeed
very extreme in sentiment, it was M. de Renal who had been carried
by the Liberals.
  In vain Julien tried to find out something about Madame de Renal.
The Baron seemed to remember their ancient rivalry and remained
uncommunicative. He ended by asking Julien for his father's vote in
the elections which were about to take place. Julien promised to
write.
  "I will beg you, Monsieur le Chevalier, to present me to the Marquis
de la Mole."
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_7 ^paragraph 60}
  "In fact, I should," thought Julien; "but such a fool! In truth," he
answered, "I am too small a man at the Hotel de la Mole to take it
upon myself to present anyone."
  Julien told everything to the Marquis in the evening. He related
to him Valenod's pretensions, also his record during the year 1814.
  "Not only," replied M. de la Mole in a serious tone, "shall you
present this new Baron to me, but I am going to invite him to dinner
for day after to-morrow. He will be one of our new prefects."
  "In that case," Julien answered, cooly, "I ask for my father the
position of Director of the Poor."
  "All right, it is granted;" said the Marquis, resuming his good
humor. "I was expecting some moralizing; but you are coming out."
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_7 ^paragraph 65}
  M. de Valenod told Julien that the holder of the lottery office in
Verrieres had just died. Julien took it upon himself to have the place
given to M. Cholin, that old imbecile whose petition he had picked
up in the room occupied by M. de la Mole. The Marquis laughed good
naturedly over the petition which Julien recited as he was
presenting a letter for his signature asking the Minister of Finance
for that place.
  Hardly had Cholin been named when Julien learned that the place
was asked by a petition from the department for M. Gros, the
celebrated geometrician. That good man had an income of only
fourteen hundred francs a year, and had loaned every year six
hundred francs to the last incumbent to help him support his family.
  Julien regretted what he had done. "Well, what is the difference?"
he said to himself, "some injustice must be done if I am to succeed.
And yet I must hide it all under fine phrases. Poor Gros! It is he who
merited a Cross, and it is I who have it! Yes, I must act as for the
government that gave it to me."

{BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_8
                              CHAPTER 8
                 What Decoration Makes a Difference?
-
    "Your water does not refresh me," said the thirsty genie. "Yet
this is the freshest well in all of Diyarbekir."
                                                         PELLICO
-
  ONE DAY Julien came back from the fine estate at Villequier on the
Seine, in which M. de la Mole took a good deal of interest. Of all his
possessions that alone had belonged to the celebrated Boniface de la
Mole. He found at the house the Marquise and her daughter, who had
arrived previously from Hyeres.
                                           {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_8 ^paragraph 5}
  Julien was fashionably dressed now and knew the art of Parisian
life. He was wholly indifferent toward Mademoiselle de la Mole. He
seemed to have forgotten altogether the time when she asked him so
gayly about the details of his fall.
  Mademoiselle de la Mole thought he had grown tall and was looking
pale. Neither his figure nor his general appearance had anything of
the provincial. There was not a trace of it in his conversation. Still
there was something too serious, too positive about him. In spite of
these qualities, arising mostly from his pride, she saw nothing of the
subaltern in him; only he looked at too many things too seriously. One
could see that he was a man who would stand by his word.
  "He lacks vivacity, though he is not dull," said Mademoiselle de
la Mole to her father, teasing him about the Cross which he had
given to Julien. "My brother has been asking you for it for eighteen
months, and he is a la Mole."
  "Yes, but Julien has something of the unexpected about him; that
is what never happens to the la Mole of whom you are speaking."
  Duke de Retz was then announced.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_8 ^paragraph 10}
  Mathilde was seized with a frightful yawning, remembering the
antique gilt and the old visitors of the house. She represented to
herself a most tedious picture of the life to be resumed in Paris, and
yet at Hyeres they had wished they were back.
  "And I am only nineteen years old- a blissful age, according to
all these gilded fools!"
  She looked at eight or ten new volumes of poetry that had
accumulated while they were in Provence. She had the misfortune of
being more clever than MM. de Croisenois, de Caylus, de Luz, and her
other friends. She knew beforehand all that they would say about the
beautiful scenery of Provence, about poetry and the rest.
  Her beautiful eyes, in which dwelt so much ennui, and, what is
worse, so much despair of finding real pleasure, rested on Julien.
"Anyhow," she thought, "he is not exactly like the others."
  "M. Sorel," she said, with that lively, curt, almost masculine voice
which young women of high society use, "M. Sorel, are you going this
evening to M. de Retz's ball?"
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_8 ^paragraph 15}
  "Mademoiselle, I have not had the honor of an introduction to the
Duke."
  One might have thought that the words and the title were scorching
the proud provincial's lips.
  "He asked my brother to bring you; and if you should be there I
should like to have you give me some details about the estate at
Villequier. We may go there in the spring. I should like very much
to know if the chateau is habitable, and if the neighborhood there
is as pretty as people say. There are so many things said that are not
true."
  Julien did not reply.
  "Come to the ball with my brother," she added, dryly.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_8 ^paragraph 20}
  Julien bowed respectfully.
  "So even at a ball I must give an account to the members of the
family. Am I not paid like a clerk?" he added, with increased ill
humor. "The Lord knows if what I am going to tell the daughter will
not thwart the projects of the father, brother, and mother. It is a
veritable prince's court; one must be a perfect nobody, and yet give
no one occasion to complain. How this tall girl displeases me!" he
thought, looking at Mademoiselle Mathilde as she walked away in answer
to a sign from her mother, who wished to present her to some
friends. "She is not stylish, her gown hangs from her shoulders, she
is paler even than before the trip. Her hair is of that blond which is
almost colorless; light seems to pass through it. But how proudly
she greets anyone. What haughtiness in her brow, in that look! What
queenly airs!"
  Mademoiselle de la Mole had called her brother just as he was
leaving the drawing-room.
  Count Norbert, approaching Julien, said:
  "My dear Sorel, do you want to go at midnight to M. de Retz's
ball? He has expressly asked me to bring you."
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_8 ^paragraph 25}
  "I know how to appreciate the kindness," replied Julien, bowing low.
His ill humor prevented him from saying anything more in reply to
the polite, brotherly tone in which Norbert had addressed him. He
was thinking only of the way he should accept the invitation, in which
he thought there was something patronizing.
  In the evening, at the ball, he was struck by the magnificence of
the Hotel de Retz. The entrance was covered with an immense canopy
of pink canvas covered with gilt spangles; it was beautiful.
Underneath the awning the court was transformed into an orange grove
and a rose garden in bloom. It took infinite labor to sink the vases
deep enough so that the rose bushes and the orange trees might
appear standing straight out of the earth. The carriage drive was
sanded. The whole thing seemed extraordinary to our provincial; he had
never had an idea of such magnificence.
  In a trice his imagination, now greatly stimulated, bore away all
his ill humor. In the carriage, on the way to the ball, Norbert,
too, was delighted, as everything was in the dark; but hardly had they
entered the court than the roles changed. Norbert could see only a few
details which, in the midst of all this magnificence, seemed to have
been overlooked. He knew exactly the cost of each rose, and, when he
came to add it up, Julien noticed that his friend was almost jealous
and growing glum. As for him, he was carried away. He was full of
admiration when he entered the first drawing-room, where dancing was
going on.
  All surged toward the second door, but there was such a crush that
it was almost impossible to advance. The decoration of the second
drawing-room represented the Alhambra of Grenada.
  "She is the queen of the ball, you must admit," said a young man
with moustaches, whose shoulder was pressed against Julien's breast.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_8 ^paragraph 30}
  "Mademoiselle Fourmont, who all winter has been the most beautiful
woman," replied his neighbor, "sees now that she must take second
place. Watch her singular manner!"
  "Really she has shaken out every sail to please. See! See that
gracious smile when she thinks she is alone in the quadrille.
Indeed, that is fine! Mademoiselle de la Mole seems to be mistress
of it all and is now making her triumph. She knows it, too! There, see
that! She is afraid of being too agreeable to the one she is talking
to now."
  "Good, that is a good way to make them run after her."
  Julien made vain efforts to see the seductive woman. Seven or
eight tall men were in the way.
  "There is a good deal of coquetry in that splendid carriage of
hers," replied the young man with the moustaches.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_8 ^paragraph 35}
  "And those fine blue eyes that are lowered so slowly that one
might think they were just on the point of betraying themselves,"
replied his neighbor. "Mon dieu! there is nothing more beautiful!"
  "See how the pretty Fourmont looks common beside her!" said a third.
"For all the world she seems to say, 'See what I could be if you
were a man worthy of me.'"
  "Who can be worthy of the superb Mathilde?" said the first. "He must
be a prince, a hero in war, and only twenty years of age!"
  "The natural son of the Emperor of Russia, for whom, in case a
marriage like that takes place, a little sovereignty would be created.
Or, perhaps, only that Count de Thaler with his insignificant
provincial manners."
  The door was not crowded then, and Julien could enter.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_8 ^paragraph 40}
  "Since she is thought so remarkable by these fops, she is worth
studying," he thought. "I want to see what is the attraction for these
people."
  As he was scrutinizing her very closely, Mathilde looked at him.
"Duty has called me," said Julien to himself, but all his soberness
was only in his expression. Curiosity led him to advance eagerly,
and he was also hastened by Mathilde's dress, which was cut very low
from the shoulders; in a manner, indeed, that flattered his own
pride very little. "There is something youthful in her beauty," he
thought. Five or six young men were between them, among whom Julien
recognized those who had spoken together at the door.
  "You, monsieur, who have been here all winter," she said to him, "do
you not think that this is the prettiest ball of the season?"
  He did not reply.
  "This Coulon quadrille is quite perfect, and these ladies dance it
beautifully."
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_8 ^paragraph 45}
  The young men turned around to see who was the fortunate man whose
reply was so eagerly sought.
  "I don't think I am a good judge, Mademoiselle. I spend my time
writing; it is the first ball of such magnificence I have ever
attended."
  The young men with moustaches were scandalized.
  "You are very good, Monsieur Sorel," one replied, with very marked
interest. "You see all these balls, these fates, like a philosopher-
like Jean Jacques Rousseau- these follies astonish you, but do not
charm."
  That was sufficient for Julien: it removed all illusions. His
mouth took on an expression of disdain, perhaps a little too
exaggerated.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_8 ^paragraph 50}
  "Jean Jacques Rousseau," he replied, "Is in my eyes only a fool when
he tries to judge society. He does not understand it, and he has the
ideas of a footman who has fallen heir to a fortune."
  "Yes, but he has given the contrat social!" replied Mathilde, with
veneration.
  "While preaching about the republic and the overturning of royal
dignity, this parvenu becomes mad with joy if a Duke turns aside in
his after-dinner walk to accompany one of his friends."
  "So the Duke de Luxembourg, at Montmorenci, accompanies a certain M.
Coindet on the outskirts of Paris," resumed Mademoiselle de la Mole,
with the abandon of a first enjoyment of pedantry. She was almost as
happy over her knowledge as the Academician who discovered the
existence of King Feretrius. But Julien's eye remained penetrating and
severe. Mathilde had a moment of enthusiasm, and his pretence of
indifference was plainly disagreeable to her. She was the more
astonished at this since it was always she who usually made that
impression on others.
  At that moment the Marquis de Croisenois advanced eagerly toward
Mademoiselle de la Mole. He came within three feet of her without
being able to get nearer for the crowd. He looked at her, smiling at
the obstacle that was in his way. The young Marquise de Rouvray,
Mathilde's cousin, was near him, leaning on the arm of her husband, to
whom she had been married only a fortnight. The Marquis de Rouvray,
very young himself, had all the love which a man usually shows when he
contracts a marriage of convenience as arranged by the notaries and
finds also his wife perfectly beautiful. M. de Rouvray at the death of
his aged uncle was to succeed him as Duke.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_8 ^paragraph 55}
  While the Marquis de Croisenois was smiling at Mathilde through
the crowd, she herself raised her beautiful eyes to him and those
around him.
  "Can there be anything more stupid," she was saying to herself,
"than that group? This Croisenois, who wants to marry me, is kind,
polished, and has perfect manners, like M. de Rouvray. Except for
the weary moments they make one spend, these gentlemen would indeed be
amiable in every respect. He, too, has followed me throughout the ball
with an air of complacency.
  "A year after marriage my carriage, my horses, my gowns, my
chateau at a little distance from Paris- all that would be as nice
as possible. It would be all that is necessary to make a young upstart
like Countess de Roiville die of jealousy; but after that-?"
  Mathilde was tired of it all.
  Marquis de Croisenois then approached and talked to her, but she was
scarcely listening. For her the sound of his voice was confused with
the babble of the ball. Her eye mechanically followed Julien, who
had withdrawn to a respectful distance, still proud and disdainful.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_8 ^paragraph 60}
  Far from the crowd she saw in a corner Count Altamira, who, in his
country, had been sentenced to death. Under Louis XIV, one of his
relatives had married a Prince de Conti; that fact protected him
somewhat from the Congregation.
  "I see only the death sentence that distinguishes that man,"
thought Mathilde; "that is the only thing he has not bought. Ah!
that is an epigram- a pity it is not anything to be proud of!"
Mathilde was too well-bred to mingle epigrams with her conversation,
but she had just enough vanity to make her conceit not too pronounced.
A look of satisfaction took the place of tedium in her eyes.
  Marquis de Croisenois, who kept on talking, thought he was
becoming interesting and talked with greater animation.
  "Who is wicked enough to object to my phrase?" Mathilde asked
herself. "I could reply to a critic that the title of Baron or
Viscount can be bought; a Cross is given. My brother has just received
something; what did he do? It was a promotion; that is easily
obtained. Ten years in garrison, or a relative who happens to be
Minister of War, and one can be chief of a squadron. As to a great
fortune- that is still the most difficult thing to obtain, and,
therefore, is most meritorious. How funny it is the exact opposite
of what we read in books! Well, as for fortune, there is marriage."
  M. Rothschild was announced.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_8 ^paragraph 65}
  "Really, my epigram has some truth in it, after all. The death
sentence is still the only thing left which people do not care
anything at all about."
  "Do you know Count Altamira?" she asked M. de Croisenois. She seemed
to be coming back from a great distance, and the question was so
little in accord with what the poor Marquis had been saying that his
amiability all but left him. "He seems to be an intelligent man and
quite famous."
  "Mathilde is odd," he thought. "That is an inconvenience; but she
would give such a fine social position to her husband. I really do not
know how this Marquis de la Mole conducts his affairs, but he is
closely in touch with the best men in all the parties. He is a man
that is not likely to go down. Besides, Mathilde's eccentricities
might pass for genius. With noble birth and fortune, genius is not
an absurdity, but a distinction. And sometimes, when she has a mind
to, that mixture of brilliancy and depth makes her perfect."
  "How difficult it is to do two things at once!" he said,
indifferently, in answer to Mathilde. "Who does not know this poor
Altamira?" Then he told her the history of the ridiculous, absurd
conspiracy.
  "Extremely absurd! Bring him here," she said to the Marquis, who
seemed very much put out.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_8 ^paragraph 70}
  Count Altamira, with his haughty, almost impertinent look, was one
of the most ardent admirers of Mademoiselle de la Mole. In his eyes
she was one of the most beautiful women in Paris.
  "How beautiful she would look on a throne!" he said to M. de
Croisenois, and he went on in that strain uninterrupted.
  There are many who would maintain that nothing in the nineteenth
century is worse than a conspiracy. It is the same as being a Jacobin;
and what is worse than a thwarted Jacobin?
  Mathilde looked somewhat mockingly at Altamira, not seeming very
much interested.
  "A conspirator at a ball! That is a fine contrast!" With his black
moustaches, she thought she saw in him a veritable lion in repose. But
she soon found that his genius lay only in one direction, in the
practical end. Except that he desired a liberal government in his
own country, the young Count did not find anything worthy of his
attention.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_8 ^paragraph 75}
  He left Mathilde with pleasure, although she was the most
beautiful woman at the ball. But he had caught a glance of a
Peruvian general. Discouraged by the attitude of Europe, as assumed by
M. de Metternich, poor Altamira was forced to think that when the
South American States had become strong and powerful they might give
to Europe the liberty which Mirabeau had given to them.
  A crowd of moustached young men were now again surrounding Mathilde.
She saw very well that Altamira was not enthralled by her charms,
and was, therefore, somewhat piqued at his departure. She saw his
black eyes sparkle as he was talking to the Peruvian general.
  While Mademoiselle de la Mole was looking at the young Frenchmen who
surrounded her with that profound, serious air which her rivals
despaired of imitating, she was thinking: "Which one of these would
allow himself to be sentenced to death even if he had every
opportunity?"
  That singular look flattered those who were dull, but disconcerted
the rest. The latter feared the utterance of some biting epigram.
  "A noble birth gives a hundred qualities the absence of which
would to me be an affliction. I see that in Julien," thought Mathilde.
"But noble birth has none of the qualities of the soul which can
lead to such heroism as is implied in a death sentence."
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_8 ^paragraph 80}
  Just then someone close to her said: "This Count Altamira is the
second son of Prince San Nazaro-Pimental. It was a Pimental tried to
save Conradin who was decapitated in 1268; one of the oldest
families of Naples."
  "There, now," said Mathilde, "that proves my maxim admirably.
Noble birth removes the force of character that could lead to any such
heroism. But I must make up my mind not to reason this evening,
since I am a woman like the rest. Well, I suppose I have to dance."
  She yielded to the insistant invitation of M. de Croisenois, who for
an hour had been asking her for a gallop. In order to be diverted from
the serious reflections her philosophy had given her, Mathilde tried
to be unusually gracious, and M. de Croisenois was charmed.
  But Mathilde found no diversion either in the dance or in the desire
to please one of the handsomest men at court. No woman could have
had greater success; indeed, she was the queen of the ball. She was
not blind to that fact, but she seemed quite indifferent.
  "What a vain life I should spend with such a man as de
Croisenois," she said to herself, as he escorted her to her seat an
hour later. "What is the pleasure to me," she said, sadly, "if after
an absence of six months I see him at a ball which is the talk of
all the Parisian women? And yet I am surrounded here with attentions
in a class of a society than which none can imagine better. The only
bourgeois here are a few peers and one or two like Julien, perhaps.
However," she added, with increasing sadness, "what advantages has not
chance given me? An illustrious ancestry, fortune, youth, everything
except happiness. The most doubtful of all my advantages are those
of which they spoke this evening. Mind, I think, is one of them; for I
made them all afraid, evidently. If they started on a serious subject,
at the end of five minutes they would be all out of breath as if
they had made a great discovery; and I had been telling them about
that very thing for nearly an hour. A pity I have this advantage for
which Madame de Stael would have sacrificed everything; and yet it
is a fact- I am dying of ennui! Why should I try to find life a little
less wearisome by changing my name for that of Marquise de Croisenois?
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_8 ^paragraph 85}
  "But," she added, almost crying, "is he not a perfect gentleman?
He is the chef d'oeuvre of the breeding of our age. One cannot look at
him without finding that he can say something agreeable, something
bright to you; he is so gallant; but this Sorel is singular. I have as
much as told him that I wished to speak to him, and he has not deigned
to appear again."

{BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_9
                              CHAPTER 9
                               The Ball
-
    The luxury of the gowns, the blaze of the candles, the scents:
so many pretty arms and beautiful shoulders; the display, the
transporting airs of Rossini, the paintings of Ciceri! I am beside
myself!
                                            THE VOYAGES OF UZERI
-
  "YOU LOOK CROSS," said the Marquise de la Mole to Mathilde; "yet let
me tell you, that is not proper at a ball."
                                           {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_9 ^paragraph 5}
  "I have only a bad headache," she replied; "it is so warm here."
  Just at this moment old Baron de Tolly, as if to corroborate
Mademoiselle de la Mole's statement, fainted and fell, and had to be
carried away. Some one said something about apoplexy, which put
somewhat of a damper on the evening. Mathilde did not concern
herself about that, for she had made up her mind never to look at
old men or at anyone else known to speak on sad subjects. She danced
in order to avoid a conversation about apoplexy. But nothing of the
kind had taken place, for the next day the Baron came out all right.
  "But M. Sorel is not coming toward me," she said to herself, after
she had danced a while. She looked for him everywhere, finding him
finally at the other end of the room. He seemed, strangely enough,
to have left off that air of reserve, that sneering English look
that was so natural to him.
  "He is conversing with Count Altamira, my man who was sentenced to
death," Mathilde said to herself. "His eye has a severe look; he seems
to be a prince in disguise; he looks prouder than ever."
  Julien then came where she was standing, still talking with
Altamira. She looked at the latter steadily as if to ascertain those
high qualities which lead a man to such sacrifice.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_9 ^paragraph 10}
  As he passed near her he was saying to Count Altamira:
  "Yes, Danton was a man."
  "Oh, my! would he be a Danton?" Mathilde said to herself "But his
face is so noble and Danton was so horribly ugly, a butcher, I
believe!"
  Julien was then very close to her, and she did not hesitate to
call him. For a young girl, she was rather proud of asking the
extraordinary question, "Was not Danton a butcher?"
  "Oh, yes, in the eyes of certain people," Julien replied, with an
expression of ill-disguised disdain, his eyes still flashing from
the animated conversation he had had with Altamira. "But,
unfortunately for well-born people, he was an attorney at
Mery-sur-Seine; that is to say, Mademoiselle," he added,
mischievously, "he began just like some peers I see here now. 'Tis
true that Danton was quite at a disadvantage in the eyes of beauty, he
was so very ugly."
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_9 ^paragraph 15}
  The last few words were spoken rapidly, in a strange, awkward
manner. Julien waited an instant, slightly leaning over, seemingly
humble in his pride. He seemed to say, "I am paid to answer you, and I
have given you 'value received.'" He did not deign to raise his eyes
to Mathilde. On her part, with her beautiful eyes wide open and
fixed on him, she seemed to be in the beseeching attitude of a
slave. Then, as the silence continued, he looked at her as a footman
looks at his master for an order. Although his eyes met Mathilde's,
which were still strangely fixed on him, he moved away with marked
effort.
  "He who is so handsome," Mathilde finally said to herself, coming
out of a reverie, "to eulogize ugliness in such a fashion! Never
does he speak of himself, he is not like Caylus or de Croisenois. This
Sorel looks something like my father when he appears as Napoleon at
a ball." She had forgotten all about Danton by this time.
  "Well, really, I am weary to-night."
  She seized her brother's arm, and, in spite of his objections,
compelled him to walk around the ballroom. The idea occurred to her to
follow up the conversation of Altamira with Julien.
  There was an enormous crowd. She caught up to them just as two steps
ahead of her Altamira was going to take an ice. Half turned round,
he was still speaking to Julien. He saw an embroidered arm, that
also took refreshment, at his side; the embroidery seeming to arouse
his curiosity. Then, turning round to see the person to whom the arm
belonged, his noble eyes instantly took on an expression of disdain.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_9 ^paragraph 20}
  "You see that man?" he whispered to Julien, "that is the Prince
d'Araceli, the Ambassador from X__. This morning he asked for my
extradition of the French Minister of Foreign Affairs, M. de Nerval.
Look, there he is down there playing whist. M. de Nerval would not
hesitate to give me up, for we gave you some two or three conspirators
in 1816. Well, if I am given back to my King, I shall be hanged in
just about twenty-four hours, and it will be one of those pretty
gentlemen with the moustaches who will use his fist on me besides."
  "The wretches!" cried Julien, half aloud.
  Mathilde was not losing a syllable of their conversation; her
ennui seemed to have disappeared.
  "Not exactly wretches," replied Count Altamira. "I spoke to you
about the King in order to give you a good idea of the thing. Now look
at the Prince d'Araceli; every five minutes he looks at his Golden
Fleece. He cannot get enough pleasure of seeing it on his breast. That
man at bottom is only an anacronism. For a hundred years that Fleece
has been a signal honor, but that long passed away before him. To-day,
with all these members of the nobility, one must be a d'Araceli to
be enchanted with it all. He would have destroyed a whole town to
obtain it."
  "Is it at that price that he obtained it?" asked Julien, anxiously.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_9 ^paragraph 25}
  "No, not precisely," answered Altamira, coldly. "Perhaps he threw
into the river some thirty or so rich farmers who were supposed to
be Liberals."
  "What a monster!" said Julien.
  Mademoiselle de la Mole leaned over so far as to have her pretty
hair touch his shoulder.
  "Now you are very young," replied Altamira. "I was telling you
that I have a sister married in Provence. She is still pretty; good,
sweet-tempered, she is an excellent woman about a house, faithful to
all her duties, pious, but not to an extreme."
  "What is he coming to?" thought Mademoiselle de la Mole.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_9 ^paragraph 30}
  "And she is happy," continued Altamira; "she was the same in 1815.
Then I hid myself at her house on the estate near Antibes. Oh, well,
as soon as she learned of the execution of Marechal Ney she took to
dancing."
  "Is it possible?" asked Julien, dumbfounded.
  "That is the spirit of the party," replied Altamira. "There is no
more real passion in the nineteenth century; it is for that reason
that people get so weary of life in France. The greatest cruelties are
committed without cruelty."
  "So much the worse," said Julien; "at least when one commits
crimes he should do it with a certain amount of pleasure. The good
of it is only in that, and it cannot be justified except by such a
reason."
  Mademoiselle de la Mole, forgetting herself entirely, had come
almost between Altamira and Julien. Her brother, whose arm she had
taken, accustomed to obeying her, was looking elsewhere in the
ballroom; and in order to keep himself in countenance was looking as
if he had been stopped by the crowd.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_9 ^paragraph 35}
  "You are right," Altamira was saying; "everything is done without
a thought, even crimes. I can show you in this ballroom ten men,
perhaps, who may be condemned to death as assassins; they are not
thinking of it, nor is the world. Many people are moved almost to
tears if their dog breaks a leg. At Pere la Chaise, where flowers
are strewn over the graves, as you pleasantly remarked at Paris, we
learn that they unite in themselves all the virtues of a valiant
knight, and they speak of the heroic actions of their ancestors who
lived under Henry IV. If, in spite of Prince d'Araceli's kindness, I
am not hanged, and I ever get to enjoy my fortune in Paris, I will
invite you to a dinner with eight or ten assassins who are honored and
who have no remorse. You and I will be almost the only ones of pure
blood at that dinner; but I, I will be hated and despised as a
sanguinary monster and Jacobin, and you will be sneered at for being a
man of the people who has intruded himself into good company."
  "True enough," said Mademoiselle de la Mole. Altamira looked at
her astonished; Julien, on the other hand, not deigning even to look.
  "Now notice that the revolution at the head of which I am placed,"
continued Count Altamira, "has not succeeded, simply because I did not
want to have three heads cut off, and distribute among our partisans
the seven or eight millions in our treasury, to which I have the
key. My King, who is dying now to hang me, and who, before the
Revolution, would speak to me so familiarly, would have given me the
Grand Cordon of his order if I had let those three heads fall and if I
had distributed the money in our treasury. I should have obtained at
least a partial success, and my money would have bought a
constitution- So goes the world! It is a game of chess!"
  "So, then," replied Julien, his eyes aflame, "so you did not know
the game; now-"
  "I should have let those heads fall- is that what you mean to say?
And I should have been a Girondist, as you spoke to me the other
day? Now, I shall tell you why," continued Altamira, gloomily. "When
you have killed a man in a duel, that is not as horrible as having him
butchered by an executioner."
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_9 ^paragraph 40}
  "My Lord!" replied Julien, "the end justifies the means. If I, in
place of being a mere atom, had a little power, I would let three
men hang to save four." His eyes had that disdainful look which
announces an utter contempt of men. His look met Mademoiselle de la
Mole's; but far from changing to anything more gracious, seemed to
grow more intensely contemptuous. She felt repulsed, but it was no
longer in her power to forget Julien. She withdrew, taking her brother
with her.
  "I think I will get some punch and dance a little," she said to
herself. "I am going to pick out what is best here, and produce an
impression at all cost. Well, here is that famous fop, Count de
Fervaques." She accepted the latter's invitation for a dance.
  "I must find out which of these two is most impertinent, but to
enjoy the sport I must make him talk."
  She danced the rest of the quadrille mechanically. Her escort did
not wish to lose any of Mathilde's brilliant repartee. M. de
Fervaque was somewhat confused, and being at a loss for elegant words,
simply looked. Mathilde was decidedly cruel to him and made of him a
positive enemy. She danced till morning, utterly exhausting herself.
In the carriage, however, what little strength she had left she
spent in regrets and worriment. She had been despised by Julien, and
she could not despise him in return.
  Julien was filled with happiness. Enchanted by the music, the
flowers, the beautiful women, and the elegance everywhere, and, more
than all, by his own imagination, which was wandering in
distinctions for himself and liberty for all, he was saying what a
beautiful ball it was; how nothing, nothing had been wanting.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_9 ^paragraph 45}
  "Yes, thought was wanting," replied Altamira, his face betraying
that contempt the more piquant for being hidden under politeness.
  "But you have thought, Monsieur le Comte. Haven't you still the
thought of the conspiracy?"
  "I am here because of my name; but thought is hated in your
drawing-rooms. One must not rise above a line from vaudeville; then he
will be appreciated. But the man who thinks, if he has any energy, and
if there is anything new in what he says, why, he is called a cynic.
Was not that the name which one of your judges gave to Courieres?
You put him in prison just like Beranger. Whoever amounts to
anything with you the Congregation throws into prison, and the good
company applauds. That is because your effete civilization cannot rise
above conventionality; you never rise above military bravado; you will
have your Murats, but never Washingtons. I see in France only
vanity. If a man speaks vivaciously or expresses an unusual idea,
the host thinks himself scandalized."
  At these words the Count's carriage stopped before the Hotel de la
Mole. Julien was in love with the conspirator. Altamira had paid him
this compliment, evidently coming from profound conviction: "You
have not that French lightness, and you understand the principle of
practical ends." It just happened that the evening before Julien had
seen "Marino Faliero," a tragedy by Casimir Delavigne.
  "Has not Israel Bertruccio more character than all the rest of the
Venetian nobles?" our recalcitrant plebeian was saying to himself,
"and yet those people lived in the year 700, a century before
Charlemagne. Why, all those who were at the ball tonight can date back
their nobility only to the thirteenth century, and that only lamely.
So, then, of all those Venetian nobles, with all their high birth,
it is Israel Bertruccio one thinks of, after all. A revolution
annihilated all titles coming from social caprice. Immediately a man
reaches high rank if he knows only how to look at death. Genius itself
weakens-
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_9 ^paragraph 50}
  "What would Danton be to-day in an age of Valenods and de Renals?
Not even a substitute for a King's governor! What am I saying? Why, he
would have sold himself to the Congregation; he would have been
Minister; for, after all, this great Danton stole. Mirabeau also
sold himself. Napoleon stole millions in Italy, otherwise he would
have had to stop short through sheer poverty like Pichegrue. Only La
Fayette never stole. Must a man steal? must a man sell himself?"
thought Julien. Face to face with that question, he spent the rest
of the night reading the history of the Revolution.
  The next day, writing the letters in the library, he only thought of
the conversation with Count Altamira.
  "In fact," he said to himself, after a long reverie, "if these
Spanish Liberals had compromised the people with their crimes, they
would not have been swept away with such ease. They were such proud,
foolish fellows, like myself!" he cried, all at once, bounding out
of his chair.
  "What difficulty is there in judging those poor devils who once in
their life have dared to act? I am just like a man who, leaving the
table, cries out, 'To-morrow I shall not dine, but that will not
prevent me at all from being light and gay as I am to-day.' Who
knows what one will find half way when he sets himself to do something
great?" Those lofty thoughts were disturbed by the sudden entrance
of Mademoiselle de la Mole. He was so greatly moved by his
admiration for the great qualities of Danton, of Mirabeau, and of
Carnot, who never knew defeat, that his eye rested on Mademoiselle
de la Mole without seeing her. When, finally, he became aware of her
presence, his face fell. Mademoiselle de la Mole noticed it with
bitterness. She asked him for a volume of Vely's history of France
which was on the top shelf, compelling Julien to look for the larger
of the two ladders in the library. He mounted the ladder, looked for
the volume, and handed it to her mechanically.
  In replacing the ladder, he struck one of the glass doors with his
elbow. The noise of breaking glass as it fell on the floor at last
aroused him, and he forthwith began making apologies to Mademoiselle
de la Mole. He was then extremely polite, that was all.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_9 ^paragraph 55}
  Mathilde saw that she had disturbed him and that he would have
preferred to occupy himself with his own thoughts. She looked at him
for a long time, and finally withdrew, and Julien saw her quietly walk
away. He enjoyed the contrast between the simplicity of her dress
now and her elegance of the night before; the difference in her
expression was also striking. That young girl, who had looked so proud
at Duke de Retz's ball, seemed at that moment to look almost
pleadingly. "Really," Julien thought, "that black gown makes her
figure beautiful, and she has the carriage of a queen; but why is
she in mourning? If I ask anyone for the reason why she is in mourning
it will be considered rude." Gradually Julien's enthusiasm
disappeared.
  "I must read over all the letters I have written this morning;
Lord knows how many mistakes I have made."
  As he was reading over the first letter, he heard the swish of a
gown near him. Turning quickly around he saw Mademoiselle de la Mole
just two steps from the table, laughing. This second interruption made
Julien angry. As for Mathilde, feeling deeply that she was nothing
to the young man, she was laughing only to hide her embarrassment. She
succeeded.
  "Evidently you are thinking of something very interesting, M. Sorel?
Is it not something in connection with a curious anecdote about a
conspiracy which has brought Count Altamira to Paris? Tell me what
it is about. Oh, I won't tell, I swear." She was astonished at the
word herself when she heard it pronounced. What! she was thinking of
asking a favor of an inferior?
  With increasing embarrassment she said lightly: "What has inspired
you, who are ordinarily so cold, in this Michelangelo prophet?"
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_9 ^paragraph 60}
  That indiscreet question wounded Julien. He was furious.
  "Did Danton do well to steal?" he asked her, fiercely. "Should the
rebels of Piedmont in Spain have betrayed the people by their
crimes? Should they have given men without brains all the places in
the army and all the Crosses? And these people who wear the Crosses,
did they not dread the return of the King? Was it necessary to pillage
the treasury of Turin? In a word, Mademoiselle," he said,
approaching her impetuously, "must the man who wants to remove
ignorance and crime from the world be regarded as a monster and an
impostor?"
  Mathilde, frightened, unable to withstand his gaze, fell back. She
looked at him for a minute, and then, ashamed of her fear, walked
slowly out of the library.

{BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_10
                              CHAPTER 10
                           Queen Marguerite
-
    Love! In what folly dost thou not succeed in making us discover
pleasure?
                                     LETTERS OF A PORTUGUESE NUN
-
  JULIEN re-read the letters. When the dinner bell rang, he said to
himself:
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_10 ^paragraph 5}
  "How ridiculous I must have looked to that Parisian doll! How
foolish it was of me to tell her what I really think! But perhaps my
stupidity was not so great after all; the truth on this occasion was
worthy of me. But why should she ask me about my private opinions?
That is indiscreet on her part, she is so unconventional. My opinion
of Danton is not part of my contract with her father."
  When he entered the dining-room, Julien noticed that Mademoiselle de
la Mole was in mourning. He noticed it the more because no one else in
the family was dressed in black. During dinner all that enthusiasm
which had possessed him throughout the day vanished. Happily the
Academician who knew Latin was also at dinner.
  "There is a man," said Julien to himself, "who would not think me
impertinent if I presume to question him about Mademoiselle de la
Mole's mourning costume."
  Mathilde was then looking at him rather singularly. "This coquetry
of women here," he thought, "is exactly as Madame de Renal painted it.
I was not polite enough to her this morning when I did not yield to
her fancy for talking. Oh, later her haughty disdain will have
revenge! Well, I dare her do her worst. Ah! how different she is
from the one I lost! What natural charm! what naivete! I knew her
thoughts before she expressed them; I saw them rise in her mind. I
never found any opposition in her heart, except that fear of the death
of her children. That was a natural affection, though, and she was
lovely to me even when she suffered. Oh, I was a fool! The ideas I had
of Paris prevented me from appreciating that sublime, that magnificent
woman. What a difference now in what I find here! Dry and disdainful
vanity, selfishness, nothing else!
  "Let me get hold of that Academician," said Julien, when dinner
was over. He approached the latter as he was passing into the
garden, and shared his anger at the success of "Hernani."
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_10 ^paragraph 10}
  "Ah, if we were still in the time of lettres de cachet," he
said, "then they would not have dared!" cried the Academician, with
a Talma gesture.
  Picking a flower, Julien quoted some lines from Virgil's "Georgics,"
remarking that nothing was equal to the verses of abbe Delille. In a
word, he flattered the Academician in every way. Then assuming a
most indifferent air, he said:
  "I suppose that Mademoiselle de la Mole has inherited a fortune from
the uncle for whom she is wearing mourning?"
  "What! you are in the house," replied the Academician, stopping
short, "and you don't know her hobby? Really, it is strange that her
mother should permit anything like that. But, confidentially, it is
not precisely through force of character that anyone shines in this
house; but Mademoiselle de la Mole has enough for them all, and
leads them by the nose. To-day is the 30th of April," and the
Academician drew himself up, giving Julien a significant look.
  Julien in return smiled as knowingly as he could.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_10 ^paragraph 15}
  "What connection can there be between leading the house by the nose,
wearing mourning, and the 30th of April?" he was asking himself. "I
must be more of a fool than I think."
  "I must admit-" he said to the Academician.
  "Let's walk around the garden," broke in the Academician,
enchanted at the prospect of a long and learned conversation. "Yes; is
it possible that you do not know what happened on the 30th of April,
1574?"
  "And where?" asked Julien, astonished.
  "In Place de Greve."
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_10 ^paragraph 20}
  To Julien this was not much information. Curiosity and the
expectation of something tragic, both in accord with his character,
gave his eyes that brilliancy which a narrator loves so well to see in
a listener.
  The Academician, pleased at finding a ready ear, related at length
how on April 30, 1574, the handsomest young man of his day, Boniface
de la Mole, and the Piedmontese, Annibal de Coconasso, had been
executed in Place de Greve. La Mole was adored by Queen Marguerite
of Navarre.
  "Notice," added the Academician, "that Mademoiselle de la Mole's
name is Mathilde-Marguerite. La Mole was, in his day, the favorite
of Duke d'Alencon, and the most intimate friend of the King of
Navarre, afterward Henry IV, the husband of his mistress. On Mardi
Gras of the same year, 1574, the court was at Saint-Germain with
poor King Charles IX, who was then dying. La Mole wished to release
his friends whom Queen Catherine de Medicis was holding as prisoners
near the court. He had two hundred horsemen under the walls of
Saint-Germain. But Duke d'Alencon became afraid, and la Mole was
handed over to the executioner. But what affects Mademoiselle Mathilde
more than anything else is, as she has told me, that seven or eight
years ago, when she was twelve years of age- for she has a head, I
tell you! a fine head!" and the Academician looked up to the sky-
"what touched her more than anything else in this tragedy is that
Queen Marguerite of Navarre, who had hidden herself in a house near
Place de Greve, asked the executioner for her lover's head. And the
same night, at midnight, she took the head into her carriage and drove
to a little chapel at the foot of the hill of Montmartre."
  "Is it possible?" Julien asked, visibly affected.
  "Mademoiselle de la Mole despises her brother because, as you see,
he takes no stock in that old story, and does not wear mourning on the
30th of April. It is since that famous execution that all male members
of the family have that name in order to recall the la Mole's intimate
friendship for Coconasso. This Coconasso, like the Italian that he
was, was known also as Annibal, and," added the Academician in a
whisper, "this Coconasso was, if we are to believe Charles IX, one
of the most cruel assassins of August 24, 1572. But how is it
possible, my dear Sorel, that you do not know these things, you who
are in the house?"
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_10 ^paragraph 25}
  "So that is why twice at dinner Mademoiselle de la Mole called her
brother Annibal," Julien thought.
  "It is strange that the Marquise should allow such nonsense. But the
husband of that fine girl would find it charming."
  The last remark was followed by some satirical allusions. The
spiteful pleasure in the Academician's eye repelled Julien.
  "Here we are, like two valets, busy talking about our masters," he
thought. "But nothing should surprise me in this Academician." One day
Julien had surprised him on his knees before the Marquise de la
Mole: he was begging her for a receivership under the tobacco tax
for his nephew in the provinces.
  In the evening Mademoiselle de la Mole's maid, who was paying
attention to Julien just as Elisa had formerly done, informed him that
her mistress's mourning costume was not put on for effect, but was one
of her peculiarities, rooted in her character. She really loved that
la Mole who was beloved by the greatest queen of her age and who
died in an attempt to free his friends. And what friends- a first
prince of the blood and Henry IV!
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_10 ^paragraph 30}
  Accustomed to the naivete which Madame de Renal evinced at all
times, Julien saw only affectation in the Parisian women; and when
he was in the least disconcerted, he could not say a word to them.
Mademoiselle de la Mole, however, seemed to be the exception. He no
longer took her expression and carriage as signs of indifference and
hauteur. He held long conversations with her, too, when, after dinner,
they would walk together in the garden, before the open windows of the
drawing-room. She told him one day that she was reading d'Aubigne's
and Brantome's histories.
  "Peculiar reading," Julien thought, "for a girl, and the Marquise
does not permit her even to read Walter Scott's novels."
  One day she told him, her eyes shining with pleasure as a proof of
her sincere admiration- a trait properly belonging to a woman of the
reign of Henry III- that she had just read in the "Memoires" of
l'Etoile: "Having found her husband unfaithful, she had thrust a
dagger into him."
  Julien's vanity was flattered. A person to whom everyone paid so
much court, and who, according to the Academician, ruled the whole
house, was speaking to him in a manner that almost resembled intimacy!
  "Oh, but I am fooling myself," thought Julien. "It is not from
familiarity, it is only from the necessity of talking. I pass for a
savant. I will now have to read Brantome and d'Aubigne, and
l'Etoile; I could then talk about some of the anecdotes of which
Mademoiselle de la Mole was speaking to me. I must give up the role of
a passive confidant."
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_10 ^paragraph 35}
  Little by little his conversations with the young girl, who was
always so dignified and yet so much at ease, became more
interesting. He gradually forgot his sombre role of an ever
discontented plebeian. He saw she was well informed, even intelligent.
Her opinions in the garden were quite different from those she
expressed in the drawing-room. Sometimes she evinced an enthusiasm and
a frankness which were in sharp contrast with her usual proud, cool
bearing.
  "The wars of the League were the heroic days of France," she said to
him one day, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm and intelligence.
"Then everyone was struggling to obtain something different in order
to make his party triumph, and not simply to gain a Cross as in the
time of your Emperor. You must agree that then there was less
egotism and less pettiness. How I love that century!"
  "Your Boniface de la Mole was the hero of it," he interposed.
  "At any rate he was loved as much as one could well be. What woman
living now would not have a horror of touching the decapitated head of
her lover?"
  Just then Madame de la Mole called her daughter.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_10 ^paragraph 40}
  Hypocrisy to be useful should be hidden; and Julien, as was seen,
had spoken to Mademoiselle de la Mole half in confidence of his
admiration for Napoleon.
  "There is the great advantage they have over us," said Julien, now
alone in the garden. "The history of their ancestors raises them above
vulgar ideas, and they do not have to think of a livelihood. It is
terrible," he added, with bitterness; "I have no right to think of
those great things. My life is only a series of hypocrisies because
I have not a thousand francs."
  "What are you thinking of, monsieur?" asked Mathilde, who came
back hurriedly.
  Through pride he frankly told her of what he was thinking,
blushing considerably as he went on. He endeavored to express by his
proud speech that he was asking for nothing. And never had he seemed
so handsome to Mathilde. She saw in his face a degree of feeling and
candor which she had never before observed.
  Less than a month after that Julien was walking pensively in the
garden, without a trace of that hard, resigned expression which a
consciousness of one's inferiority imparts. He had just conducted to
the door of the drawing-room Mademoiselle de la Mole, who pretended to
have hurt her foot while running with her brother.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_10 ^paragraph 45}
  "She leaned on my arm in such a peculiar way," Julien said to
himself. "Am I only a fool, or is it really so, that she thinks
something of me? She listens to me in such a gentle way, even when I
tell her of all that I suffer from my pride, she who is so proud
with everybody. Wouldn't it be a surprise if she were seen with such
an expression in the drawing-room? But, really, her manner is so
sweet, and she does not show it to anybody else."
  Julien tried not to exaggerate that marked friendship. He looked
upon her as a friend, but one who is also armed. Every day when they
met, before resuming the intimate tone of the night before, they would
almost ask themselves, "Shall we be friends to-day or enemies?" Julien
felt that if he allowed himself to be offended in the least by this
haughty girl he would lose all. "If I am to get angry, is it not
easier that it should take place right now in defending my rights than
later, when I would be compelled to stand on my rights against
possible contempt?"
  Several times when Mathilde was in a bad humor she attempted to
act toward him as a great lady. She did it warily, but Julien was on
his guard.
  One day he interrupted her rather rudely with: "Has Mademoiselle
de la Mole any orders for her father's secretary? He must take those
orders and execute them with due respect." That was all he said. He
was not paid to communicate his ideas, he thought.
  This sort of life removed the ennui he found in that magnificent
salon where everybody was afraid, and where it was not permissible
to speak lightly on any subject.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_10 ^paragraph 50}
  "It would be so gratifying to me if she loved me. Whether she
loves me or not," thought Julien, "I have for a confidante an
intelligent girl before whom everybody in the house trembles, and more
than all this Marquis de Croisenois. This young man is so polished, so
kind, so brave, uniting in himself all those advantages of birth and
fortune of which only one would put me at my ease! He is madly in love
with her; he ought to marry her. What letters has not M. de la Mole
made me write to the two notaries? And I who am only an inferior
with a pen in hand, two hours later, here in the garden, I triumph
over these pleasant gentlemen! Really her manner is so direct. Perhaps
she hates a future husband in him.
  "And what friendliness she shows toward me! Well, I am only a
fool! Or is she really courting me? The more cool and respectful I
show myself to her, the more eagerly she looks for me. Oh, that
might be only a fancy or an affectation, but I see her eyes light up
so when I come upon her suddenly. Can the Parisian women feign so far?
Well, what is the difference? She looks like it, and let us enjoy
the appearance.
  "Mon dieu! how beautiful she is! How her eyes charm me when I see
them close, looking at me, as they often do! How different this spring
is from last year, when I lived discontented, in self-contempt, in the
midst of three hundred dirty hypocrites! I was almost as bad as they
were."
  In his moody days Julien would think, "Ah, this young girl is only
amusing herself with me; she is in compact with her brother to mystify
me; but she seems to despise her brother's lack of energy so much!
He is brave, and that is about all; she tells me he dare not have a
thought to which the world might take exception. I am always the one
who is obliged to speak up for him. A young girl of nineteen! At
that age can one be true all day long to one's hypocritical plan? On
the other hand, when Mademoiselle de la Mole fixes her blue eyes on me
with that singular expression of hers, Count Norbert always withdraws;
that is what is suspicious. Should he not become indignant over the
fact that his sister is attentive to a domestic of the house, as I
have heard Duke de Chaulnes speak of me?"
  At that recollection his anger took complete possession of him.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_10 ^paragraph 55}
  "Is it from the love of the old French in the crazy Duke? Oh,
well, she is pretty," continued Julien, with a fierce look. "I shall
have her, and I shall have her soon; and let the man look out who is
going to cross my path."
  That idea engrossed Julien; he could not think of anything else.
Days passed like hours. Every moment, though he tried to occupy his
mind with something serious, the same thought would always recur to
him. He would rise with a start every quarter of an hour, his heart
palpitating, his head throbbing, crying out, "Does she love me?"

{BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_11
                              CHAPTER 11
                         The Power of a Girl
-
              I admire her beauty, but I fear her mind.
                                                    MERIMEE
-
  IF JULIEN had carefully observed Mathilde's manner in the
drawing-room, instead of exaggerating her beauty, or flying into a
rage over the haughtiness of the family she was forgetting on his
account, he would have known what it was in her that ruled everyone in
the house.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_11 ^paragraph 5}
  When anyone offended Mademoiselle de la Mole, she could revenge
herself with a remark so well turned and apparently so innocent that
the wound it inflicted would be aggravated the more one thought of it.
When the matter concerned her pride, she could be positively cruel.
Indifferent to the aims of her family, she always seemed cold in their
eyes.
  After all, aristocratic drawing-rooms are nice only to speak of when
one leaves; but that is all. After the first few days the chill
politeness becomes an obsession; that Julien found out after his first
disillusion.
  "Politeness," he said to himself, "then, is only the mask of a bad
temper in the vulgar."
  Mathilde was often bored, and would have been bored, perhaps,
anywhere, and at any time. A biting epigram was a real diversion, a
real pleasure. It was, perhaps, in order to have victims that were a
little more amusing than her distinguished parents, the Academician,
and five or six others who paid her very marked attention, that she
held out hope to the Marquis de Croisenois, to Count de Caylus, and to
three other young men of high distinction. These became for her only
new subjects for epigram.
  It must be admitted that she had exchanged letters with these
young men. The young woman was not conventional, that was all. A
lack of prudence could not be charged to the pupils of the noble
Convent of Sacre Coeur.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_11 ^paragraph 10}
  One day Marquis de Croisenois returned to Mathilde a most
compromising letter she had written him the day before. He thought
that his suit would be advanced by this mark of great prudence. But it
was imprudence that Mathilde loved in her correspondence. Her pleasure
then consisted in playing with his fate, not addressing a word to
him for six weeks. The letters of the young men amused her; she
found them all alike; all expressed the deepest passion, the
greatest melancholy.
  "They are all perfect to a man, ready to leave for Palestine," she
would say to her cousin. "Can you imagine anything more insipid?
Such are the letters I have received all my life. These letters change
every twenty years, according to the kind of life that is in vogue.
They would not be so flat in the time of the Empire. Then society
young men would have said or would have done something which was
really great. Duke de N., my uncle, was at Wagram."
  "What greatness is required to give a sword thrust?" asked
Mademoiselle de Sainte-Heredite, Mathilde's cousin, "and when they
do that they speak of it so often!"
  "Oh, well, I like to hear about it. To be in a real battle, in a
battle with Napoleon, where ten thousand soldiers are killed, that
is a sign of courage! To expose oneself to danger elevates the soul
and raises it from that bored state into which my poor admirers are
plunged. And it is contagious, this ennui. Has any one of them an idea
of doing something extraordinary? They are eager for my hand, a fine
ambition! I am rich, and my father would promote his son-in-law. Ah,
how I should love to find one who is the least bit interesting!"
  The vivacious, clear, picturesque manner of looking at the world
made her language somewhat intemperate. Frequently she would see a
cloud pass over the eyes of her polite friends. They almost admitted
among themselves that her unconventional tone had some ring in it that
did not chime with womanly delicacy. On her part she was quite
unjust to the handsome gallants that crowded the Bois de Boulogne. The
future had no terrors for her- what more could she desire? Fortune,
noble birth, intelligence, beauty, as people admitted and as she
herself believed, she had all!
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_11 ^paragraph 15}
  Such were the thoughts of the most envied heiress in Faubourg
Saint-Germain when she was pleased to promenade with Julien. She was
astonished at his pride, and admired still more his bourgeois sense.
  "He will be a Bishop yet, like abbe Maury," she thought. The
unfeigned indifference, however, with which he listened to her weighed
upon her.
  She related to her cousin every detail of her conversation and found
that she never succeeded in describing fully his face. All at once she
was seized with an idea.
  "I am happy! I love him!" she said to herself one day, in a
transport of joy. "Yes, I love him! At my age, where can a young,
handsome, intelligent girl find anything pleasing except in loving? It
is all in vain; I shall never love de Croisenois, de Caylus, or the
rest. They are perfect- too perfect, perhaps- they weary me!"
  There flitted through her head the passionate scenes from "Manon
Lescaut," "Nouvelle Heloise," and "Lettres d'une Religieuse
Portugaise." Of course it must be an extraordinary passion; a light
love was unworthy of a girl of her age and her birth! She never
applied the name of love except to that heroic sentiment which
prevailed in France in the time of Henry III and of Bassompierre. Such
a love does not yield basely to obstacles, but accomplishes marvels.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_11 ^paragraph 20}
  "Oh, how unfortunate it is for me there is not such a court as
that of Catherine de Medicis or of Louis XIII! I feel that I should be
equal to all that is noble and grand. What should I not do with a
man of heart like Louis XIII sighing at my feet! I would lead him in
Vendee, as Baron de Tolly often says, and there he would reconquer his
realm, and no more a constitution, and Julien would aid me! Now,
what is lacking in him? Name and fortune. He will make himself a
name and he will acquire a fortune. Now, there is nothing lacking in
de Croisenois, but all his life he will remain only a Duke, half
ultra, half Liberal, a hesitating sort of a creature, removed from
both extremes, and therefore second-rate everywhere!
  "What noble action is there which does not look risky at the time it
is undertaken? It is when it is accomplished that it seems possible to
ordinary creatures. Yes, it is love with all its miracles that is
about to reign in my heart. I feel the flame in me! Heaven will
grant me that favor! It is not in vain that all these advantages
have accumulated on one creature; my happiness will be worthy of me.
Every day will be different from the day before. I feel already that
grandeur and that inspiring courage from loving a man even when he
is placed so far beneath me. Now see, but will he deserve me? At the
very first weakness he goes; I will let him alone. A girl of my birth,
and with the romantic character that everyone gives me, cannot tie
herself to a fool.
  "Wouldn't that be the role I should play if I loved the Marquis de
Croisenois? I should have a new edition of the happiness of my cousin,
which I utterly despise. I know in advance what the poor Marquis is
going to tell me and all that I am going to say in reply. What sort of
love is that which makes a person yawn, even though there is devotion?
I should have a clause in the marriage contract, just as it was with
my cousin, about which the parents will come to some agreement, if
they do not fall out at the last moment over some new conditions
introduced by the notary.
  "Between Julien and myself there would be no contract, no notary;
all that will be heroic, all that will be natural. As regards
nobility, which he lacks, it will be the love of Marguerite of
Valois for the young de la Mole, the most distinguished man of his
time. Is it my fault if the young men are so enslaved to convention
that they become pale at the least suggestion of something out of
the ordinary? A little trip to Greece or Africa is for them the height
of rashness, and even then they do not go except in flocks! When
they find themselves alone, they are afraid, not of a Bedouin lance
but- of ridicule!
  "My Julien, on the contrary, loves to do everything alone. Never
in that exceptional character is there the least idea of seeking
help from others; he despises others; it is for that reason that I
do not despise him.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_11 ^paragraph 25}
  "If with his poverty Julien were a nobleman, my love would be only
common foolishness, a flat mesalliance. I should have nothing to do
with him; there would not be anything in it of that which
characterizes a great passion- the immense difficulties to be
overcome, the dark uncertainty of events."
  Mademoiselle de la Mole dwelt so completely in these charming
reflections that she praised Julien before Marquis de Croisenois and
her brother next day with an eloquence that amazed them.
  "Look out for that young man who is all energy!" cried her
brother. "If we have another revolution, he will be just the one to
lead us to the guillotine!"
  She then began to tease her brother and Marquis de Croisenois
about the fear they had of a man of action.
  "It is nothing at bottom but the fear of finding something
unexpected; of stopping short in the presence of the unforeseen. It is
always, gentlemen, that dread of ridicule, a monster that,
unfortunately, has been dead since 1816."
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_11 ^paragraph 30}
  "There is no longer any ridicule," said M. de la Mole, "in a country
where there are two parties." His daughter understood that.
  "So, gentlemen," she said to Julien's enemies, "you will be afraid
all your life; and it will be said of you: 'It was not a wolf, it
was only the shadow!'"
  Mathilde left them directly, ruffled by her brother's remark. The
next day, however, she saw in it the greatest praise.
  "In this age in which all energy is dead, his courage makes them
afraid. I will tell him what my brother said. I want to see what
answer he will make; but I will wait until his eyes shine, then he
won't lie to me. Ah, he would be a Danton!" she added, after a long
reverie.
  "Yes, should a revolution occur again, what would de Croisenois
and my brother do? Well, it is written in advance; sublime
resignation! Ah, they are like lambs led to the slaughter! Their
only fear when they die would be of not being in good form. Julien
would risk his head fighting a Jacobin who would come to arrest him
even though he should see no means of escape." The last thought made
her pensive again, but she put aside her painful ideas.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_11 ^paragraph 35}
  The remarks of MM. de Caylus, de Croisenois, de Luz, and her brother
recurred again to her mind. These gentlemen were always speaking
lightly of Julien, as the humble and hypocritical priest. "But," she
thought, her eyes bright with joy, "the bitterness and frequency of
their sarcasm show that he is the most distinguished man we have had
here this winter. What do I care for their sarcasm and their ridicule?
He is great, and that is where the shoe pinches with these gentlemen
who are so self-indulgent. Yes, he is poor and has studied to become a
priest. They are Chiefs of Squadron and have never had occasion to
study; it is easier."
  "In spite of all the disadvantages of his eternal black coat and his
priestly look, the poor boy, though compelled to earn a livelihood,
has a character that makes them tremble. That is plain. And that
priestly look disappears as soon as we are alone together; and when
these gentlemen say anything brilliant, don't they look first at
Julien? I have noticed that quite often. And yet they know that he
never talks unless he is addressed first. It is only to me he talks;
he believes I have a lofty soul. He replies to their remarks in a
way only to seem polite. But with me he talks for hours at a time.
He is not sure of his ideas until I find some objection to them. Well,
my father, who is a superior man and who will advance the fortune of
our house, has great respect for Julien. Everybody hates him, but no
one really looks down on him except my mother's devoted friends."
  Count de Caylus had, or feigned to have, a great fondness for
horses. He passed his days in his stable and often took breakfast
there. That great passion, joined to his habit of never laughing, gave
him prestige among his friends. He was the lion of his set.
  When they met again the next day behind Madame de la Mole's easy
chair, M. de Caylus, finding Julien was not present, attacked, with
the support of de Croisenois and Norbert, Mathilde's good opinion of
Julien, and almost as soon as he saw Mademoiselle de la Mole enter.
She understood the attack and was charmed by it.
  "There they are," she thought to herself, "all of them leagued
against a man of genius who has not an income of ten louis and who
never answers them except when he is addressed. They are afraid of him
in his black coat; what would it be if he wore chevrons?" She was
never more brilliant.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_11 ^paragraph 40}
  From the first signs of the attack she overwhelmed de Caylus and his
allies with the utmost sarcasm. When the first artillery fire of the
brilliant officers was silenced, she said:
  "Suppose, to-morrow, some squire from the Franche-Comte mountains
should find that Julien is his natural son and give him his name and
some ten thousand francs. In six weeks he would have a moustache
like you gentlemen; in six months he would be an officer of hussars
like you gentlemen; and then his strength of character would no longer
be amusing. I see, monsieur, you who are going to be a Duke, that
you are reduced to this bad reasoning of old: the superiority of the
nobility of the court to the nobility of the country. But what will
there be left if I drive you further, if I am malicious enough to give
Julien a Parisian Duke for a father, who was a prisoner of war at
Besancon in Napoleon's time, and who, from conscientious scruples,
declares him his son on his deathbed?"
  All these hints at illegitimate birth were found in bad form by
MM. de Caylus and de Croisenois. That was all they saw in Mathilde's
arguments. Though Norbert was prejudiced, his sister's words were so
convincing that he became somewhat grave in his reply, wholly
belying his smiling face.
  "Why, are you sick, my dear?" Mathilde asked him, with a touch of
seriousness in her tone. "You must be sick, indeed, to answer my
trifles with your morals. Morals! you! Do you want a place with a
prefect?"
  Mathilde soon forgot Count de Caylus's irritation, Norbert's bad
humor, and M. de Croisenois's silent despair. She stoutly maintained
the idea which had taken possession of her.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_11 ^paragraph 45}
  "Julien is sincere enough with me," she said to herself "At his age,
penniless, and as unhappy as he can be from his astonishing
ambition, he must need a friend- a woman. Perhaps I am that friend;
but I do not see any love in him. With the boldness of his character
he would have spoken to me of it." This uncertainty, together with her
musings, which occupied every moment of Mathilde's time, and in
which every time Julien spoke to her she inserted new arguments, drove
away all that ennui to which she had been a prey. As a daughter of
that great man who might become a Minister and sell his woods to the
clergy, Mademoiselle de la Mole had been the object of the most
fulsome flatteries at the Convent of the Sacre Coeur. That injury
was never undone. She had been told that, considering her advantages
of birth and fortune, she should be happier than anyone else. In
that is the source of the weariness and disappointment of princes
and of their follies. Mathilde had not escaped the harmful influence
of that education. With all her intelligence she was not proof against
the flatteries of the convent.
  From the time that she was sure that she loved Julien there was a
new interest for her in life. Every day she congratulated herself upon
what she had done in encouraging her passion. "It may be dangerous,"
she thought; "so much the better, a thousand times better! Without a
great passion I should be languishing at the happiest period of my
life, which is always said to be from sixteen to twenty. I have
already lost my best years. I am obliged, in lieu of pleasure, to
listen to the gossip of my mother's friends, who at Coblenz in 1792
were not, I suppose, as strict as their words indicate to-day."
  It was while Mathilde was agitated with uncertainty that Julien
did not understand the steady gaze which she would fix upon him. He
felt also an increased coolness in Count Norbert, and new haughtiness,
new pride in MM. de Caylus, de Luz, and de Croisenois. This he noticed
several times in the course of an evening when he shone more
brilliantly than his station in life warranted.
  "Yes, it is impossible that I am mistaken," Julien said to
himself. "Mademoiselle de la Mole looks at me in a queer way; but when
her beautiful blue eyes are fixed steadily on me with the greatest
abandon, I read in them something of sang-froid and recklessness. Is
it possible that it is from love? How different from the look of
Madame de Renal!"
  One evening Julien, after following M. de la Mole into his room,
returned to the garden. As he was quietly approaching the group around
Mathilde, he caught a few words that were spoken very loud. She was
teasing her brother. Julien heard his name pronounced twice
distinctly. When they saw him, a profound silence immediately
ensued, Mademoiselle de la Mole and her brother being too much
occupied with the previous conversation to start on another subject.
MM. de Caylus, de Croisenois, de Luz, and a friend of theirs greeted
Julien icily and left.

{BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_12
                              CHAPTER 12
                                A Plot
-
    Incoherent resolutions, chance encounters are transformed into
air-tight proofs in the eyes of a man of imagination if he has some
fire in his heart.
                                                        SCHILLER
-
  THE NEXT DAY Julien again surprised a conversation about himself
between Norbert and his sister. Becoming again quiet on his arrival,
his suspicions knew no longer any bounds. "Have these people conspired
to make a fool of me?" he thought. "I must admit that is much more
natural, more probable than a pretended passion on the part of
Mademoiselle de la Mole for a poor devil of a secretary. In the
first place, have such people passions? To hoax is their forte. They
are jealous of my little superiority in speech; and jealousy is a
weakness of theirs. It is all clear now, Mademoiselle de la Mole
wished to persuade me that she is distinguishing me just to make a
spectacle of me to her admirer."
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_12 ^paragraph 5}
  This cruel suspicion changed Julien's entire position. It engendered
a love in his heart that he could not eradicate. It was founded only
on Mathilde's beauty, or, rather, on her queenly airs and admirable
costumes. In that respect Julien was only a parvenu. A beautiful woman
in high life is what most astonishes an intelligent provincial. It was
not Mathilde's character that gave Julien cause for reverie. He had
enough sense to know that he did not understand her; all that he saw
might be only affectation. For example, Mathilde would not for all the
world miss Mass on Sunday; she always accompanied her mother. And if
in the drawing-room some one forgot himself and indulged in a
distant allusion to the true or supposed interests of the throne or
altar, Mathilde would immediately become reserved and cold. Her
look, which was usually so vivacious, would become haughtily
impassive, like that of an old family portrait. Yet Julien was sure
that she always had in her room one of Voltaire's philosophical works.
He himself would often steal some of the volumes of the handsome
edition. By slightly pushing the neighboring volume forward, he
would conceal the absence of the one he would take away. But soon he
discovered that another person was reading Voltaire. He had recourse
to a seminary trick, by placing bits of hair on the volumes which he
supposed would interest Mademoiselle de la Mole. They would
disappear for weeks at a time.
  M. de la Mole, who was angry with his bookseller for sending him
spurious Memoirs, had ordered Julien to buy for him some piquant
works; but in order that the venom might not spread in the house,
the secretary had orders to place the books in a little bookcase in
the Marquis's own room. Yet he was very certain that, although these
new books were hostile both to the interest of the throne and the
Church, it was not long before they disappeared. It was certainly
not Norbert who read them. Julien, exaggerating all this, believed
Mademoiselle de la Mole to have the duplicity of Machiavelli. That
witch of a woman seemed charming to him. Indeed, with his hypocrisy,
it was the only charm he could appreciate. But he was carried away
more by his imagination than by his love. It was in dreaming over
the elegance of Mademoiselle de la Mole's figure, her excellent
taste in dress, her white hands, her beautiful arms, and her flowing
movements that he found himself in the depths of love. Then, to put
the climax to this dream, he believed her a veritable Catherine de
Medicis. Nothing was too deep nor too wicked for the character which
he conjured up. It was the ideal of a Maslon, a de Frilaire, a
Castanede, admired by him in his youth; it was, in a word, his ideal
of Paris. Could there be anything more pleasant than to believe in the
depth or the wickedness of a Parisian character?
  "It is impossible that this trio are mocking me," thought Julien. He
would not be understood, indeed, if that gloomy, cold look in response
to Mathilde was not observed; for a bitter irony repulsed the
assurances of friendship which Mademoiselle de la Mole ventured to
give him once or twice.
  Moved by the sudden check, the young girl, though naturally cold,
became more impassioned than ever. But there was a good deal of
pride in Mathilde's character, and the feeling that placed her
entire happiness on another person was extremely bitter.
  Music as sung by Frenchmen tired Mathilde to death; and yet
Julien, who made it his duty to be present when the opera was over,
noticed that she allowed herself to be taken there quite frequently.
He thought he saw a loss of self-possession in her actions. Frequently
she would reply to her friends in a most outrageous fashion. It seemed
to him that she treated the Marquis de Croisenois with the utmost
disdain.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_12 ^paragraph 10}
  "That young man must be madly in love with money not to let the girl
go, rich as she is," thought Julien. And as for himself, feeling
outraged in his manly dignity, he had nothing but increased coolness
for her. His remarks to her at times were indeed far from polite.
  However resolved he was not to be fooled by Mathilde's marked
interest, Julien, whose eyes were beginning to open, became somewhat
embarrassed.
  "Yes, you polished men and women of society are triumphing over my
ignorance," he said to himself. "I must leave and put an end to all
this business."
  The Marquis had just intrusted to him the administration of some
lands and houses in lower Languedoc. It was necessary for him to go
there, he said, and M. de la Mole reluctantly consented. Except as
to his ambition, Julien had become a wholly different man.
  "At bottom they have not fooled me yet," Julien said to himself
preparatory to his departure. "Whether Mademoiselle de la Mole's
persiflage to those gentlemen is real or not, by which she endeavors
to give me confidence, I am only amused. If this is not a
conspiracy, then Mademoiselle de la Mole's action toward me is
inexplicable; but it is more pronounced toward Marquis de Croisenois
than myself- Yes, indeed, her lack of feeling for him is real. And
I- I have had the pleasure of cutting out that young man who is as
noble and rich as I am poor and plebeian. That is my greatest triumph;
that will amuse me on the coach, riding over Landguedoc."
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_12 ^paragraph 15}
  He had not spoken of his departure, but Mathilde knew that he was
going to leave Paris the next day and for a long time. Excusing
herself on the plea of a severe headache, which she said the closeness
of the room made worse, she went into the garden, followed by Norbert,
Marquis de Croisenois, de Caylus, de Luz, and other young men. These
her biting sarcasm soon put to flight. She looked at Julien in a
strange manner.
  "That look is perhaps a little comedy, but that rapid breathing
and all that anxiety I see! Bah!" he cried to himself, "what do I know
about it? Here I see only the most finished woman in Paris. That
labored breathing which has almost affected me, she must have
learned from Leontine Fay whom she loves so much." They were then
alone and were at a loss of what to say.
  "No, Julien has no feeling for me," Mathilde was saying to
herself, visibly unhappy. As he was taking leave of her she pressed
his arm, saying in an altered voice, that was scarcely recognizable:
"You will receive a letter from me to-night."
  Julien was taken by surprise. "My father," she continued, "has a
just esteem for the services which you render him. You must not
leave to-morrow; you must find a pretext," and she ran off.
  Her figure was so charming, she had such a beautiful foot, and she
ran with such grace that Julien was enchanted. But could anyone
guess what his second thought was after he saw her disappear? He was
offended by the imperative tone in which she said "You must." Louis XV
likewise, when he was about to die, objected strongly to the word
"must" that was lamely used by his chief physician; and Louis XV was
not an upstart!
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_12 ^paragraph 20}
  An hour later a servant brought Julien a letter. It was a simple
declaration of love.
  "There is not too much affectation in that style," Julien said to
himself, trying, by a literary criticism, to hide the joy which
contracted his face and produced a smile in spite of himself. "There,"
he cried all at once, "her passion is too great to be held in
restraint. I, a poor peasant, I have a declaration of love from a
great lady. As for myself, it is not bad," he added, restraining his
joy as much as possible, "if I were able to maintain my dignity. I
have never said that I loved her." Then he began to study the
characters; Mademoiselle de la Mole had a pretty English style of
writing. He had to do something physical to divert his mind from the
joy that was inundating his heart.
  "Your departure obliges me to speak. I cannot bear the thought
that I shall not see you again-"
  One thought came to Julien which interrupted his examination of
Mathilde's letter and redoubled his joy. "I have come out ahead of
Marquis de Croisenois!" he cried. "He is always so serious with her!
And his moustache and brilliant uniform! He always has something
pretty to say at the right time and in the right place!"
  Julien experienced a moment of delight. He walked up and down the
garden, perfectly wild with joy. Later he went to the library and
presented himself to Marquis de la Mole, who fortunately had not
gone out. He proved to him, as he showed him certain papers that had
come from Normandy, that affairs there obliged him to postpone his
departure for Landguedoc.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_12 ^paragraph 25}
  "I am very glad that you are not going to leave," said the Marquis
to him when they finished talking business; "I am so glad to have
you here." Julien left. That remark came as a sting to him.
  "And I- I am going to seduce his daughter, and prevent the
marriage with Marquis de Croisenois, who would make her a brilliant
future! If he does not become a Duke, his daughter at least will
have the tabouret."
  Julien had the idea now of leaving for Landguedoc in spite of
Mathilde's letter and the explanation he had given to the Marquis; but
that gleam of virtue soon became extinguished. "How good of me!" he
said to himself, "I, a plebeian, to have pity on a noble family! I,
whom Duke de Chaulnes calls a servant! How does the Marquis double his
fortune? By selling an estate when he learns at the Chateau that the
next day there will be a coup d'etat. And I, placed at the bottom of
the ladder by a cruel Providence, I, to whom noble birth has not
been given, and not an income of a thousand francs,- no, not even
bread! yes, to tell the truth, not even bread!- shall I refuse a
pleasure that is thrown at me? A limpid stream which comes to quench
my thirst in that wasting desert of mediocrity which I traverse with
such pain? No, indeed! 'Each one for himself and the devil take the
hindmost' in this life!"
  He recalled the looks of disdain which Madame de la Mole, and
especially her friends, had given him.
  The pleasure of triumphing over the Marquis de Croisenois ended in
putting his virtuous instincts to utter rout. "How I should like to
see him in a rage! With what assurance I should now give him a sword
thrust!" he cried out, assuming guard.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_12 ^paragraph 30}
  "Before this I was a nobody, basely abusing the little courage I
had; but with this letter I am his equal! Yes," he said to himself,
with infinite pleasure, drawing out his words, "the Marquis and I have
been weighed in the scales, and the poor carpenter from the Jura has
been found the heavier.
  "Well, here is my reply: 'Don't imagine, Mademoiselle de la Mole,
that I am forgetting my station in life. I wish to give you to
understand that it is for that carpenter's son that you are
betraying a descendant of the famous Guy de Croisenois who followed
St. Louis in the crusade.'"
  Julien could not contain his Joy. He was obliged to go down into the
garden, feeling that his room, into which he had locked himself, was
all too narrow for him. "Here I am, a poor peasant from the Jura,"
he repeated to himself from time to time. "I am doomed to wear this
sombre black coat all my life. Oh, twenty years earlier I should
have worn a uniform like them! Then a man like me would either be dead
or would be a general at thirty-six."
  The letter which he pressed in his hand gave him the figure and
attitude of a hero. "Now, it is true, in this black coat at forty
there may be an income of a hundred thousand francs and a cordon
bleu like Bishop de Beauvais.
  "Oh, well," laughing like Mephisto in the play, "I am cleverer
than they are; I know how to select my uniform for this age"; and he
felt his ambition redouble with his attachment for his
ecclesiastical coat. "How many cardinals of lowlier birth than mine
have not come to the height of power? My fellow countryman
Granville, for instance!"
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_12 ^paragraph 35}
  Gradually Julien became calmer. Prudence returned. He said to
himself, like his master Tartufe, whose part he knew by heart:
-
         "Je ne me firai point a des propos si doux
          Qu'un peu de ses faveurs apres quoi je soupire
          Ne vienne m'assurer tout ce qu'ils m'ont pu dire."
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_12 ^paragraph 40}
-
  "Tartufe was also betrayed by a woman. But my reply may be shown.
For this I have this safeguard," he added, slowly but fiercely. "I
will begin with the most compromising phrases in Mathilde's letter.
Yes, but four servants of M. de Croisenois can fall upon me and take
away the original! Oh, no, I am well armed, and I am known for
shooting servants. Well, but one of them may be bold and pounce upon
me? He might have been promised a hundred napoleons for it. I will
either kill him or wound him; and that is all that is wanted. I am
thrown into prison, in due course of law I appear in the police court,
and I am sent away with all justice and equity on the part of the
judges to keep MM. Fontan and Magalon company at Poissy. There I shall
be thrown pell-mell with some four hundred criminals, and I will be
pitied by them, too, I suppose," he cried, rising impetuously. "Have
they pity for the Third Estate when they are with them?" That was
the last vestige of gratitude for M. de la Mole, the thought of whom
was torturing him at this moment.
  "Softly, gentlemen! I see this little Machiavellistic trick! Abbe
Maslon and Castanede at the seminary could not have done it better.
You take away that letter, and I will be the second edition of Colonel
Caron at Colmar. But, gentlemen, I am going to send the letter away,
well concealed in a package, to M. abbe Pirard. He is a good man, a
Jansenist, and is not likely to be seduced by gold. Yes, but he may
open the letter? I am going to send it to Fouque!" Julien's face and
his entire look expressed something atrocious. There was revealed in
it crime in its most naked form. It was the look of an unfortunate man
at war with society.
  "To arms!" cried Julien, and with a bound he cleared the steps in
front of the house. He entered a copyist's office on the street,
whom he frightened by his abrupt entrance. "Here, copy this," he said,
showing him Mademoiselle de la Mole's letter. While the copyist was
writing, he himself wrote to Fouque, begging him to keep for him a
valuable package. "But," he said, interrupting his writing, "at the
post-office they may open my letter- no-" He went and bought a big
Bible at a Protestant bookstore, in the cover of which he concealed
Mathilde's letter. He had it all wrapped up, and the package was
sent by mail, addressed to one of Fouque's workmen, who was unknown in
Paris. That done, he returned joyfully, leisurely, to the Hotel de
la Mole.
  "Now, Mademoiselle!" he cried, locking himself in his room and
taking off his coat. He wrote:
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_12 ^paragraph 45}
  "It is Mademoiselle de la Mole who sent through the hands of Arsene,
her father's valet, a too charming letter to a poor carpenter from the
Jura, evidently for the purpose of playing on his credulity." And he
repeated the most telling phrases of the letter he had received. His
own letter would have done honor to the diplomatic prudence of the
Chevalier de Beauvoises. It was then only ten o'clock. Julien,
intoxicated by his happiness and by his sense of power, so unknown
to a poor devil of a carpenter like him, went to the Italian opera. He
heard Geronimo sing. Never had music had such an effect on him; he
felt like a god.

{BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_13
                              CHAPTER 13
                          A Girl's Thoughts
-
    Such perplexities! So many sleepless nights! Good God, am I
going to make myself contemptible? He will despise me himself. But
he is leaving and going far away.
                                                ALFRED DE MUSSET
-
  IT WAS NOT without a struggle that Mathilde had written. As soon
as she had felt an inclination for Julien it conquered that pride
which from her earliest childhood had held her heart in thrall. That
proud, indifferent soul was for the first time carried away by
passion. Yet, if her pride was conquered it was still faithful to
its wonted course. After a struggle of two months with her new
sensation she had resumed her usual moral attitude.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_13 ^paragraph 5}
  But Mathilde began to see a gleam of happiness. And that faint spark
which has such power over courageous, intelligent souls had to
struggle for a long time with her dignity and self-importance.
  One day she came to her mother at seven o'clock in the morning to
beg her to let her go away to Villequier. The Marquise, not even
deigning to look, told her to go back to bed. It was the last effort
she made in the direction of common prudence and traditional ideas.
  The fear of doing wrong and of violating the ideas held by de
Caylus, de Luz, and de Croisenois had little influence with her.
These, she felt, did not understand her. She would have consulted them
if there had been a question of buying a carriage or an estate.
  Her real dread was that Julien might be displeased with her. "But
perhaps he has only the appearance of a superior man." She abhorred
lack of character; that was her only objection to the handsome young
men who paid her such attention. The more gayly they chatted about the
world and the rest, believing her to be interested, the more they lost
prestige in her eyes. They were brave and that was all. "And in what
way brave?" she asked herself. "In a duel; but a duel is only a
form. Everything is known in advance, even as to what one must say
in falling. Lying on the grass, with his hand over his heart, he
must generously pardon his adversary and say something brilliant about
a beautiful woman, often an imaginary one, who is going to a ball,
even on the day when you are dying, in order not to arouse
suspicion. Oh, yes, they brave danger at the head of a squadron that
is gleaming with steel. But solitary, singular, unexpected danger- no,
indeed!"
  "Bah!" Mathilde said to herself, "it was at the court of Henry III
that men were found as great in character as by birth. If Julien had
been at Jarnac or at Moncontour I should not have the least hesitancy!
In those days of action and force Frenchmen were not mere figureheads!
On the day of battle there was less anxiety than at any other time.
Their life was not wrapt up like an Egyptian mummy under a cover which
is the same to all and always the same. Yes, there was no less courage
required in going alone at eleven o'clock at night from the Hotel de
Soissons, dressed like Catharine de Medicis than to-day to go to
Algiers. A man's life was a series of dangers. To-day civilization has
removed danger. No more spontaneity and initiative! If it is shown
in ideas it becomes matter for epigram; if it is shown in action there
is not enough cowardice to mock at it. But whatever folly fear makes
us commit is quickly overlooked. A degenerate and wearisome age,
indeed! What would Boniface de la Mole have said if, rising from his
grave with his head severed, he had seen, in 1793, seventeen of his
descendants allow themselves to be taken like lambs and guillotined
two days afterwards? Death was certain, but it would have been in
bad taste to defend oneself and to kill one or two Jacobins! In the
heroic days of France, in the days of Boniface de la Mole, Julien
would have been Chief of a Squadron and my brother the conventional
young priest, with wisdom in his eyes and reason in his mouth!"
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_13 ^paragraph 10}
  A few months before, Mathilde, despairing of finding a character
different from the rest, had found some pleasure in writing to one
or two society young men. That unconventional performance, which was
considered so imprudent in a young girl, could have dishonored her
in the eyes of Marquis de Croisenois and of Duke de Chaulnes, his
father, and of the entire Chaulnes household, if, on seeing the
marriage project falling through, they would have wished to know
why. Then Mathilde could not sleep, though her letters were only
replies. But in this one she ventured to write that she was in love,
and she wrote first. "Oh, how horrible! And to a man placed on the
lowest rung of the social ladder!" That circumstance, if discovered,
would have brought her lifelong dishonor. Which one of the ladies
who visited her mother would have dared take her part? What would be
said to soften the blow of contempt coming from all drawing-rooms?
To speak was bad enough, but to write! "There are things that should
never be written," cried Napoleon, when he learned of the capitulation
of Baylen; and it was Julien who had taught her that!
  But that was not all. Mathilde's anguish came from another source.
Forgetting the terrible effect on society, and the ineffaceable
stain and contempt she would bring upon herself in thus outraging
her caste, Mathilde had written to a person of an altogether different
nature from that of de Croisenois and his compeers. The depths, the
unknown quantity in Julien's character frightened her even in his
ordinary relations with her; and she bade him to become her lover,
perhaps her master! "What would not be his pretensions if once he
had complete control over me? Oh, well, I will say just as Medea:
'In the midst of all perils there remains myself!'"
  Julien had no veneration for noble blood, she knew. If that is the
case, perhaps he would have no love for her. In the midst of all
this doubt and terror her feminine pride returned.
  "There should be nothing ordinary in the lot of a girl like myself,"
cried Mathilde, impatiently. Her pride, inculcated in her from her
cradle, struggled with her daring. It was just at this juncture when
Julien's proposed departure brought the matter to a crisis.
  Late in the evening Julien was malicious enough to have his trunk
taken down by the porter. He called the valet to take it down. "This
little matter may not be noticed," he said to himself, "but if it
succeeds, she will think I am gone." And he fell asleep over his
little joke, while Mathilde could not close her eyes.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_13 ^paragraph 15}
  Early the next day Julien left the house unperceived, returning
before eight o'clock. Hardly was he in the library when Mathilde
appeared at the door. As he handed her his reply, he thought it was
his duty to speak to her. It was, indeed, a very convenient moment,
but Mademoiselle de la Mole evidently did not wish to listen, and
disappeared. Julien, on the other hand, was well pleased; he really
did not know what to say to her.
  "If all this is not a game put up by Count Norbert, it is clear that
it is my cold look that has kindled the love which that proud girl
takes pains to show me. I should be more than an ordinary fool if I
should allow myself to have a feeling for this tall blond doll." His
reasoning left him colder and more calculating than ever.
  "In the battle that is being arranged now her noble birth will be
the breastworks in this military position between her and me; it is
there that all the manoeuvring must take place. Indeed, I have done
wrong in remaining in Paris; this postponement of my departure exposes
me somewhat if all this is only a game. What harm was there in
leaving? I could have laughed at her if they are laughing at me now.
If there is anything in her feeling, I could have increased it a
hundredfold." Mademoiselle de la Mole's letter had given Julien such
an access of vanity that, laughing at what was happening, he had
really forgotten about his proposed departure. It was the fatality
of his character to be so extremely sensitive to his own weaknesses.
He was put out by this and was giving almost no thought to his
former victory.
  When it was nine o'clock Mademoiselle de la Mole again appeared on
the threshold of the library. She threw him a letter and ran away.
  "Why, it seems this is going to be a regular letter romance!" he
cried, picking it up. "The enemy has a masked battery. I- I will be on
my guard with coolness and virtue."
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_13 ^paragraph 20}
  He was asked for a decisive answer in a manner that augmented his
joy. He took pleasure in hinting broadly for two long pages at the
persons who desired to amuse themselves at his expense, and it was
only by way of remark at the end of the letter that he decided to
leave anyhow the next morning. The letter finished, he said, "The
garden is a good place to put it," and he went there. He looked at the
window of Mademoiselle de la Mole's room. It was on the first floor,
near her mother's suite, but there was a high entresol. The first
floor was so high that, as he was walking under the linden trees
with the letter in his hand, Julien could not be seen from
Mademoiselle de la Mole's window, the arch formed by the trees
intercepting the view. "But, my!" said Julien to himself, "this is
imprudent if the whole thing has been gotten up to make a fool of
me. To be seen carrying a letter would be to play into the hands of
the enemy."
  Norbert's room was just over his sister's, and if Julien left the
walk under the trees, the Count and his friends could follow his every
movement. As Mademoiselle de la Mole appeared at her window, he half
showed her the letter. She nodded her head. Julien quickly returned to
his room, and by chance met the beautiful Mathilde on the stairway,
who seized the letter, with eyes blazing with passion.
  "What passion there would be in the eyes of poor Madame de Renal,"
said Julien to himself, "when, after six months of intimacy, she would
receive a letter from me! But even in her I believe I have never
seen such passionate eyes." He did not allow himself to continue the
comparison. "But, what a difference!" he added. "In her elegant
morning gown, in her charming carriage, Mademoiselle de la Mole,
thirty feet away, would be taken by any man to belong to her high
rank. That is what I call intrinsic worth."
  Madame de Renal did not have a Marquis de Croisenois to sacrifice to
him. He only had for a rival that vulgar sub-prefect Charcot, who
called himself Maugiron because there were no more Maugirons.
  At five o'clock Julien received a third letter, thrown at him from
the library door. Immediately, as before, Mademoiselle de la Mole
had fled.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_13 ^paragraph 25}
  "What a mania for writing, when talking is so much more
convenient! The enemy wants letters from me, and many of them, that is
clear." He was not in a hurry to open it. "Some more elegant phrases,"
he thought. But he paled as he read the eight short lines:
  "I must talk to you; I must talk to you this evening. At one o'clock
in the morning come to the garden. Take that garden ladder near the
well and place it against my window, and come to me. It is moonlight
now, but that makes no difference."

{BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_14
                              CHAPTER 14
                            Is It a Plot?
-
    Ah! how cruel the interval between a great project conceived and
its execution! So many fruitless terrors! So many irresolutions! It is
a question of life.- It is a question of much more; of honor!
                                                        SCHILLER
-
  "THIS IS getting serious," thought Julien, "and a little clearer,
too. Why, this fine young woman can talk to me in the library with the
greatest ease. The Marquis, in his fear that I might show him some
accounts, never goes there. Why, M. de la Mole and Count Norbert,
the only persons who ever go there, have been away nearly the whole
day! We could easily find out when they return to the house. And
Mathilde, for whose hand a sovereign prince is not too noble, wants me
to act so abominably imprudent! Well, it is clear that they want to
ruin me, or, to say the least, to have sport with me. First they
wanted to cause my downfall through my letters; but I had made them
too prudent. Now they want something clearer than day. These fine
gentlemen think I am a fool. The devil! In bright moonlight to mount a
ladder to the first floor, twenty-five feet high! It will take
enough time to let everybody see me, even from the neighboring houses!
Wouldn't I look fine on the ladder!"
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_14 ^paragraph 5}
  Julien returned to his room and commenced packing his trunk,
whistling. He was resolved to leave without even making any reply. But
that sage resolution did not bring him peace.
  "But, suppose," he said all at once, after locking his trunk,
"Mathilde is in earnest? Then in her eyes I become a consummate
coward. I cannot boast of my birth, therefore I need great qualities
which form my capital and are to be shown in just such actions."
  For a quarter of an hour he reflected. "Why should I refuse to do
it?" he concluded, finally. "She will think I am a coward. I not
only lose the most brilliant society woman, as they all said at Duke
de Retz's ball, but also the extreme pleasure of seeing the Marquis de
Croisenois sacrificed- a Duke's son, who himself some day will be a
Duke- a charming young man who has all the advantages that I lack-
fortune and birth! Regret will follow me all my life, but not so
much on her account, there are so many mistresses- 'But there is
only one honor,' said old Don Diegue. And here I quickly recoil before
the first peril; for the duel with M. de Beauvoises was only a
farce. It is all different now. I may be shot point blank by a
servant, but that is the least danger; I may be disgraced. It is
getting serious, my boy," he added, with the gayety and accent of a
Gascon; "it is a question of honor! Never will a poor devil, placed by
chance at the very bottom of the social scale, have another such
occasion. Oh, I may acquire a fortune, but to be inferior always-"
He reflected a long time, walking rapidly to and fro, and stopping
short from time to time, as thought after thought came.
  A magnificent marble bust of Cardinal Richelieu had been placed in
his room, and that now attracted his gaze. The bust seemed to look
at him rebukingly, as if reproaching him for the lack of daring
which should be natural to the French character. "In your time, oh
great man! should I have hesitated? So much the worse," he cried out
at last, "if the whole thing is a trap. It is worse, more compromising
for a young girl! Everybody knows that I am not a man to keep quiet.
They will have to kill me then. It was all right in 1574, in the
time of Boniface de la Mole, but no one would dare do it to-day;
people are not the same. Mademoiselle de la Mole is so envied, four
hundred drawing-rooms would resound with her disgrace, and with such
pleasure!
  "The servants are always talking among themselves about her marked
preference for me; I know it, I have heard them say it. On the other
hand, there are her letters, they can prove that I have them on my
person. They can take them away from me after they surprise me in
her room; I should then have to deal with two, three, or four men- how
can I tell? But where will they get these men? Where can they find
these hirelings in Paris? The law, they are afraid of the law, even de
Caylus, de Croisenois, and de Luz!
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_14 ^paragraph 10}
  "The singular situation and the ridiculous figure I should cut
when held by them might tempt them. Look out for Abelard's fate, M. le
Secretaire! Oh, well, they will carry away marks from me. As for the
letters, I can put them in a safe place."
  Julien made a copy of the last two letters he had received and hid
them in a volume of that handsome edition of Voltaire in the
library, taking the originals to the post-office. When he returned, he
thought with terror and surprise: "Into what folly am I throwing
myself?" For a full quarter of an hour he thought of his course of
action for the night.
  "But if I refuse, I shall despise myself in consequence all my life;
it will be a matter of regret for me, and for me such a regret is
the greatest pain. Did not I show it in my affair with Amanda's lover?
  "How can I be the rival of a man bearing one of the greatest names
of France, and I myself an inferior? Really it is only cowardice at
the bottom of my not going there. That decides me now," Julien cried
out, leaping up. "Besides, she is so pretty. If this is only a
betrayal of me, how foolish she has been on that account! If it is all
a hoax, gentlemen, I will make the joke a very serious one, and I will
do it this way. But if they tie my arms as soon as I enter the room?
If they place some ingenious trap? It is all like a duel," he said
to himself, laughing, "'parade everywhere,' as my fencing master
used to say. But, good Lord! to finish it all one of the two must
forget to play. Besides, here is the reply I can make." He drew out
his pistols from his pocket, pulling the trigger back, ready to fire.
  There were some hours yet before anything could be done, so Julien
wrote to Fouque. He said: "My friend, do not open the enclosed
letter except in case of accident. If you hear that anything strange
has happened to me, then erase the proper names from the manuscripts
which I send you and make eight copies of them, which please send to
the newspapers in Marseilles, Bordeaux, Lyons, and Brussels. Ten
days later have the manuscripts printed and send the first copy to
Marquis de la Mole; fifteen days later scatter the others at night
in the streets of Verrieres."
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_14 ^paragraph 15}
  All this being arranged as in a tale, Julien enjoining Fouque from
opening it except in case of accident, provided, nevertheless, against
a possible compromise of Mademoiselle de la Mole. Julien finished
arranging the package when dinner was announced.
  He felt his heart beat violently. His imagination, busy yet with
what he had written, represented everything tragical to him. He saw
himself seized by the servants, tied hand and foot, and lowered into a
hole, gagged. Then a servant stood guard over him. He saw, too, that
if the honor of the family demanded that there should be a tragic
end to the affair he might be finished with a poison, which would
leave no trace behind. It could then be said that he had died
naturally, and he would be carried back into his room dead.
  Moved by his dramatic imagination, he looked at the liveried
servants when he entered the dining-room, and closely studied their
faces. "Which of these have been selected for the affair of to-night?"
he asked himself. "The traditions of Henry III's court are so
continually kept up in this family that they would be rasher than
other persons of their rank if they believed these to have been
outraged." Observing Mademoiselle de la Mole's face to see if he could
read there any family projects, he saw she was pale. He was carried
back by her expression to the Middle Ages. She had never assumed
such a magnificent air; she was indeed beautiful and imposing. He
was really then becoming in love. "Pallida morte futura" ("Pale from
approaching death"), he was saying to himself.
  After dinner he remained a long time in the garden, but Mademoiselle
de la Mole did not appear. To talk to her now would have removed a
great weight from his heart.
  It must be admitted he was afraid. When he had decided to act, he
abandoned himself to that feeling without shame. "Provided I have
the necessary courage at the moment of action," he said to himself,
"what difference does it make if I feel so now?"
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_14 ^paragraph 20}
  He went to reconnoitre the place and to examine the rungs of the
ladder. "That is an object," he said to himself, smiling, "that is
destined to serve me here as well as in Verrieres. What a
difference, though! Then," he added, sighing, "I was not obliged to be
on my guard against anyone when I was exposing myself for her! And
what a difference, too, there is in the danger! I might have been
killed in the garden by M. de Renal, but there would not have been the
least dishonor for me; my death could have been easily explained. Here
what tales will there not be told in the house of de Chaulnes and
the rest! I shall serve as a fable. For two or three years,
perhaps," he resumed, smiling, "I shall be talked about." But that
idea made him serious.
  "And what can even justify me? Supposing Fouque does print the
pamphlet, that will be only an additional infamy. Yes, I have been
admitted into a house, and, in return for the hospitality I have
received and the kindness that has been shown me, I print a pamphlet
on what has taken place there; I attack a woman's honor. Ah, let me
rather be fooled a thousand times!" It was, indeed, a wretched night
for him.

{BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_15
                              CHAPTER 15
                      One O'Clock in the Morning
-
    This garden was very large, designed a few years ago with
perfect taste. But the trees were more than a century old. There was
something rustic about it.
                                                       MASSINGER
-
  HE WAS about to countermand the order to Fouque when eleven
o'clock struck. He noisily drew the bolt of his door as if he had been
locked in his room against his will. Softly he made the rounds of
the house to see what was going on, especially on the fourth floor,
where the servants slept. But there was nothing out of the ordinary.
One of the maids had company, and the servants were gayly partaking of
punch.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_15 ^paragraph 5}
  "Those who are laughing so," thought Julien, "surely cannot be a
party to to-night's affair; they would be more serious." Then he
placed himself in an obscure corner of the garden. "If the plan is
to hide some of the servants, they would have to come along the garden
walls if they are charged to spy on me. If M. de Croisenois is
concerned in this matter, he ought to find some less compromising
means for the young woman he wishes to marry, by surprising me
before I enter her room." He made a careful examination of the
premises. "It is a matter that concerns my honor," he thought, "and if
I fall into some stupidity, I shall never excuse myself by saying I
did not think of it."
  The night was exasperatingly clear. Toward eleven o'clock the moon
rose, and at half-past twelve it shone resplendent on the front of the
house.
  "She is mad!" Julien said to himself. When one o'clock struck
there was still light in the room occupied by Norbert. Julien had
never been so afraid in his life; he only saw the danger of the
enterprise, unaided as he was by any enthusiasm.
  Taking the ladder, after reflecting for a few minutes longer, he
placed it against Mathilde's window. He mounted it softly, pistol in
hand, astonished at not being attacked. As he approached the window,
it was noiselessly opened.
  "Oh, here you are, monsieur," said Mathilde to him with emotion.
"I have been following your movements for an hour."
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_15 ^paragraph 10}
  Julien was greatly embarrassed; he did not know what was expected of
him. He felt no love whatever. In his embarrassment he thought he
might venture to do something; he made a pass as if to embrace
Mathilde.
  "Go away!" she said, repulsing him.
  Quite pleased at the rebuff, he threw a hasty glance around him. The
moon was so bright that there were dark shadows cast in Mademoiselle
de la Mole's room. "There might be men hidden there, for all I
know," he thought.
  "What have you in your coat pocket?" Mathilde asked him, pleased
at finding a subject for conversation. She was indeed suffering
agonies. All the reserve and timidity natural to a well-born girl came
back to her most cruelly.
  "I have all sorts of arms and my pistols," replied Julien, now
well pleased at finding something to talk about.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_15 ^paragraph 15}
  "You must lower the ladder," said Mathilde.
  "It is large and might break the windows down below."
  "There is no need of breaking the windows," replied Mathilde, trying
to resume her ordinary tone. "It seems to me you could lower the
ladder with a cord, which you can tie to the top rung. I always have
cords here."
  "And that is a woman in love," thought Julien; "and she has even
dared to tell me that she loves me! All this coolness and prudence
in her precautions tell me plainly enough that I do not triumph over
de Croisenois, as I foolishly thought."
  "But how I follow her in every way! Oh, well, what is the
difference? Do I love her? I only triumph over the Marquis in this:
that he will be exasperated to know that he has been replaced, and
angrier still when he finds it is myself. With what pride he looked at
me last night at the cafe Tortoni, pretending not to know me! And
how spitefully he saluted me when at last he could not help himself."
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_15 ^paragraph 20}
  Julien, tying the cord to the top of the ladder, commenced to
lower it gently, leaning far out over the balcony so that the
windows below might not be touched.
  "A fine opportunity to kill me if anybody is hidden in Mathilde's
room!" he thought. But only a profound silence ensued. The ladder
touched the ground and Julien succeeded in laying it along the wall,
in a bed of exotic flowers.
  "What will my mother say," asked Mathilde, "when she sees all her
beautiful plants in disorder? You must throw the cord away," she
added, with the utmost sang-froid. "If it is seen leading to the
balcony it will be a circumstance difficult to explain."
  "And how shall I leave?" asked Julien, suavely, affecting the Creole
tone of one of the maids in the house, a native of San Domingo.
  "You? Why, you are going to leave by the door," replied Mathilde,
ravished at the thought. "Ah, that man is worthy of my love!" Julien
let the cord drop into the garden.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_15 ^paragraph 25}
  Mathilde happened to press his arm; he thought he was seized by an
enemy. Turning quickly around, he drew out a dagger. She thought
then that someone was opening a window. They remained motionless,
not daring to breathe, the moon shining full in to the room. The noise
ceased, and they became calm again. Then their embarrassment returned.
Julien satisfied himself that the door was locked and all the bolts in
place. He was thinking of looking under the bed, but he did not
dare; two or three servants might have been hidden there. Finally,
feeling that he would have occasion to reproach himself for lack of
prudence, he ventured to look.
  Mathilde experienced now all the anguish from the side of
imprudence. The situation caused her horror.
  "What have you done with my letters?" she asked, abruptly.
  "What a fine thing to disconcert the gentlemen if they are
listening!" thought Julien.
  "They are hidden in a large Protestant Bible, which the diligence is
carrying far away from here," he replied. He spoke very distinctly, in
order to be heard by anyone who might have been hidden in the two
mahogany wardrobes which he had not dared examine. "The other two have
been sent by post and are going in the same direction as the first."
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_15 ^paragraph 30}
  "Why have you taken all these precautions?" asked Mathilde,
frightened.
  "Why should I lie?" thought Julien. Then he told her all his
suspicions.
  "That explains the coolness of your letters," cried Mathilde, not at
all tenderly.
  Julien did not notice the tone, but the familiarity it implied
nearly turned his head. His suspicions vanished, and he ventured to
press in his arms the beautiful girl for whom he had so much
respect. This time he was only half repulsed. He had recourse to his
memory, as he had formerly done at Besancon with Amanda Binet,
reciting some of the most beautiful passages from "Nouvelle Heloise."
  "You are a man of courage," she replied, without too much
attention to his phrases. "I wanted to test your valor, I admit.
Your first suspicions and your resolution show you to be more intrepid
than I gave you credit for."
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_15 ^paragraph 35}
  As Mathilde tried to speak familiarly with him, she was evidently
more conscious of this new mode of speech than of what she was saying.
As it lacked tenderness Julien found no pleasure in it, but was rather
astonished at the absence of anything like charm in it all. He
commenced to reason about it. He saw himself esteemed by this proud
girl who never gave unqualified praise. And reasoning thus he gained
some satisfaction for his vanity.
  It was not that passion which he had formerly experienced with
Madame de Renal. There was no tenderness in his heart. He simply
felt happy because his ambition had been satisfied; and Julien,
above all, was ambitious.
  He spoke again of those of whom he was suspicious and of the
precautions he had taken. While speaking, he was thinking of the means
he should adopt to profit by his victory.
  Mathilde, still in the greatest embarrassment and almost overwhelmed
by what she had done, seemed delighted to find some subject for
conversation. They spoke of seeing each other again. Julien again
enjoyed the effect produced on her heart by the bravery of which he
now gave further evidence. They spoke of those around them who might
poke their noses into their affair, and particularly of little
Tanbeau, who was surely a spy. Neither he nor Mathilde, however, was
without resource.
  "What can be easier than to meet in the library to arrange all that?
I can come without suspicion into any part of the house," added
Julien, "and even into Madame de la Mole's room." That room it was
absolutely necessary to cross to reach the girl's; but if Mathilde
should find it better that he should come by way of the ladder, he was
ready to expose himself to that little danger.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_15 ^paragraph 40}
  While listening to him, Mathilde experienced her first shock by
the air of triumph he assumed. "He is my master now," she was saying
to herself, a prey to remorse. Her reason brought terror to her
heart as a reward for the awful folly she had committed. She would
have killed both him and herself then if she had had the power. When
her will silenced remorse to some extent, her maidenly modesty made
her miserable. She had never thought of the horror of the situation.
  "Anyhow, I must talk to him," she said to herself, "at least that is
the rule; one must speak to a lover." She then tried to do what she
felt was her duty. With a tenderness in word rather than in voice
she related to him all she had experienced during the last few days.
She had decided, she said, that if he dared climb up to her window
as she had ordered him to do, she would belong to him entirely. But
never was anything said in a calmer tone.
  There was a singular absence of warmth between them. For all the
world it looked as if unwilling love was dragged in by force. What a
moral lesson for a young imprudent girl! Was it worth the trouble of
jeopardizing her whole future for such a moment?
  After a hesitancy that seemed to be the reflex of positive hatred,
Mathilde became his mistress, her womanly reserve yielding to her
fixed resolution. But all her transports of love remained
mechanical. Passion is, after all, only a model which is imitated
rather than realized. Mademoiselle de la Mole was only thinking that
she owed a duty to herself and to her lover. "The poor boy," she
thought, "was very brave, and I should make him happy, or it is I
who lack character." But she would have staked her soul if she could
have removed the cruel necessity in which she found herself. Yet she
was mistress of herself withal. Not a regret, not a single
self-reproach marred that singular rather than happy night for Julien.
  How different from his last twenty-four hours at Verrieres! "These
fine Parisian ways have spoiled everything, even love!" he was
saying to himself, with a keen sense of injustice. He gave himself
up to these reflections after he had been hidden in a large wardrobe
on first hearing a noise in the next room, occupied by Madame de la
Mole.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_15 ^paragraph 45}
  Mathilde followed her mother to Mass.
  The servants left the room for a while, and Julien lightly glided
out before they came back to finish their work. He mounted his horse
and went to the outskirts of the most solitary woods around Paris.
He was more astonished than happy. What happiness he did feel was like
that of a young sub-lieutenant who, as a reward of daring, has just
been named colonel by his general. He felt himself lifted to a great
height. All that was above him the day before was now on a level
with him, if not beneath him. Gradually, as he rode farther,
Julien's happiness increased in proportion.
  If Mathilde had nothing tender in her heart it was because,
strangely enough, she had simply fulfilled a duty. There was no
spontaneity in her throughout the night, except from the side of the
misery and shame she found in place of that happiness of which she had
read in novels.
  "But am I sure about that?" she asked herself, "don't I love him?"

{BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_16
                              CHAPTER 16
                             An Old Sword
-
           I now mean to be serious;- it is time,
           Since laughter now-a-days is deem'd too serious;
           A jest at vice by virtue's called a crime.
                                  DON JUAN, canto XIII, stanza 1
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_16 ^paragraph 5}
-
  SHE did not come down to dinner. In the evening she was in the
drawing-room for a while, but did not look at Julien. That seemed
strange to him, but he thought, "I don't know their way of doing;
she will give me some good reason for that." Yet moved by curiosity,
he studied Mathilde's features. He could not disguise the fact that
she looked cold, almost angry. Apparently she was not the same woman
who the night before had feigned the transports of love. Were they too
violent to be true?
  The next day, and the day after, there was the same coldness on
her part. She would not look at him; she did not seem to be
conscious of his existence. Julien, a prey to uncertainty, was now far
away from that triumph in which he had exulted the first day.
  "Is it, perhaps," he was asking himself, "a return to virtue? But
that idea belongs too much to the bourgeois to suit the proud
Mathilde. Ordinarily in her life she does not give a thought to
religion; she only cares for it as a useful means for the interests of
her caste. But through sheer delicacy could she not reproach herself
for what she had done?" Julien felt that he was her first lover; yet
he thought, "I must admit that there was nothing free or spontaneous
in all that. Never before have I seen her so proud as then! Did she
despise me? It is quite likely that she is reproaching herself now. Is
it because I am not born well?"
  While Julien, with the prejudices that came back to him from his
recollection of Verrieres, was following the chimera of a tender
mistress who would not think of her own existence when she was
making her lover happy, Mathilde's vanity made her furious toward him.
Since she had not been bored for nearly two months, she had no more
fear on that account; and Julien, without being in the least aware
of it, had lost his greatest advantage.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_16 ^paragraph 10}
  "I have made myself a master," Mademoiselle de la Mole said to
herself, a prey to the greatest chagrin. "Yes, he is now filled with
pride. But if I drive him to extremes he will revenge himself by
telling everyone of the nature of our relations!" Mathilde had never
had a lover, yet in such a situation, where the most phlegmatic
acquire tenderness, she was moved only by the bitterest reflections.
  "He has a despotic empire over me since he reigns by terror, and can
punish me atrociously if I displease him in the least!" That idea
alone sufficed to make Mathilde perfectly wretched. Courage was the
first characteristic of her nature. For the rest it was a game of
toss-up.
  On the third day, as Mademoiselle de la Mole persisted in avoiding
him, Julien, evidently against her wishes, followed her into the
billiard-room when dinner was over.
  "Well, monsieur, you think you have acquired inalienable rights over
me," she said to him, with ill-concealed anger. "In spite of my
wishes, which I have shown plainly enough, you want to talk to me.
Do you know that no one has ever dared to do anything like that?"
  The conversation between the two was indeed of a queer sort. Without
the least suspicion on their part, neither one having much
stability, one was animated only by the greatest hatred for the other.
They soon came to the conclusion that they would forever part.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_16 ^paragraph 15}
  "I swear that I will keep it secret," said Julien; "and I will add
that I will never speak to you. Then your good name cannot suffer." He
left her with a bow.
  He could easily accomplish what he thought was his duty, for he
was far from believing himself in love with Mademoiselle de la Mole.
Three days after he had been shut up in the wardrobe he had not a
particle of feeling for her. But all was changed when he saw himself
separated from her. His memory cruelly retraced every little
circumstance of the eventful night, though that night had left him
only cold. The same night of their quarrel Julien became perfectly
delirious, for he was obliged to avow to himself that he was really in
love with Mademoiselle de la Mole. That discovery was accompanied with
a great inner struggle. All his ideas seemed to have overgone a
complete change.
  Two days afterwards, in place of being disrespectful to M. de
Croisenois, he almost embraced him, with tears in his eyes. His
misfortune, however, did not deprive him of all sense, and he
decided to leave for Landguedoc. He packed his trunk and went to
make arrangements for a coach. He thought he would collapse when, on
arriving at the office, he learned that there was only a place for the
next day in the Toulouse coach. Ordering it to be kept for him, he
went back to the house to tell the Marquis of his proposed
departure. M. de la Mole had gone out. More dead than alive Julien
went to the library to wait for him. He dreaded meeting Mademoiselle
de la Mole there.
  She was there, and she looked daggers at him as he entered. Taken by
surprise, overwhelmed as he was by his misery, Julien was weak
enough to say to her in a most piteous tone: "You don't love me any
more?"
  "I have a horror of giving myself up to the first comer," said
Mathilde, tears of anger starting in her eyes.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_16 ^paragraph 20}
  "To the first comer!" cried Julien, springing toward an old
Crusader's sword that hung in the library as a curiosity. His despair,
which was indeed very great when he spoke to Mademoiselle de la
Mole, was increased a hundred-fold at beholding her tears. He would
have been the happiest man in the world to have killed her at that
moment. As he drew the sword out of the scabbard, Mathilde, taken
out of her gloom by a new sensation, advanced boldly toward him, her
tears ceasing to flow. The thought of Marquis de la Mole, his
benefactor, presented itself vividly to Julien.
  "I kill his daughter," he was saying to himself, "what horror!" He
made a movement to throw the sword away. "Of course," he thought, "she
will only laugh when she sees the melodramatic movement." That thought
calmed him completely. He observed the blade curiously, as if he
were looking for a nick there. Then, putting it into the scabbard with
the greatest unconcern, he replaced it on the bronze hook. The whole
scene lasted only a minute; but Mademoiselle de la Mole remained in
utter astonishment.
  "I was on the point of being killed by my lover!" she said to
herself, thinking of the great days of Charles IX and Henry III. She
stood silent before Julien, without a trace of anger in her eyes.
She was indeed charming at that moment. Certainly no woman ever looked
less like a doll than she did- the thought which gave Julien the
greatest repugnance to the Parisian women.
  "I am going to show some weakness for him," thought Mathilde, "and
that will be just enough to show him that he is my master, and
precisely when I was going to speak to him so firmly!" She hastened
away.
  "Mon dieu! how beautiful she is!" exclaimed Julien, as he saw her
turn away. "And she is the one who threw herself into my arms with
such abandon a week ago! Ah, that will never come back! It is my own
fault. When she was so charming to me, I should not have been so
sensitive. Yes, I have a coarse and miserable nature."
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_16 ^paragraph 25}
  The Marquis then appeared, and Julien hastened to tell him of his
departure.
  "Where?" asked the Marquis de la Mole.
  "To Landguedoc."
  "No, if you please, there is something better in store for you if
you leave for the north to-night. No; not if, in military fashion, I
keep you a prisoner here. You will oblige me if you are absent only
two or three hours; I may have occasion to need you at any moment."
  Julien bowed, and retired without saying a word, leaving the Marquis
greatly astonished. He was not in a condition to say anything more. He
went to his room and locked the door. There he could exaggerate to his
heart's content the bitterness of his lot.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_16 ^paragraph 30}
  "I cannot even go away! Lord knows how many days the Marquis is
going to keep me in Paris. Good God! what will become of me? And not a
friend whom I can consult. Abbe Pirard would not let me finish my
first word, and Altamira would advise me to join myself to some
conspirator. Oh, I am a fool! I know it. I am a fool! Who will give me
advice? What will become of me?"

{BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_17
                              CHAPTER 17
                            Cruel Moments
-
    And she admits it to me! She goes into the minutest details! Her
eye so fair fixed upon mine depicts the love she feels for another!
                                                       SCHILLER.
-
  MADEMOISELLE DE LA MOLE was charmed by the idea that she had been on
the point of being killed. She even went so far as to say to
herself: "He is worthy of being my lord and master if he has had the
courage to think of killing me. How many of the handsome society young
men could reach such a moment of passion? Oh, he was so handsome
when he got up on the chair to put the sword back! After all, I was
not such a fool to fall in love with him." At that moment, if any
honorable means had presented itself for renewing their intimacy,
she would have hailed it with delight.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_17 ^paragraph 5}
  Julien, after locking himself in his room, became a prey to the most
violent despair. In his folly he thought of throwing himself at her
feet. If, in place of hiding himself in his room, he had gone into the
garden or in another part of the house, he would have had occasion
to change his despair for the greatest joy.
  The address with which he had enacted the sword scene created a
favorable moment for him. The generous thought lasted throughout the
day. Mathilde was drawing a charming picture of the brief moments
she had loved him, and was regretting they were past.
  "Indeed," she said to herself, "my passion in the eyes of the poor
boy lasted only from one o'clock in the morning, when I saw him come
up the ladder with pistols in his hand and in the side pockets of
his coat, until eight o'clock. It was a quarter of an hour later, at
Sainte-Valere, that I began to think he might try to frighten me
into obedience."
  After dinner Mademoiselle de la Mole did not flee from Julien,
but, accosting him, requested that he would follow her into the
garden. He obeyed.
  Mathilde, yielding to the love she again felt for him, found
inexpressible delight in walking by his side. Curiously she looked
at his hands, which, in the morning, had seized a sword to kill her.
After such a procedure there was no longer any question of referring
to their previous conversation.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_17 ^paragraph 10}
  Gradually Mathilde began to speak to him confidentially about
herself, finding great pleasure in such conversations. She even told
him of the stray feeling of love she had for M. de Croisenois and M.
de Caylus.
  "What! for M. de Caylus also?" cried Julien. All the bitter jealousy
of an abandoned lover broke out in that word.
  But Mathilde, though aware of this, was not in the least
disconcerted. She continued to torture Julien, detailing to him her
former sentiments in the most intimate tone imaginable. He felt she
was describing what really had taken place. He was unhappy to find
that while she was speaking she was really finding out his own
feelings. Jealousy could not go any farther. The suspicion that a
rival exists is cruel enough; but to find that the love is described
in the utmost detail by the woman one adores is without doubt the
greatest misery imaginable. How Julien's pride was punished for
believing himself preferred to de Croisenois and de Caylus! With great
bitterness he exaggerated to himself every little advantage they had
over him. He utterly despised himself. Yet Mathilde seemed adorable to
him. Language could not describe his great admiration. As he was
walking with her he looked at her hands, her arms, marvelling over her
queenly carriage. He was tempted to fall at her feet, exhausted by his
love and misery, and cry, "Pity!"
  "And this beautiful woman, superior to all that I have ever seen,
who once loved me, now loves M. de Caylus!" Julien could not doubt
Mademoiselle de la Mole's sincerity; the tone of veracity was so
marked in all she said. That nothing should be wanting to his
misery, there were moments when, in order to think of the feelings she
once had for M. de Caylus, Mathilde spoke of him as if she really
loved him. Certainly there was love in that accent; Julien saw it
clearly.
  He had a greater weight in his heart than he could bear. How could
the poor boy, wretched as he was, guess that it was only to be talking
to him that Mademoiselle de la Mole took so much pains to tell him
of her former inclination for M. de Caylus and M. de Luz? It was
impossible to express Julien's anguish. He had to listen to the
detailed accounts of her love for others in the same walk under the
trees where, a few days before, he was waiting for one o'clock to
strike to go to her room. His suffering was unbearable.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_17 ^paragraph 15}
  For a week his despair continued. Mathilde sometimes seemed to
seek him, and at other times barely avoided speaking to him; and the
subject of conversation, to which she returned with a sort of cruel
pleasure, was always a recital of the feelings she had for the others.
She told him of the letters she had written, quoting even the very
words she used. Toward the end she seemed to him to look upon him with
a cruel malignity, his despair seeming to give her a measure of
happiness.
  Julien, indeed, had no experience and had never read any novels.
If he had been less awkward and had just a little self-possession
toward that young girl whom he loved so dearly, he would have said,
even while she was making those strange confessions to him: "Well, I
admit I am not as good as those gentlemen, yet I love you!" And she
might have been happy to hear that. It would have depended entirely
upon the manner in which it was said. Anyhow, he would have come out
advantageously from a situation which was becoming monotonous even
to Mathilde herself.
  But Julien broke out with, "Then you don't love me any more, and I
adore you!" when he was in despair. That was the worst step he could
have taken. It destroyed in a second all the pleasure Mademoiselle
de la Mole found in speaking to him about her feelings. She had just
begun to be surprised that he was not getting angry over her talks
about her love. She even imagined, just before he made that foolish
remark, that perhaps he did not love her after all.
  "His pride has no doubt extinguished his love for me," she was
saying to herself, "he is not a man to see others, like de Caylus,
de Luz, and de Croisenois, preferred to him with impunity. No, I shall
never see him at my feet."
  A few days before, laboring under his despair, Julien had praised
those gentlemen to the very skies. That did not escape Mademoiselle de
la Mole, to whom it came as a surprise. The passionate Julien, in
praising a rival whom he saw loved, found an assuagement of his own
grief. But his frank, stupid remark changed all in a second. Mathilde,
assured now of being adored by him, despised him utterly. She was
walking with him when he made that declaration, but she immediately
left him, and her last look was of the utmost contempt. When she
returned to the drawing-room she did not look at him once during the
entire evening.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_17 ^paragraph 20}
  The next day the same contempt held sway in her heart. There was
no longer any question about treating him, as she had done for a week,
as a most intimate friend. The very sight of him seemed offensive to
her. Mathilde's feelings had almost a tinge of disgust. She could
not express all the contempt she felt on beholding him.
  Julien, of course, had no idea of what was passing in Mathilde's
heart during that entire week; but he certainly became aware of his
fall. He had the good sense, however, to meet her as rarely as
possible, and then without looking at her. Yet it was not without
great pain that he deprived himself of her presence. He thought his
wretchedness would never end.
  "A man's endurance could go no farther," he said to himself. He
passed his time at the little window in the tower of the house. With
the blind closed he could see Mademoiselle de la Mole when she
walked in the garden. What were his feelings when after dinner he
would see her walking with M. de Caylus and M. de Luz, or some of
the others for whom she had told him she formerly had so much love!
Julien had never thought that misery could be so poignant. He was on
the point of crying out from sheer wretchedness. His soul, usually
so firm, had lost its bearings, and he could think of nothing but
Mademoiselle de la Mole. He was incapable of the simplest sort of a
letter.
  "You have become simple," said the Marquis to him one day.
  Julien, trembling at the thought that he was being found out,
spoke of being ill, and actually persuaded himself that he was sick.
Fortunately for him the Marquis joked with him at dinner about the
trip he was going to make. Mathilde thought that he might be away
for a long time. For many days Julien had avoided her, and all the
brilliant young men who had every advantage which this pale, gloomy
young man lacked could not draw her out of her reverie.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_17 ^paragraph 25}
  "An ordinary girl," she was saying to herself, "would have looked
for the young man she preferred amid all these gentlemen who attract
so much attention in the drawing-room, but an extraordinary
character does not go in the rut traced by common persons. To be the
companion of such a man as Julien, who lacks nothing but a fortune,
which I have, I should continually attract attention; I should not
pass unnoticed in life. Far, far from recoiling from any definite
change, like my cousin, who, out of fear for others, would not dare
even to scold her coachman who drove in the wrong direction, I
should be sure of playing a great role. The man I have chosen has
character and unlimited ambition. What does he lack? Friends, money. I
will give him both." She thought, nevertheless, of Julien as an
inferior whom she might love whenever she chose.

{BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_18
                              CHAPTER 18
                             Comic Opera
-
              O how this spring of love resembleth
              The uncertain glory of an April day;
              Which now shows all the beauty of the sun,
              And by and by a cloud takes all away.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_18 ^paragraph 5}
                                                     SHAKESPEARE
-
  BUSY EVOLVING the future and the role she hoped to play, Mathilde
soon came to regret the dry metaphysical discussions she had
frequently had with Julien. But while wearying of her lofty
thoughts, she even regretted, too, sometimes, the pleasure she had
found by his side. That was not without remorse. Indeed, self-reproach
almost overwhelmed her at times. "Well, one may be weak," she said
to herself; "it was worthy of a girl like me to forget myself with
such a strong man. No, one can see that it was not the fine
moustache or his graceful pose on horseback that carried me away;
but it was his profound discussions over the future of France, his
ideas of the connection between the events which happened here and the
Revolution of 1688 in England. I have been led astray," she would say,
recoiling before her remorse. "I am a weak woman; but, at any rate,
I have not been led away like a fool by external appearances. If there
is going to be a revolution, why, why could not Julien Sorel act the
part of Roland and I that of Madame Roland? I love that to-day
better than Madame de Stael, as immoral conduct would be an obstacle
in our age. Certainly no one will reproach me for another weakness;
I should die of shame."
  Mathilde's reveries were not as lofty as her thoughts occasionally
would lead one to suppose. She would observe Julien and find a grace
in his every act. "Without doubt," she would say to herself, "I have
wilfully taken away every right which that young man possesses. That
despair and passion which the poor boy revealed in his declaration
of love a week ago prove it. I must admit that I was wrong in
getting angry at a word which, after all, showed such admiration and
passion for me. Am I not his mistress? That indeed was natural. And
really he was so lovely! Julien loved me even after those eternal
conversations I had with him about my love for those young men of whom
he is so jealous. Ah! if he only knew how little they affect me, how
flat they look by his side!"
  With these reflections Mathilde was thoughtlessly drawing profiles
one day in her album. One profile astonished her, almost taking her
breath away, it was so like Julien's! "It is the voice of Heaven!
There is one of love's miracles!" she cried, delightedly. "Without
thinking of it I have drawn his picture!" Flying to her room, she
locked the door and set herself seriously to work to draw Julien's
picture. She did not succeed, however; the profile she drew by
chance resembled him most of all. Mathilde was enchanted at seeing
in it evident proof of her great passion. She did not put away her
album until much later, when the Marquise called her to go to the
opera. She had but one idea, to look everywhere for Julien and have
him bring them home. But he did not appear, and the ladies had the
usual callers in their box. In the first act of the opera Mathilde was
dreaming only of the man she loved so ardently; but in the second
act a phrase sung with a melancholy worthy of Cimarosa made a great
impression on her heart. The heroine was singing:
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_18 ^paragraph 10}
-
  "I must punish myself for my adoration; I love too much."
-
  From the moment she heard that phrase all that had occupied
Mathilde's mind before immediately vanished. Though she was addressed,
she did not answer. Her mother even scolded her, but she hardly turned
round. Her ecstasy reached the exultation and passion Julien had
felt for some days. The air with which that phrase was sung seemed
to be so applicable to her position that it occupied her every
moment she was not thinking of Julien. Thanks to her love for music,
she was that evening as Madame de Renal was when she thought of
love. The intellectual love is more brilliant, without doubt, than the
real love; but it can claim only a few moments of enthusiasm. It is
too conscious of itself, too self-complaisant; far from leading
thought astray, it is built up entirely of thought.
  When they returned home, Mathilde pleaded fever whenever Madame de
la Mole wished her to do anything. She passed part of the evening
repeating that little air on the piano; she sang the words which
charmed her:
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_18 ^paragraph 15}
-
  "I must punish myself; I love too much!"
-
  The result was, she succeeded in triumphing over her love.
  During the next day she took occasion, in order to assure herself of
her triumph over her passion, to displease Julien as much as possible.
Yet never for an instant did anything he did escape her. Julien was
too unhappy and too much moved to guess at the complicated feelings
possessing her, just as before he was unable to understand the great
favor she showed him. Never was his despair so great. His actions were
so little governed by reason that had a melancholy philosopher come to
him, and said, "Think only of profiting by what comes to hand; this
love that comes from the head, that one sees in Paris, may not last
two days," he would not have understood it. But, however exalted he
was, Julien had a sense of honor. His first duty was discretion;
that he knew. To tell of his grief to the first comer would have
been a happiness comparable to an unfortunate one who, traversing a
burning desert, feels a drop of water coming from the sky. But he knew
his peril; he was afraid he would burst into tears at an indiscreet
question that might be put, and so he kept himself locked in his room.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_18 ^paragraph 20}
  He saw Mathilde walking one day for a long time in the garden;
when at last she left, he came down. He picked a rose. As the night
was dark, he could give himself up at will to his melancholy without
the fear of being observed; it was evidently for his benefit that
Mademoiselle de la Mole loved one of those young officers with whom
she had just spoken so gayly. She had loved him, too; but she had
found out his little worth.
  "Indeed, I have very little of it," thought Julien to himself,
convinced; "I am really only an ordinary sort of creature, wearisome
to others and unbearable to myself." He was disgusted with all the
good qualities he had loved with so much enthusiasm. He judged life
with an imagination turned on itself- a weakness of superior men.
  Several times the thought of suicide presented itself to him. The
idea was attractive; it came to him like a delicious sense of
repose, like a glass of cold water offered to the wretched traveller
overcome by heat and thirst. "But my suicide would only add to the
contempt she has for me," he cried out. "What would she think of
me?" In such despair the only resource for a man was courage. Julien
had not enough spirit to say, "I must dare"; but as he looked at
Mathilde's window he saw, through the blinds, that she had just
extinguished the light. He looked with his mind's eye into the
charming room he had seen only once, his imagination painting all in
vivid colors. Then one o'clock struck. To hear the sound of the
clock and to say to himself, "I am going to mount the ladder," came
like a flash. It was like a stroke of genius; and good reasons came
crowding into his mind. "I shall be happy," he said to himself. He ran
to get the ladder, but the gardener had passed a chain around it. By
means of the barrel of one of his pistols, which he broke, Julien,
with almost superhuman strength, broke one of the links. He took up
the ladder and placed it against Mathilde's window.
  "She will be in a rage, and she will overwhelm me with hatred and
contempt; but what do I care? I will give her a kiss, one last kiss,
and then I will go to my own room and kill myself. My lips will then
have touched her cheek before dying."
  He ran up the ladder and knocked on the shutter. Mathilde heard him.
She wished to open the shutter, but the ladder was in the way.
Julien leaned against an iron bar which held the shutter in place,
and, at the risk of falling, gave the ladder a violent push and
moved it aside. As Mathilde opened the shutter, he threw himself
into the room more dead than alive.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_18 ^paragraph 25}
  "It is you?" she cried, throwing herself into his arms.
  Julien's happiness, like Mathilde's, was indescribable. She
denounced herself to him. "Punish me for my cruel pride," she said
to him, pressing him in her arms in a way that nearly choked him. "You
are my master and I am your slave. I must ask pardon on my knees for
rebelling against you." She left his arms to fall at his feet.
  "Yes, you are my master," she said, intoxicated with happiness and
love. "Rule over me forever; punish your slave whenever she
revolts." Then, tearing herself away from him, she lighted a candle,
and Julien could hardly prevent her from cutting off nearly half of
her hair. "I want to remind myself," she said, "that I am your
slave. If ever this pride of mine leads me astray, show me this hair
and say, 'It is no longer a question of love or emotion with your
heart; but you have sworn to obey. Obey, then, on your honor!'"
  But it is more prudent to leave out the description of such blind
folly.
  Julien's prudence, however, was on a par with his happiness. "I must
go down by the ladder," he said to Mathilde, when he saw the light
of early morning on the chimneys to the east, beyond the garden.
"The sacrifice I make is worthy of you; I am depriving myself of hours
of the greatest happiness a human soul can taste. But it is a
sacrifice I owe to your good name. If you knew what was in my heart,
you would know what this means to me. Will you always be to me as
you are now? But your word of honor is enough. You must know that
since our first meeting the suspicion has not always been that there
were thieves in the house. M. de la Mole has put a watchman in the
garden; M. de Croisenois is fairly surrounded with spies. Why, it is
known that every night he-"
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_18 ^paragraph 30}
  Mathilde laughed outright at that idea, awakening her mother and a
maid. Suddenly her name was called out through the door. She became
pale as Julien looked at her; but she merely scolded the maid
without even answering her mother.
  "But suppose they should think of opening their window; they will
see the ladder," said Julien to her. Pressing her again in his arms,
he threw himself on the ladder and slid down. In a trice he was on the
ground, and three seconds later the ladder was under the trees and
Mathilde's fair name was saved.
  When Julien had slightly recovered his equipoise, he found himself
covered with blood and almost naked; he had hurt himself in his
frantic descent down the ladder. His happiness brought back all the
energy of his character. If twenty men had fallen upon him he would
have attacked them all with pleasure. Fortunately his military prowess
was not put to a test. He put the ladder in its usual place and passed
the chain around it as before. He did not even forget to cover the
holes the ladder had made in the bed of exotic flowers under
Mathilde's window. As he was moving his hand over the soft earth in
the dark, to assure himself that it was all covered, he felt something
drop on his hand. It was one of Mathilde's tresses: she had cut it off
and thrown it down to him.
  She was still at the window.
  "This is what your slave offers you," she said to him aloud; "it
is a sign of eternal love! I renounce the use of my reason; you are
now my master!" Julien, overcome, was on the point of taking the
ladder again and going back to her room, but his good judgment
prevailed.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_18 ^paragraph 35}
  It was no easy thing for him to gain entrance into the house. He
succeeded, however, in forcing a cellar door. When he came into the
house, he was obliged to break into his own room. In the excitement
with which he left Mathilde's room he had forgotten the key, which was
in his coat pocket. "How in the world," he thought, "will she hide the
place where she has cut off her hair?" Finally fatigue overcame even
his happiness, and he fell into a profound slumber just as the sun was
rising.
  He was hardly awake when the breakfast bell rang. He came down
into the dining-room, followed soon by Mathilde. Julien's pride had
a great satisfaction when he saw love shining brilliantly in the
eyes of that beautiful woman who was the object of so much
attention. But his prudence took alarm. Under pretext of having little
time for dressing, Mathilde had arranged her hair in a way that Julien
could see at first glance what a sacrifice she had made for him.
  "If such beauty could be spoiled by anything," he thought, "Mathilde
would nearly have succeeded!" A whole side of her beautiful hair was
cut within half an inch of her head. At breakfast Mathilde's manner
corresponded with her previous imprudence. One might have thought that
she was taking great pains to let everybody know of her great
passion for Julien. Fortunately, that day, M. de la Mole and the
Marquise were busy talking about the approaching bestowal of the
cordon bleu, in which M. de Chaulnes was not to be included.
  Toward the end of the meal it entered Mathilde's head, as she was
speaking to Julien, to call him "my master." He blushed almost to
the whites of his eyes. Whether by chance, or by design on the part of
Madame de la Mole, Mathilde was not left alone for a moment all that
day. In the evening, as they were leaving the dining-room, she just
had time to say to Julien, "Can't you think of some pretext for me?
Mamma has just decided that one of her maids shall sleep in my room."
  That day was a glorious one for Julien. He was the happiest man on
earth. At seven o'clock the next morning he came down into the
library, hoping that Mademoiselle de la Mole would be there. He had
written her a long letter; but he did not see her until two hours
later, at breakfast. Her hair was dressed with the greatest care; with
marvellous art a coiffeur had hidden the part where the tress was
cut off. Once or twice she looked at Julien, but calmly and
collectedly; there seemed to be no longer any suggestion of calling
him "my master." Julien's astonishment nearly took his breath away.
Indeed, Mathilde had bitterly repented of nearly everything she had
done. Thinking of it all calmly, she had come to the decision that
he was, after all, a common creature; tarred too well with the same
brush as the rest to deserve the extraordinary favors she had bestowed
upon him. In fact, love was far away from her that day; she was
weary of it.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_18 ^paragraph 40}
  As for Julien, he was just like a young boy. Uncertainty,
astonishment, despair seized him in turn during the meal, that
seemed to him an eternity. When he could decently rise from the table,
he ran rather than walked to the stable, where he himself saddled
his horse and galloped off like mad. He feared to disgrace himself
by a sign of weakness. "I must kill my love physically," he was saying
to himself, as he galloped in the Meudon woods. "What have I done that
I should deserve such a downfall? I must not do anything, I must not
say anything to-day; I must be dead physically, as I am morally."
Julien no longer lived; he was steeped in the greatest apathy.

{BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_19
                              CHAPTER 19
                           A Japanese Vase
-
    His heart does not at first understand the whole excess of his
misfortune; he is more disturbed than affected. But to the extent that
reason returns, he senses the depth of his woes. All the pleasures
of life are destroyed for him. He can only feel the sharp points of
despair that tear him to pieces. But what is the good of speaking
about physical pain? What pain sensed only by the body is comparable
to this one?
                                                       JEAN PAUL
-
  WHEN THE dinner bell rang, Julien scarcely had time to dress
himself. In the drawing-room he saw that Mathilde was doing her best
to keep her brother and M. de Croisenois from going to the soiree at
Surenne, at the house of Madame de Fervaques. She could not have
been more charming to them. After dinner M. de Luz, M. de Caylus,
and several of their friends arrived. One might have thought that
Mademoiselle de la Mole had made a cult of friendship and etiquette.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_19 ^paragraph 5}
  Although the night was charming, she insisted upon remaining in
the room. She desired that they should not leave the chair where
Madame de la Mole was seated, the blue sofa remaining the rendezvous
of the group as in winter. Mathilde had an instinctive aversion to the
garden; or, at least, it seemed unattractive to her. In truth it was
bound up with her thoughts of Julien.
  Despair dulls the brightest mind, and our hero was foolish enough to
occupy the little stool which had formerly been the witness of his
brilliant triumphs. Now no one said a word to him. Not only was his
presence ignored, but worse: a few of Mademoiselle de la Mole's
friends who were seated near her, at one end of the sofa, seemed
deliberately to turn their backs on him. At least, so he thought.
  "That is a direct insult," he said to himself. He affected to
study the people who were trying to show him their disdain. M. de
Luz's uncle had been ordered to appear before the King, and the
handsome officer prefaced his remark by saying that his uncle left
at seven o'clock for Saint-Cloud, and that he would spend the night
there. This information was introduced very adroitly, but it
invariably appeared in his conversation with every one.
  As he was critically observing M. de Croisenois, he noticed, he
thought, some connection between that agreeable young man and his
own misery. "I am foolish," thought Julien. "His character is
strikingly like the Emperor Alexander, if I can believe what Prince
Korasoff told me." During his first year in Paris, Julien, who had
just left the seminary, was dazzled by the grace and brilliancy
which he observed in the young men. He could not but admit that
their real character was just now becoming outlined before his eyes.
  "I am playing an unworthy role here," he said to himself all at
once. He was thinking of leaving the little straw-bottomed chair so as
not to appear too awkward, and was cudgelling his brains for some
pretext. He appealed in vain to his memory, though it was usually very
resourceful. The poor young man arose, with the greatest awkwardness
imaginable, and left the drawing-room, his misery evident in every
movement. For three-quarters of an hour he had played the part of an
inferior, and the fact had not been hidden that he had not even been
noticed.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_19 ^paragraph 10}
  The critical observation he had just made of his rivals prevented
him somewhat from regarding his despair too tragically. In order to
maintain his pride he recalled what had passed the night before.
"Whatever advantage they have over me," he thought, as he walked in
the garden, "Mathilde has never been to any of them what she has
been to me twice already." But his wisdom did not go any farther; he
did not understand the character of that singular woman chance had
made the mistress of his life.
  The following day he tried hard to kill both himself and his horse
with fatigue. In the evening he did not even approach the blue sofa
where Mathilde had taken her place as before. He noticed that Count
Norbert did not even deign to look at him when he met him in the
house. "Something very strange must have occurred," he thought, "he is
naturally so polite!" Sleep for Julien would have been the greatest
happiness; but, in spite of his physical fatigue, the charming
memories of what had passed crowded his imagination. He was not clever
enough to see, during his gallops in the woods around Paris, that he
left his fate to chance in thinking only of himself without taking
Mathilde's character into account. It seemed to him that only one
thing remained to lighten his despair: to speak to Mathilde. But
what could he say?
  He was thinking of this early one morning, when all at once she
appeared in the library.
  "I know, monsieur, that you want to speak to me."
  "Mon dieu! who told you that?"
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_19 ^paragraph 15}
  "I know it; what is the difference to you? If you are wanting in
honor, you can ruin me, or at least you can try to do it; but that
danger, which I do not think is a real one, will certainly not prevent
me from being sincere. I do not love you any more, monsieur; my
imagination deceived me."
  Under this terrible blow, Julien fairly beside himself with grief
and misery, tried to argue with her. Nothing, indeed, could have
been more absurd. To justify oneself under a woman's displeasure!
But reason no longer controlled his life, and only blind instinct
was driving him to his fate. It seemed to him that as long as he spoke
he could modify it. Mathilde was not listening to him; the sound of
his voice irritated her. She had not imagined that he would have the
audacity to interrupt her. Remorse, nursed by virtue and pride, made
her life bitter that morning. She was almost beside herself at the
thought that she had surrendered without discretion to a little
abbe, the son of a peasant.
  "It was almost," she would say to herself, when her misery was
greatest, "as if I could reproach myself for a weakness for a
servant." With such high-strung natures there is only a step from
self-reproach to violent anger, and Mademoiselle de la Mole began to
pour out upon him a veritable torrent of contempt. She displayed a
dauntless spirit in torturing his pride.
  For the first time in his life Julien, the object of a violent
hatred, found himself submitting to a superior spirit. Far from
thinking of a defence, he began to despise himself. In listening to
the cruel words that were nicely calculated to destroy the least
good opinion he might have had of himself, it seemed to him that
Mathilde was right and that she was only telling the truth. As for
herself, she found the greatest pleasure in punishing him, as well
as the passion which she had felt for him a few days before. There was
no need of inventing the cruel things she addressed to him; she only
repeated what her pride had urged against her love for a week past.
Each word increased Julien's despair. He wanted to leave the room, but
Mademoiselle de la Mole authoritatively held him by the arm.
  "Please, please notice," he said to her, "that you are talking
very loud; you will be heard in the next room."
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_19 ^paragraph 20}
  "What do I care?" replied Mademoiselle de la Mole. "Who will dare
tell me that they have listened? I am going to kill your pride for
good, if you have ever had any designs on me."
  When Julien was at last able to leave the library, he was so
dumbfounded that his very despair diminished.
  "Oh, well, she does not love me any more," he repeated to himself
aloud, as if to assure himself of his position. "She only loved me for
eight or ten days, and I- I loved her all my life! Is it possible that
she has no love for me- after only a few days?"
  Mathilde was proud of what she had done. At last she had been able
to break off completely! Her triumph over such a strong passion made
her perfectly happy. "Now this little gentleman will know once for all
that he cannot rule over me!"
  She was so happy that she really had not a particle of love for him.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_19 ^paragraph 25}
  After such a humiliating scene, love would have been impossible
for a less passionate person than Julien. Without a moment's
hesitation Mademoiselle de la Mole had spoken to him with a directness
that appealed to him even when he became self-possessed. The
conclusion Julien drew after the first moment was that Mathilde was
inordinately proud. He firmly believed that all was over now between
them. Yet next morning at breakfast he felt awkward and timid before
her. That was a weakness that could not have been attributed to him
before. In small as well as in great matters he generally knew what to
do and what to say. That day after breakfast, as Madame de la Mole
asked him for a proscribed little pamphlet which the curate had
secretly brought to the house that morning, Julien, in handing it over
the table, turned over an old blue Japanese vase. Madame de la Mole
arose, and gave a cry as she saw the pieces.
  "An old Japanese vase," she said, "given to me by my great aunt,
Abbess de Chelles! It was a present from the Dutch to the Duke, Regent
of Orleans, who gave it to his daughter." Mathilde followed her
mother's movements, delighted at seeing that blue vase broken which
had always been an eye-sore to her. Julien was silent and appeared
greatly troubled. He saw Mademoiselle de la Mole near him.
  "Yes, this vase is broken forever," he said to her, "just like the
feeling that I once had in my heart. I pray you to excuse the
awkwardness of which this is the result," and he withdrew.
  "One might think," said Madame de la Mole, as he walked out, "that
M. Sorel is proud of what he has done."
  Mathilde was greatly struck by his remark. "That is so," she said to
herself. "My mother is right; that is the feeling that animates him
now"; and then the joy which came from the scene of the day before
vanished. "Oh, well, it is all over now; there remains to me only a
great moral lesson; my error is horribly humiliating; but I have
gained enough wisdom to last me all my life."
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_19 ^paragraph 30}
  "Was not that the truth?" thought Julien. "Why does this love
which I once had for her torment me yet? Far from becoming
extinguished as I hoped, it is becoming even greater. She is
foolish- well and good," he said to himself, "but is she less adorable
for all that? Can I ever change? Can any one be more beautiful than
she is? All that the highest civilization could impart in the way of
life, is it not all seen in Mademoiselle de la Mole?"
  This recollection of his past happiness took immediate possession of
Julien and forthwith destroyed what little reason he had. Reason
struggles in vain against recollections of that sort; its own severe
measures only increase their charm. The day after the breaking of
the old Japanese vase Julien felt himself the most wretched of men.

{BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_20
                              CHAPTER 20
                           The Secret Note
-
    For I saw everything I am recounting; and if I could have been
wrong in what I saw, assuredly I am not deceiving you when I tell
you about it.
                                            LETTER TO THE AUTHOR
-
  JULIEN was summoned one day by the Marquis. The latter seemed
rejuvenated, his eye seemed so brilliant.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_20 ^paragraph 5}
  "Tell me something about your memory," he said to Julien; "I hear it
is prodigious. Can you learn four pages by heart and recite them in
London and without changing a word?"
  The Marquis was reading the "Quotidienne," seeking in vain to hide a
serious air which Julien, even when it turned on the question of the
Frilaire lawsuit, had never before remarked in him. Julien was
sufficiently well versed in tact to seem to be taken in by the
Marquis's lightness of tone.
  "To-day's 'Quotidienne' is not very interesting, but if the
Marquis will permit, to-morrow morning I shall have the honor of
reciting it word for word."
  "What! even the advertisements?"
  "Yes, monsieur, without missing a word."
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_20 ^paragraph 10}
  "You promise me to do that?" asked the Marquis with some gravity.
  "Yes, monsieur; only the fear of failure can trouble my memory."
  "But I forgot to ask you- no, I do not ask you to swear not to
repeat a syllable of what you are going to hear. I know you too well
to impute anything of that kind to you; I will answer for you. I am
going to take you to a room where about a dozen persons will be
assembled. You will take notes of what each one will say. Do not be
uneasy. It will not be a confused conversation; each one will speak in
his turn, though not perhaps connectedly," added the Marquis, resuming
his light tone, by far more natural to him. "While we are speaking you
will write some twenty pages; you will come back here then with me,
and we will just boil it down to four. These four pages you will
recite to me to-morrow morning instead of this number of the
'Quotidienne'; you will leave soon after, and you must go post
haste, like a young man on pleasure bent. Your destination must not be
known to any one. You will come into the presence of a great personage
there; you will have to use a great deal of address; you must hoodwink
every one around you; for amid all his secretaries and his footmen,
some are in the pay of our enemies, and these may lie in wait for
our agents.
  "You will take with you a letter of recommendation. As soon as his
Excellency looks at you, you will draw out of your pocket my watch,
which I give you now. Take it, for the arrangement is as good as made,
and give me yours in return. The Duke himself will write at your
dictation the four pages which you have learned by heart. That done,
but not sooner, notice, you can speak of the meeting at which you will
be present if his Excellency asks you.
  "Something will relieve the tedium of your trip to London, and
that is that between Paris and the Minister's residence there will
be a great many people who will want nothing better than to make
abbe Sorel a target, and then it is all up, and I see a great delay to
the whole matter! For, my dear fellow, how can we learn of your death?
Your zeal cannot go so far as to make us aware of it.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_20 ^paragraph 15}
  "Go right away and buy a complete outfit," continued the Marquis
in a serious tone; "dress yourself in the fashion of two years ago.
You must look badly dressed to-night, but on your journey you will
look as you always do.
  "Does that surprise you, and are you getting suspicious? Well, young
man, one of the venerable personages whom you will hear speak to-night
is quite capable of sending instructions to have a dose of opium given
you at night at the inn where you will stop to take supper."
  "It is better to go thirty leagues out of my way then," said Julien,
"than to take the direct route. I suppose it is about Rome?"
  The Marquis suddenly gave him that impatient look which Julien saw
in him at Bray-le-haut. "That you will learn, monsieur, when I see fit
to tell you. I don't like questions."
  "It was not one," replied Julien, effusively. "I swear, monsieur,
I was only thinking aloud; I was only trying to find out the most
direct route."
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_20 ^paragraph 20}
  "It seems you have lost your balance. Never forget that a
diplomat, especially one of your age, should never seek to force
confidence."
  Julien was greatly mortified, for he felt himself in the wrong.
His pride had vainly sought for an excuse.
  "Know, then," added M. de la Mole, "that one always has recourse
to his heart whenever something foolish is done."
  An hour later Julien was in the Marquis's bedroom, looking like some
shabby subaltern. A cravat of doubtful whiteness completed his
generally seedy appearance. The Marquis burst out laughing when he saw
him. Julien's disguise was complete.
  "If this young man betrays me," M. de la Mole thought, "in whom
can I trust? Yet one must trust somebody in life. My son and his
brilliant friends are brave and true. If it is a question of fighting,
they will perish on the very threshold of the throne. They are
familiar with everything- except with what I need now. The devil if
I know if any one of them can learn four pages by heart and travel a
hundred leagues without being found out! Norbert is capable of
sacrificing his life like his ancestors; but that is the virtue also
of a common soldier-"
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_20 ^paragraph 25}
  The Marquis fell into a profound reverie. "And yet, when it comes to
sacrificing his life," he said with a sigh, "perhaps this Sorel can do
as well as the rest."
  "Let us get into the carriage," said the Marquis, as if to banish an
unpleasant thought.
  "Monsieur," said Julien, "while they were getting this suit for
me, I learned the first page of to-day's 'Quotidienne.'"
  The Marquis took the paper, and Julien recited the whole page
without making a single mistake.
  "Good," said the Marquis, "good for to-night."
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_20 ^paragraph 30}
  All this time the young man took no notice of the streets they
were passing. They finally alighted and were ushered into a large
drawing-room hung with green velvet. A scowling lackey placed a
table in the middle of the room, and soon after converted it into a
work table by spreading over it a green baize cloth spotted all over
with ink, the mark of some Minister. The host was an enormously
large man whose name was not pronounced. Julien saw by his answers
that he was a man accustomed to command.
  At a signal from the Marquis, Julien sat down at one end of the
table. In order to be doing something he commenced cutting the quills.
Out of the corner of his eye he could watch the people in the room,
but he saw only their backs. Two of them seemed to be speaking to M.
de la Mole in a tone of equality, while the rest were more or less
respectful in their tone. Then there was a new comer.
  "Strange," thought Julien, "no one is announced in the room! Has
this precaution been taken in my honor?"
  Everybody rose as the man came in. He wore the same decoration which
three others in the room had. All talked very low. Julien could only
judge the new comer from his features and his general bearing. He
was a short, thick, florid-complexioned gentleman, with an eye that
had the ferocity of a wild boar.
  Julien's attention was diverted by the almost immediate arrival of a
very different person. He was a large man, very thin, wearing three or
four vests, one over the other. There was a soft look in his eye,
and his manners were extremely polished. "It is a face like the
Besancon Bishop's," thought Julien. The man apparently belonged to the
clergy. He seemed to be only about fifty or fifty-five years of age,
yet his manner was very patriarchal.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_20 ^paragraph 35}
  Then the young Bishop d'Agde came in, who was astonished when,
glancing at those in the room, his eye rested on Julien. He had not
spoken a word to the latter since the ceremony at Bray-le-Haut. The
surprised look embarrassed and irritated Julien.
  "Why is it," he said to himself, "that to know a man is always
inconvenient to me? All these great lords whom I have never seen do
not frighten me in the least, and this young Bishop's look sends
shivers through me. Really, I must be very peculiar besides being
unfortunate."
  A very dark little man entered with a great deal of noise, and began
talking even when he was still at the door. There was something
bizarre in his every movement. When this unmerciful talker appeared,
the company formed themselves into little groups, evidently to spare
themselves the annoyance of listening.
  As they withdrew from the fireplace they approached the side of
the table where Julien sat. He was becoming more and more embarrassed;
for, indeed, no matter how hard he tried, he could not understand what
was said; and though he was not experienced in such matters, he
understood the importance of some things that were said. And how
many of those great personages depended on having it all kept secret!
  Julien had already cut a score of quills as slowly as possible,
but that resource was fast failing him. He looked in vain for some
order from M. de la Mole; but the Marquis seemed to have utterly
forgotten him.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_20 ^paragraph 40}
  "What I am doing is ridiculous," Julien said to himself, cutting the
quills again. "But men looking as they do and charged either by
themselves or by others with large interests must certainly be
suspicious. My look must seem disrespectful or inquisitive, and that
is why, I suppose, they talk so low; but if I lower my eyes I shall
seem to them to be trying to remember every word they say!" His
embarrassment was indeed great. There were many things said that
were quite astonishing to him.

{BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_21
                              CHAPTER 21
                            The Discussion
-
    The Republic- for one today who would sacrifice all for the public
welfare, there are thousands and millions who know only their own
enjoyments and vanity. In Paris one is esteemed for his carriage and
not for his virtue.
                                              NAPOLEON, Memorial
-
  A FOOTMAN entered hurriedly, announcing the Duke de X.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_21 ^paragraph 5}
  "Hold your tongue, you fool!" said the Duke as he entered. He
spoke with such majesty that in spite of himself Julien thought that
the proper way to get angry with a footman was the only mark of
distinction in that great personage. Julien raised his eyes, but
soon lowered them. He had formed such an idea of the great
importance of the new arrival that he was afraid his look might seem
indiscreet. The Duke was a man of about fifty dressed like a dandy. He
walked jerkingly. He carried his head straight, his long, curved
nose giving to his face unusual prominence. No one could have looked
nobler and yet more insignificant. His arrival terminated the
preliminaries to the meeting.
  Julien was interrupted in his study of the faces by M. de la
Mole's voice.
  "I beg to introduce to you M. abbe Sorel, who has a wonderful
memory. It is only an hour ago that I spoke to him of the mission with
which he may be honored, and yet he has learned by heart, in order
to give a test of his memory, the first page of the 'Quotidienne.'"
  "Strange news from poor N.," said the host. Taking up the
newspaper hurriedly, he gave Julien a look at once pleasant and
imposing. "Go ahead, monsieur," he said to him. A great silence
ensued, and all eyes were fixed on Julien. He spoke so fluently that
at the end of twenty lines the Duke said "Enough!" The little man with
the wild boar look took his seat, for he was the Chairman. Hardly
had he seated himself when he pointed out a little card table to
Julien, making a sign to him to use it. Julien went over there with
his writing materials. Twelve persons were sitting around the table
with the baize cloth.
  "M. Sorel," said the Duke, "please withdraw into the next room;
you shall be called." The host looked slightly troubled. "The shutters
are not closed," he said, half aloud to his neighbor.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_21 ^paragraph 10}
  "It is useless to look through the window," he said to Julien,
confusedly.
  "Here I am," Julien thought, "embroiled in a conspiracy. Fortunately
it is not anything that might lead to Place de Greve. If there is
any danger, what of it? I owe much more to the Marquis. I should be
happy if he gave me an occasion to repay him for all the trouble my
follies might cause him some day."
  Thus thinking of his own cares, he looked around him as if he
intended never to forget the place. He recalled then that he had not
heard the name of the street, and that the Marquis had taken a cab,
which he had never done before when he was with him. Julien gave
himself up for a long time to his own reflections. He was in a room
with velvet hangings striped with gold. There was a prie-dieu on which
stood a large ivory cross, and on the mantel was a magnificently bound
edition of "On the Pope," by M. de Maistre. Julien opened it so as not
to seem to listen. From time to time the voices in the other room grew
loud. The door suddenly opened and he was called in.
  "Now, recollect, gentlemen," said the Chairman, "that from now on we
are speaking before the Duke de X. Monsieur," he said, pointing to
Julien, "is a young Levite, devoted to our holy cause, who will relate
exactly everything we say. The gentleman has the floor," he said,
pointing to the paternal looking nobleman with the three or four
vests.
  Julien thought it would have been more natural to have called him
the "vested gentleman." He then set himself to the task of writing.
The speeches Julien took down covered some twenty-six pages. What
follows is only a bare outline, for it was necessary, as is always the
case, to suppress the ridiculous things that were said.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_21 ^paragraph 15}
  That paternal looking "vested gentleman," apparently a Bishop,
smiled quite frequently, and his brilliant eyes, overshadowed by
wavy eyelashes, had an expression less indecisive than usual.
  This great man who was to speak first before the Duke "but what
Duke," Julien asked himself- and who seemed to be the Attorney-General
in expressing the views of the rest, now began to speak in that
indecisive way which is frequently charged to magistrates. In the
course of his recital the Duke made that identical charge against him.
  After expressing his moral and philosophical views, he said:
"Noble England, guided by a great man, the great Pitt, has spent forty
million francs to suppress the Revolution. If the gentlemen will
permit me to speak frankly, I will say that England has not understood
yet that if with such a man as Bonaparte they had only good intentions
they did nothing decisive, except personally-"
  "Ah! again a eulogy on the murder!" interrupted the host, furiously.
"You will be kind enough to spare us your sentimental homilies," cried
the Chairman, his boar's eye glittering with rage. "Continue," the
Chairman said to the previous speaker, his cheeks and brow purple.
  "Noble England," resumed the speaker, "is to-day crushed. For
every Englishman, before paying for his bread, is obliged to pay
interest on the forty million francs which were used against Jacobins.
And it has no longer a Pitt."
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_21 ^paragraph 20}
  "But she has the Duke of Wellington," said a military gentleman,
looking very important.
  "Please, gentlemen, silence!" cried the Chairman, "if we keep on
disputing it was useless to call in M. Sorel."
  "Every one knows that monsieur has fine ideas," said the Duke,
looking fixedly at the interrupter, who was one of Napoleon's
generals. Julien saw that there was a reference to something
personal that might prove very offensive. Everybody smiled, and the
general seemed beside himself with rage.
  "There is no longer a Pitt, gentlemen," resumed the speaker,
seemingly like a man who despairs of receiving a calm hearing. "Even
if there were a new Pitt in England, he could not fool a nation
twice the same way."
  "That is because a great conqueror, a Bonaparte, is henceforth
impossible in France!" cried the military gentleman, interrupting
again.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_21 ^paragraph 25}
  This time neither the President nor the Duke ventured to reply,
although Julien could see they meant to do so. They simply lowered
their eyes, and the Duke contented himself with a sigh that was
heard all over the room. But the speaker was becoming angry.
  "I see that you want me to finish," he said, excitedly, laying aside
that polite, measured tone which Julien thought was a part of his
character; "I see that you want me to stop. You do not seem to realize
that I am doing my utmost to offend no one, though what I say might
take a long time. Well, gentlemen, I will be brief, I will speak to
you candidly. England has not a sou at the service of our great cause.
If Pitt himself should come back, he would not with all his genius
be able to fool the small proprietors of England again; for they
know how much that little campaign at Waterloo has cost them. It
cost them a thousand million francs. Well, since brevity is what is
required," added the speaker, waxing warmer as he went on, "I tell
you, then, help yourselves. England has not a guinea for you; and
when England does not pay, Austria, Russia, and Prussia, who have only
courage, but no money, cannot make against France more than one or two
campaigns. It might be hoped that the young soldiers gathered by
Jacobinism would be defeated in the first campaign, perhaps in the
second, but in the third- may I pass for a rebel!- but in the third
you will see again the soldiers of 1794 who were the irregulars of
1792!"
  Here he was interrupted by three or four at once.
  "Monsieur," said the Chairman to Julien, "please make a transcript
in the next room of what you have written." Julien regretfully left.
  The speaker had just started on a subject of which he had thought
all his life. "They are afraid that I shall think them light," he
thought. When they called him back, M. de la Mole was saying,
seriously:
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_21 ^paragraph 30}
  "Yes, gentlemen, it is above all the unfortunate people who can ask:
'Sera-t-il dieu, table ou cuvette?'
  "A god says the fable. It is to you gentlemen that this great
and profound word belongs. Act on your own behalf, and France will
appear just as our ancestors have made it and as we ourselves have
seen it before the death of Louis XVI. England as yet, at least her
nobility, despises this Jacobinism as much as we do. Without England's
gold, Austria or Prussia could not undertake two or three battles.
Would that be enough for our affair if we do not want it to be a
fizzle like M. de Richelieu's in 1817? No, indeed!"
  Here some one broke in, but the interruption was silenced by
hisses from all sides of the room. It still came from that old
gentleman who was burning to have the cordon bleu, and to be noticed
by those who were preparing the message.
  "I do not believe it," replied M. de la Mole, with a proud
emphasis on the word "I," that seemed charming to Julien.
  "That is well said," he thought to himself, as he put down the
Marquis's speech. "With that single word M. de la Mole has undone
twenty of the general's campaigns."
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_21 ^paragraph 35}
  "It is not to foreign influence," continued the Marquis, in measured
tones, "that we can intrust a new military occupation. The young men
who are writing the incendiary articles in the 'Globe' will give you
three or four thousand captains, among whom will be found a Kleber,
a Hoche, a Jourdan, or a Pichegreu.
  "There are indeed in France two parties," continued M. de la Mole,
"not only in name, but clean cut and well defined; we must crush them.
There are the journals, electors, and public opinion; in a word, the
youth and all their adherents. While they are confused with the
noise of their foolish words, we, we have the advantage of managing
the Budget."
  Here there was another interruption.
  "You, monsieur," said M. de la Mole, haughtily, to the
interrupter, "you, you do not furnish the Budget, if the word is
disagreeable to you. You put away forty thousand francs furnished by
the State and eighty thousand that you receive from the Civil List.
Well, monsieur, since you force me to it, I will speak plainly, like
your noble ancestors who followed St. Louis to the Crusades. For the
one hundred and twenty thousand francs you should furnish us a
regiment, a company; what do I say? half a company, if there are
only fifty men fit for battle and ready to risk their lives for the
good cause! You have only lackeys who, in case of revolt, would make
you yourself afraid. The throne, the Church, the nobility may
disappear to-morrow, gentlemen, just because you have not placed in
each department five hundred who are devoted to our cause. But when
I say devoted, I do not mean French bravado, but Spanish constancy.
Half that troop is composed of our children, of our nephews, and of
fine gentlemen; and each of these has at his side, not a little
talkative bourgeois, ready to display the tricolor if 1815 presents
itself again, but a good, simple peasant like Cathelineau. Our
gentlemen will have taught him he is their brother.
  "Let each one of us sacrifice a fifth of his income to form such a
group of five hundred men in each department; then you can think of
foreign interference. Never will a foreign soldier go as far as
Dijon if he is not sure of finding five hundred friends in each
department. The foreign Kings will not listen to you unless you tell
them beforehand that you have twenty thousand men of the nobility
ready to take arms and open the gates of France. Now, that is hard,
you say. Well, gentlemen, our heads are at stake. Between the
liberty of the press and our existence as the nobility there is war to
the death. You must either become manufacturers or peasants, or
shoulder your muskets. Be timid if you like, but do not be stupid;
keep your eyes open. 'Form your battalions,' I tell you, as the song
of the Jacobins goes.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_21 ^paragraph 40}
  "Perhaps there will be found some Gustave-Adolphe who, moved by
the imminent peril to the monarchical principle, will advance three
hundred leagues from his country and do for you what Gustave has
done for the Protestant princes. Do you want to continue talking
without doing anything? In fifty years there will be in Europe only
Presidents of Republics and not a single King. And with the letters
composing the word 'king,' all go the priests and the nobility. I
see only candidates fawning at the dirty majorities.
  "Yes, you can say all you please that France has not a single
general known and beloved by all, and that the army is not organized
except in the interest of the King and the Church, and that all the
old soldiers have been taken away, while in every Prussian and
Austrian regiment can be counted fifty under officers who have seen
service. Two hundred thousand young men belonging to the bourgeoisie
are burning for war."
  "A disagreeable truth," nodded a grave person, apparently
representing ecclesiastical dignity, for M. de la Mole smiled in place
of becoming angry, and that was always a clue for Julien.
  "Yes, it is disagreeable. To resume, monsieur. The man who must have
a gangrened leg cut off would be foolish to say to the surgeon,
'This bad leg is all right.' To carry out the simile, monsieur, the
noble Duke de X. is our surgeon."
  "So now it is out," thought Julien; "it is to X. that I shall ride
to-night."

{BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_22
                              CHAPTER 22
                    The Clergy, the Woods, Freedom
-
    The first law of every being is to preserve itself, to live. You
sow hemlock and pretend to ears of grain ripen!
                                                     MACHIAVELLI
-
  THE DIGNIFIED MAN followed, apparently very much at home with the
matter in hand. He made an eloquent, and, to Julien, a pleasing,
exposition of these great truths:
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_22 ^paragraph 5}
  "First, England has not a guinea to spare, economy and Hume being in
fashion. The clergy- not even the clergy will give us the money, and
M. Brougham will simply laugh at us.
  "Second, the impossibility of conducting more than two campaigns
with the aid of the Kings of Europe without English gold; and two
campaigns will not be enough for the bourgeoisie.
  "Third, the necessity of forming an armed force in France, without
which the monarchical principle in Europe will not last even through
these two campaigns.
  "The fourth point which I venture to propose to you is just as
evident as the great need of forming an armed force. It is the
impossibility of doing it all in France without the aid of the clergy,
and I am going to prove it to you. You must yield everything to the
clergy. First, because the Church occupies itself with its affairs day
and night and is guided by men of the greatest capacity, who are
placed away from the storm centre, three hundred leagues from our
frontiers."
  "Ah, Rome! Rome!" cried the host.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_22 ^paragraph 10}
  "Yes, monsieur, Rome!" replied the Cardinal with fire. "However
ingenious were the pleasantries that were in fashion when you were a
young man, I will say it above board, here in 1830 the clergy guided
by Rome alone can speak to the people. Fifty thousand priests repeat
the same words on the day indicated by their chiefs; and the people,
who, after all, furnish the soldiers, will be more touched by the
voice of the priest than by all the fine phrases in the world."
  There were murmurs heard now.
  "The clergy has a spirit superior to yours," continued the Cardinal,
raising his voice. "All the steps you have taken to gain your point to
have an armed party in France were first outlined by us. Now here
are facts. Who has employed eight thousand soldiers in Vendee? Yet the
clergy, holding no longer its woods, has nothing. At the first
outbreak of hostilities the Minister of Finance writes to his
subordinates that there is no money, excepting for the curate. At
heart France does not believe, but it loves war. Whoever brings it
on becomes doubly popular; for war means the starving of the
Jesuits, to use a common phrase, and ridding the French, the
monsters of pride, of the threat of foreign intervention."
  The Cardinal was listened to with great respect.
  "It is necessary," he said, "that M. de Nerval should leave the
ministry; his name is uselessly offensive."
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_22 ^paragraph 15}
  At that everybody arose, and all commenced to speak aloud. "They are
going to send me away now," thought Julien; but the prudent Chairman
himself had forgotten all about Julien's presence. Everybody looked at
the man whom Julien knew. It was M. de Nerval, the Prime Minister,
whom he had seen at Duke de Retz's ball. The disorder was "at its
highest," as the newspapers say in describing scenes of the Chamber. A
quarter of an hour later, when silence was somewhat restored, M. de
Nerval rose, saying in a peculiar tone:
  "I will not say that I think nothing of the Ministry. But as it
has been demonstrated to me, gentlemen, that my name gives
additional strength to the Jacobins by having many of the Moderates
against us, I will cheerfully retire, for the ways of the Lord are
visible to a few of us. However," he added, looking fixedly at the
Cardinal, "I have a mission. Heaven has said to me, 'You will mount
the scaffold or you will reestablish the French monarchy and reduce
the Chambers to what it was under Louis XV'; and that, gentlemen, I
will do." He ceased speaking as he sat down, and every one was
silent.
  "There is a good actor," thought Julien. He was deceiving himself,
as usual, by attributing too much cleverness to men. Animated by the
debate that had lasted throughout the evening, and above all by the
earnestness of the discussion, M. de Nerval at that moment really
believed in his mission. But with all his courage the man had no
good judgment.
  Midnight struck amid the silence that followed the phrase "I will do
it." Julien thought that the sound of the clock had something
obsessive and funereal. He was greatly moved. The discussion was
then resumed with increased energy and openness.
  "These gentlemen will make me poison somebody," thought Julien at
times. "How can they talk about these things before a plebeian?"
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_22 ^paragraph 20}
  At two o'clock the discussion still continued. The host had long ago
fallen asleep. M. de la Mole was obliged to ring for a servant to
bring in fresh candles. M. de Nerval had left the room at a quarter to
two, not without having first observed Julien's face in a mirror
that was at the side. His departure put every one at his ease.
  While they were lighting the fresh candles, the man with the vests
said to his neighbor: "God knows what he is going to tell the King; he
can make us out fools and spoil our whole future."
  "Yes, he was quite daring to present himself here. He might have
come here before being made Minister with impunity, but the
portfolio changes everything, undermining all of a man's ideas; he
must certainly feel it."
  As soon as the Minister had left, the general who had fought under
Bonaparte shut his eyes. He began to speak of his health, of his
wounds, and, looking at his watch, departed.
  "I bet," said the man with the many vests, "that the general is
running immediately after the Minister. He is going to excuse
himself for being here and to pretend that he has been led away by
us."
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_22 ^paragraph 25}
  When the half-asleep servants had finished putting fresh candles
in place, the Chairman said: "Let us now deliberate, gentlemen; let us
not try to persuade one another. Let us think of the message which
will be delivered to all our foreign friends. We have spoken of the
Ministers; now, since M. de Nerval has left us, we can see in what way
the Ministers can help us. We must see to it that they have the mind
to do it."
  This the Cardinal approved with a pleased smile.
  "Nothing is easier, it seems to me," said the young Bishop d'Agde,
with the fiery impulse of the most exalted fanaticism, "nothing is
easier than to resume our former position."
  Until then he had kept silent. His eye, which, as Julien observed,
had first been quiet, had become inflamed at the beginning of the
discussion; now his soul welled out like lava from Vesuvius.
  "From 1806 to 1814 England was wrong in only one way," he said;
"that was in not acting directly and personally against Napoleon. When
that man finished making Dukes and Chamberlains, when he had
reestablished the throne, the mission which God had conferred upon him
was at an end. There was nothing for him to do than to die. Holy
Scripture shows us in more than one place how to put an end to
tyrants."
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_22 ^paragraph 30}
  He gave a few citations in Latin.
  "To-day, gentlemen, it is not a man that we must sacrifice, it is
Paris; all France copies Paris. What is the use of arming your five
hundred men in each department? A doubtful enterprise at best, which
will accomplish nothing. What is the use of mixing France up in what
simply concerns Paris alone? Paris alone, with its newspapers and
its drawing-rooms, is the root of all the evil. Let the modern Babylon
perish!
  "We must decide between the Church and Paris. It concerns even the
worldly interests of the throne. Why did not Paris sneer under
Bonaparte? Ask the cannon of Saint-Roch!"
  It was three o'clock in the morning when Julien walked out with
Marquis de la Mole. The Marquis was as mortified as weary. For the
first time he seemed to have an appealing tone in his voice as he
spoke to Julien. He asked him on his word of honor never to reveal
anything of the excess of zeal- that was his word- of which chance had
made him a witness. "Never speak of this to our friend the foreigner
unless he insists seriously upon knowing about our young fools. What
difference does it make to them if the State totters? They will become
Cardinals and take refuge in Rome, while we should be massacred by the
peasants in our own homes."
  The secret message which the Marquis wrote from the twenty-six pages
which Julien had written was ready at a quarter to five.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_22 ^paragraph 35}
  "I am tired to death," said the Marquis, and it could be seen that
at the end of the note some care was lacking. "I am less pleased
with that than with anything I have ever done in my life. Here, my
son," he added, "go and rest for a few hours; and for fear of having
anyone take this away from you, I myself will lock you in your room."
  The next day the Marquis took Julien to a chateau quite a distance
from Paris. They met strange looking men there whom Julien took for
priests. A passport was handed to him bearing a fictitious name, but
indicating the real aim of his journey. He entered the carriage alone.
The Marquis did not have the least doubt about his memory, for
Julien had recited the message to him several times; but he feared
he would be stopped on the way.
  "Above all, look only like some stupid fellow who is travelling just
to kill time," he said to him, in a friendly way, as he was leaving
the drawing-room. "There was perhaps more than one Judas at last
night's meeting."
  His journey was rapid but tiresome. Hardly was Julien out of the
Marquis's sight when he forgot both the note and the mission in
thinking of Mathilde.
  In a little village some few leagues from Metz the post inspector
told him that there were no horses for a relay. It was ten o'clock
at night. Julien, very much put out, ordered supper. Then he walked
about for a little while, passing the stable unintentionally, as it
were, and looking inside. He did not see any horses.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_22 ^paragraph 40}
  "That man looks rather peculiar," Julien said to himself, "he is
staring straight at me." He was beginning, as it is seen, not to
believe everything he was told. It was his intention to leave the
neighborhood immediately after supper, and, in order to learn
something about the country, he left the room, pretending he wanted to
warm himself by the kitchen fire. To his great joy he found there
the singer Geronimo. Seated in an armchair placed near the fire, the
Neapolitan was groaning aloud and shouting from time to time at the
top of his voice, while twenty German peasants were staring at him
with mouths wide open.
  "These people are ruining me," he said to Julien, "I promised to
sing to-morrow at Mayence; seven sovereign Princes will hear me. Well,
let us take a little fresh air," he added, giving Julien a significant
look.
  After walking a little while, he said to Julien, when he was sure of
not being overheard, "Do you know what is the matter? This inspector
is a fool. Just as I was walking along a little while ago I gave
twenty sous to a little servant, and he told me everything. There
are twelve horses in a stable in another part of the village. The
intention is to stop some courier."
  "Really?" asked Julien, indifferently.
  It was not enough to discover the fraud, but they must leave; and
that was something Geronimo and his friend could not do.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_22 ^paragraph 45}
  "Let's wait until morning," said the singer at last; "they look so
suspiciously at us. They suspect either you or me. To-morrow morning
we will order a good breakfast; while they are preparing it we will
take a walk together; we will hire the horses and take the next post."
  "And your things?" asked Julien, who was thinking that perhaps
Geronimo himself might have been sent to check him. Then they took
supper and retired.
  Julien was scarcely asleep when he was awakened by the loud voices
of two persons talking in his room. He recognized the host in the
man who carried the dark lantern. The light was directed to the box
which Julien had carried into his room. Beside the host was a man
who was quietly searching the box. Julien could only make out the
coat-sleeves; these were black and narrow.
  "That is a cassock," he said to himself, softly, taking hold of
the pistols he had placed under his pillow.
  "Don't be afraid that he will wake," the host was saying; "the
wine we served him was the kind that you had prepared yourself."
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_22 ^paragraph 50}
  "I don't find the least trace of a paper," answered the curate. "A
good deal of linen, perfume, pomade, and other nonsense; he is a man
travelling for pleasure. The courier must be the other one, who
affects an Italian accent."
  The man then approached Julien in order to go through the pockets of
his travelling coat. He had a good mind to kill them for thieves,
but nothing could have been more dangerous for himself.
  "I should be a fool. I should compromise the whole thing."
  When the coat had been overhauled, the priest said: "He is not the
diplomat," and he walked away.
  "If he touches me or my bed, he had better look out; he might stab
me, and that I will not allow."
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_22 ^paragraph 55}
  As the curate turned his head, Julien had half opened his eyes,
and to his astonishment he saw it was abbe Castanede. Indeed, although
the two men were talking very low, it seemed to him that he recognized
one of the voices. Julien was seized with a sudden desire to purge the
earth of one of its greatest cowards.
  "But my mission!" he thought.
  The curate and his satellite walked out.
  A quarter of an hour later Julien pretended to have been just
awakened. He aroused the whole house, crying, "I have been poisoned. I
am suffering tortures." He only wished to go to Geronimo's assistance.
He found the latter half poisoned by some laudanum that had been put
in the wine. Julien, fearing something of the sort, had had only
chocolate served him, which he had brought with him from Paris. With
the greatest difficulty Geronimo was aroused from his stupor.
  "Oh! I would not take the whole Neapolitan realm," the singer kept
on saying, "to deprive myself of a single moment of the delight of
sleep."
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_22 ^paragraph 60}
  "But the seven Princes?"
  "Oh, let them wait!"
  Julien left alone and arrived without further incident at the
house of the great lord to whom he had been sent. He lost a whole
morning endeavoring to get an interview. Fortunately, toward four
o'clock the Duke took a walk. As Julien saw him leave the house, he
went up to him and asked an alms. As he approached him, he showily
drew out Marquis de la Mole's watch.
  "Follow me at a distance," the Duke said, without looking at him.
A short distance away the Duke suddenly entered a little coffee-house.
There, in the room of a third-rate restaurant, Julien had the honor of
reciting the four pages to the Duke. When he had finished the Duke
said:
  "Begin again, and go slower." The prince took notes. "Now, take
the next post; leave your things here in the carriage; go to Strasburg
as quickly as you can, and on the twenty-second of the month-" it
was then the tenth- "come here to this coffeehouse at half-past
twelve. Leave in half an hour. Silence!"
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_22 ^paragraph 65}
  That was all Julien heard, but it was enough to evoke his
admiration.
  "That is the way business should be done," he thought. "How this
great statesman would be astonished to hear what went on three days
ago."
  Julien then left for Strasburg. As he had nothing whatever to do
he went in a roundabout way.
  "If this devil of a Castanede did recognize me, he is not the man to
lose track of me in a hurry, and what a pleasure it would be for him
to get ahead of me and thwart my mission." Abbe Castanede the chief of
the Congregation police, happily did not recognize him, and the
Strasburg Jesuits, although very zealous, did not think of observing
Julien very closely, who, with his Cross and his blue coat, looked
like a young military man occupied with his own affairs.

{BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_23
                              CHAPTER 23
                              Strasburg
-
    Fascination! Of love you have all its energy, all its power of
experiencing misfortune. Its enchanting pleasures, its sweet
enjoyments are alone beyond your sphere. I cannot say in seeing her
sleep: she is all mine, with her beauty of an angel and her sweet
foibles! Here she is, surrendered to my power, such as heaven made her
in its mercy to enchant a man's heart.
                                                 ODE OF SCHILLER
-
  COMPELLED to pass a week at Strasburg, Julien endeavored to divert
himself with thoughts about military glory and patriotic devotion. Was
he in love? He indeed did not know himself. Only, in his harassed soul
he found Mathilde mistress of his happiness as she was mistress of his
imagination. He had need of all his energy to keep up his courage.
It was not in his power to think of anything that had no connection
with Mademoiselle de la Mole. Ambition and little spurts of vanity had
often diverted him from his thoughts of Madame de Renal; Mathilde,
on the other hand, absorbed him entirely; he found her everywhere
outlining his future. And in this future Julien saw only failure. This
young man, so proud and self-confident at Verrieres, had become
extremely modest. Three days before he would have killed abbe
Castanede with pleasure; but now, at Strasburg, if a child had
quarrelled with him, he would have admitted he was in the wrong.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_23 ^paragraph 5}
  Thinking thus of the enemies he had made in his life, he found
that he alone, he, Julien, had always been to blame. His greatest
enemy now was his imagination. What a treasure would he not have found
in a single friend! But Julien said to himself: "Is there yet a
heart that beats for me? And even if I should have a friend, honor
demands that I should be forever silent."
  He was riding leisurely in the neighborhood of Kehl, a little
burgh on the banks of the Rhine, immortalized by Desaix and Gouvion
Saint-Cyr. A German peasant was showing him the little streams, the
roads, and the tributaries of the Rhine, where the courage of these
great generals had won such renown. Julien, guiding his horse with his
left hand, held in his right the chart facing the title page of the
"Memoires du Marechal Saint-Cyr." Just then a joyous exclamation
made him raise his head. It was Prince Korasoff, the friend he had
made in London, who a few months before had given him the first
lessons in love matters. True to his art, Korasoff, who had come to
Strasburg, began to explain to Julien all about the siege of 1796,
although he had not read a single line about it.
  The German peasant gazed at him in astonishment, for he understood
enough French to know the egregious blunders that came from the
Prince's lips. But Julien had a different opinion. He looked
admiringly at the handsome young man, remarking the grace with which
he sat on his horse.
  "A happy disposition," he was saying to himself "Ah, his trousers
hang so nicely! How elegantly his hair is cut! Oh! if I had been
like that, perhaps she would not have despised me after showing me
so much love for three days!"
  When the Prince finished his description of the siege of Kehl, he
said to Julien: "You look like a Trappist; you look even graver than
you did in London. A gloomy disposition is not in fashion; rather look
blase. If you are sad it is because there is something the matter,
something in which you have not succeeded. That is to show oneself
inferior; but if you look annoyed, it is the one who has tried to
please you that is your inferior. Just see what a mistake you can
make." Julien threw an ecus to the peasant, who was listening with
mouth wide open.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_23 ^paragraph 10}
  "Indeed," thought the Prince, "he has a fine manner. What a noble
disdain!" and he galloped off. Julien followed with a sort of stupid
admiration.
  "Oh, if I had been like that, she would not have preferred de
Croisenois to me!" The more he ridiculed the Prince's light tone,
the more he despised himself for admiring it and thinking himself
unhappy for not possessing it.
  The Prince found him very gloomy. "Say," he said to him, as they
returned to Strasburg, "have you lost all your money, or are you in
love with some little actress? The Russians imitate the French, but
always fifty years behind the times; they are now in the reign of
Louis XV."
  All this joking about love brought Julien to tears. "Why don't I ask
advice of this clever young man?" he asked himself all at once.
  "You see," he said to the Prince, "you see me here in Strasburg head
over heels in love, but forsaken. A charming woman, who lives in a
neighboring town, left me here after three days of passion; and her
change of mind is killing me." Then he painted under fictitious
names Mathilde's actions and character.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_23 ^paragraph 15}
  "Don't stop," said Korasoff. "To make you trust your doctor I will
engage to see you through. The young woman's husband must have an
enormous fortune, or she must belong to the highest provincial
nobility. She must be proud about something." Julien made a sign
with his head, having no longer the courage to speak.
  "Well," said the Prince, "here are three kinds of medicine; they are
bitter, but you must take them without delay. First, every day you
must call on Madame- what is her name?"
  "Madame de Dubois."
  "What a name!" laughed the Prince. "But pardon me; I suppose you
think it is sublime. You must see Madame de Dubois every day. Above
all, when you are in her presence, do not look glum. Recollect the
great maxim of your age: 'Be the opposite of what you are expected
to be.' Show yourself exactly as you were eight days before you came
into her graces."
  "Ah! I was at peace then," said Julien, in despair. "I thought I
would take her-"
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_23 ^paragraph 20}
  "The moth becomes burned by the candle," continued the Prince; "a
figure as old as the world. Now, first, you must see her every day.
Second, you must court a society woman, but without any appearance
of passion, you hear? I do not hide from you the fact that your role
is a difficult one. You are to enact a comedy; and if it is found
out that you are acting, you are lost."
  "She is so clever and I- I am lost!" said Julien, sadly.
  "No, you are more in love than I thought you capable of being.
Madame de Dubois is entirely engrossed with herself, like all women
who have received from heaven too much nobility and too much money.
She pays attention to herself instead of paying attention to you,
yet she does not know you. In those scenes of love she enacted for
three days, she thought she saw in you, by sheer force of imagination,
the hero of whom she had dreamed; but not you as you really are.
But, what the devil! this is but the beginning of it, my dear Sorel;
you are still a school boy.
  "Pshaw! let us go into this store. This is a charming black
collar; I guess they will say it was made by John Anderson of
Burlington Street. Now, you will please me by taking it and throwing
away that nasty black cord which you are wearing around your neck.
  "Now," continued the Prince, as they left the store, "to what sort
of society does this Madame de Dubois belong, anyhow? Grand Dieu! what
a name! Please don't get angry, my dear Sorel, it is too much for
me. But to whom will you pay attention now?"
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_23 ^paragraph 25}
  "To a well known prude, the daughter of an immensely wealthy
stocking dealer. She has the finest eyes! No doubt she moves in the
very best society, yet with all that grandeur she blushes if any one
speaks of stores or of business. And, unfortunately, her father is one
of the best known merchants in Strasburg."
  "Well, if it is a matter of commerce," said the Prince,
laughingly, "you may rest easy that your beauty is thinking of herself
and not of you. That sort of foolishness will prove very useful; it
will prevent you from losing your head in any way when you are with
her. Your success is assured."
  Julien was thinking of Madame de Fervaques, who frequently visited
the Hotel de la Mole. She was a beautiful woman, a foreigner, who
had married the Marechal a year before his death. Her whole life
seemed to be occupied with an endeavor to forget that she was the
daughter of a merchant. To become distinguished in some way in Paris
she had taken into her head to make a fad of virtue.
  Julien sincerely admired the Prince. What would he not have given to
be so clever! For a long time they talked together. Korasoff was
charmed with himself, for never before had a Frenchman listened to him
so long at a time. "Well," the Prince said to himself, "I have finally
made myself heard in giving lessons to my masters. Well, then, it is
agreed," he said, aloud, for the tenth time, "not a trace of passion
when you speak to your beauty, the daughter of the Strasburg merchant;
on the other hand, burning passion in letters. To read a well
written love letter is the greatest pleasure for a prude; it is a
moment of relaxation; she does not play a comedy, and is only
listening to her own heart. And two letters a day!"
  "Never, never!" cried Julien, discouraged. "I would rather work in a
tread-mill than write as much as three phrases. I am only a corpse, my
dear fellow. Don't expect anything of me; let me die by the wayside."
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_23 ^paragraph 30}
  "And who tells you to compose your letters? I have in my grip a
volume of love letters in manuscript. There are some for all sorts
of characters among women; there are some for those who affect the
highest virtue. Didn't Kalisky court Richemond-la-Terrasse, you
know, the prettiest Quakeress in England?"
  Julien was not quite as unhappy as he had been when at two o'clock
he left his friend. Early in the morning the Prince called a
copyist, and Julien received fifty-three letters, all numbered,
designed for the sublimest virtue.
  "I have not the fifty-fourth," said the Prince, "because Kalisky
took one away. But what do you care about being snubbed by the
stocking dealer's daughter since you are going to act only with
reference to Madame de Dubois?"
  They went horseback riding every day, the Prince being charmed
with Julien. Not having any other way of showing him his great
friendship, he had offered him the hand of one of his cousins, a
rich Moscow heiress. "Once married, with my influence and that Cross
you have, they will make you a Colonel in two years."
  "But that Cross was not given to me by Napoleon; far from it."
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_23 ^paragraph 35}
  "Oh! what's the difference?" replied the Prince. "Didn't he start
this? That is the first Order in Europe."
  Julien was on the point of accepting, but he recollected that his
duty recalled him to the great personage. When Korasoff left, he sat
down and wrote a letter. He received a reply, and he hastened
immediately to Paris; but hardly had two days elapsed when the thought
of leaving France and Mathilde seemed to him worse than death.
  "I will not marry the millions offered me by Korasoff, but I will
follow his advice. After all, the art of seduction is his forte; he
has thought only of that for fifteen years, and he is now thirty. He
does not lack intelligence; on the contrary, he is clever and
cautious. Enthusiasm and poetry are an impossibility in that
character. He is a professional, and that is why he cannot be
mistaken. Yes, I am going to do it; I will court Madame de
Fervaques. Oh, she will weary me a little, but I will look at her
eyes, they are so much like those of the loveliest girl in the
world. Then, too, she is a foreigner; that is a new character to
observe. I shall certainly follow the advice of a friend and not trust
to myself alone."

{BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_24
                              CHAPTER 24
                        The Ministry of Virtue
-
    But if I take this pleasure with such prudence and circumspection,
it will no longer be a pleasure for me.
                                                    LOPE DE VEGA
-
  HARDLY had he returned to Paris, when, leaving Marquis de la Mole,
who seemed disconcerted by despatches he had received, our hero
hastened to the house of Count Altamira. Together with the advantage
he had of being sentenced to death, the handsome stranger united a
certain amount of gravity and a certain reputation for being true.
Those two qualities, and, more than all, the noble birth of the Count,
made him an agreeable object to Madame de Fervaques, who saw him
very often. Julien avowed to him that he was very much in love with
her.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_24 ^paragraph 5}
  "She is of the purest and loftiest virtue," replied Altamira,
"only it is somewhat Jesuitical. There are times when I understand the
words she uses, but I do not comprehend her speech as a whole. She
sometimes gives me the impression that I do not understand French as
well as people give me credit for. Well, such an acquaintance will
advance you and will give you some stability in the world. But let's
go to Bustos, who is a man to our liking. He has courted Madame de
Fervaques."
  Don Diego Bustos, lawyer-like, had to have the whole affair
explained to him in great detail, himself not uttering a word. He
had a long face with a black moustache, and looked extremely severe;
but for all that he was a good carbonaro.
  "I understand," he said, finally, to Julien. "Has not Madame de
Fervaques had lovers? Has she not had them? Let us see. And you hope
to succeed with her? That is the question. Now, I want to tell you,
for my part, I have run aground. Now that I don't feel so badly over
it, I reason like this. She has her moods, and, as I will tell you,
she does not mean any harm at all. She has not that bilious
temperament of genius to spread over her actions a varnish of passion.
On the contrary, it is that phlegmatic and calm Dutch fashion to which
she owes all her distinction and beauty."
  Julien was growing impatient over the measured, phlegmatic tones
of the Spaniard. From time to time, in spite of himself, a few
monosyllables would escape him.
  "Do you want to listen to me?" Don Diego would ask him.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_24 ^paragraph 10}
  "Pardon my rudeness, I am all ears," replied Julien.
  "Madame de Fervaques has given herself up to hatred, and
pitilessly persecutes men she has never seen: lawyers, poor devils
of writers who have made songs like Colle. Do you know this?
-
                        "J'ai la marotte
                         D'aimer Marote," etc.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_24 ^paragraph 15}
-
  Then Julien had to listen to the entire song. The Spaniard seemed to
be well pleased to be able to sing in French; but the divine song
was never listened to with greater impatience.
  When it was ended, Don Diego continued: "Madame de Fervaques has
persecuted the author of this song:
-
                    "Un jour l'amour au cabaret."
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_24 ^paragraph 20}
-
  Julien was afraid he might sing that too; but Don Diego seemed to be
content with simply analyzing it. It was indeed quite vulgar and
indecent.
  "When Madame got angry over this song," continued Don Diego, "I
ventured to remark to her that a woman of her rank should not read all
the nonsense that is published. However piety and earnestness may
flourish, there will always be a cabaret literature in France. When
Madame de Fervaques had the author of it, a poor devil of a writer,
removed from a position that brought him eighteen hundred francs, I
said to her: 'You are attacking this rhymster with your arms; he can
pay you back with his rhymes. He might compose a song on virtue. You
have gilded drawing-rooms, but there are people who laugh at
epigrams.' Now do you know, monsieur, what she said? 'For the sake
of our Lord all Paris could see me become a martyr; it would be a
new thing in France, and people would then learn how to look upon
quality. It would be the happiest day of my life.' Her eyes never
looked more beautiful."
  "Yes, they are superb," said Julien.
  "I see that you are in love. Well," Don Diego Bustos continued,
"as I said, she has not that bilious temperament that loves vengeance.
If she loves to do a little harm every now and then, it is because she
is unhappy; I suspect some secret misery. Might she not be a prude who
is tired of her virtue?" The Spaniard looked at him silently for one
long minute.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_24 ^paragraph 25}
  "That is the question," he continued, gravely, "and it is there I
can see some hope for you. I thought of it considerably during the two
years that I subscribed myself 'Your humble servant.' The whole future
of your love depends upon this great problem: is she a prude that is
getting a little tired and spiteful because she is discontented?"
  "Oh, well!" said Altamira, emerging from a profound silence, "do you
know what I have said to you about twenty times? It is all French
vanity. It is the thought of her father, that famous cloth merchant,
that is making her character shallow and her life unhappy. She would
be delighted in only one thing, that is to live in Toledo and to be
tormented by a confessor who would show her the terrors of hell all
open every day."
  As Julien was walking out, Don Diego said to him seriously,
"Altamira has been telling me that you belong to us; one day you
will help us in regaining our liberty, and so I will help you in
your affair now. It is well you should know Madame's style. Here are
four letters in her own handwriting."
  "I will copy them," said Julien, "and send you these back."
  "No one will learn from you what we have said about this?"
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_24 ^paragraph 30}
  "No one, on my honor."
  "Well, God help you," added the Spaniard, and in profound silence he
conducted Altamira and Julien to the staircase.
  Our hero felt somewhat livelier after this scene; he almost smiled.
  "There is the pious Altamira," he said to himself, "who is aiding me
in an affair of adultery!"
  During the entire conversation with Don Diego Bustos, Julien had
remarked carefully the hours as they struck in the Hotel d'Aligre. The
dinner hour was approaching, when he must see Mathilde again. He
returned to the house quickly and dressed with the greatest care.
"That is foolish," he thought, as he was going downstairs. "I must
certainly follow the Prince's instructions." He went back to his
room and put on a plain travelling suit.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_24 ^paragraph 35}
  "Now," he thought, "I must look around." It was then only
half-past five, and dinner would not be served before six. He had a
fleeting desire to go down to the drawing-room, which he saw deserted.
At the sight of the blue settee he was moved almost to tears, and he
felt his cheeks burn. "I must leave off this foolish sensitiveness,"
he said to himself, angrily; "It will betray me."
  He picked up a newspaper, just to be doing something, and walked
three or four times from the drawing-room to the garden and back
again. Tremblingly, and hidden by the great oak, he ventured to lift
his eyes to Mademoiselle de la Mole's window. It was closed. He was on
the point of sinking to the ground. After remaining a long time
leaning against the tree, he went, with a faltering step, to look at
the old garden ladder again. The chain he had forced- under what
circumstances!- had not yet been fixed. Carried away by his emotion,
Julien pressed his lips to it. After all his wanderings from the
drawing-room to the garden, Julien felt that he was indeed tired. He
saw in it his first success. "I look worn out; then I will not be
betrayed."
  One by one people arrived, but never did the door open without
giving Julien a mortal shock. When they were at table, Mademoiselle de
la Mole appeared, faithful to her habit of keeping everyone waiting.
She blushed a good deal when she saw Julien, for she had not been told
of his arrival. Following Prince Korasoff's instructions, Julien
looked at her hands; they were trembling. Troubled himself by the
discovery, he was happy to feel that he appeared only tired.
  Marquis de la Mole was then praising him very highly. The Marquise
then addressed him a few minutes after, referring to his looking so
worn out.
  Julien was saying to himself all the time, "I must not look too much
at Mademoiselle de la Mole. I must look just as I did a week before my
misery." He had indeed occasion to be satisfied with his success,
and he remained in the drawing-room.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_24 ^paragraph 40}
  Attentive for the first time to the mistress of the house, he did
all he could to engage the men in the drawing-room in conversation.
And his politeness was rewarded; for about eight o'clock Madame de
Fervaques was announced. Julien, quickly gliding out of the room, came
back dressed with the greatest care. Madame de la Mole was
infinitely grateful to him for that mark of respect, and, wishing to
show her satisfaction, began to speak of his journey to Madame de
Fervaques.
  Julien sat down near the latter in such a way that his eyes would
not be seen by Mathilde. Thus placed, he admired Madame de
Fervaques, open-mouthed, according to the rules of the art. It was
with such admiration that the first of the fifty-three letters
commenced which had been presented to him by Prince Korasoff.
  The Marechale announced that she was going to the Opera Bouffe,
and there Julien hastened with the greatest speed. He found there
Chevalier de Beauvoisis, who led into a box some
Gentlemen-in-waiting just opposite Madame de Fervaques's; but Julien
did not turn his eyes away from her.
  "When I go back to the house," he said to himself, "I must draw up
an account of my siege; otherwise I shall forget my plan of attack."
He forced himself to write two or three pages on the subject, and
succeeded wonderfully well in not thinking of Mademoiselle de la Mole.
  Mathilde had almost forgotten him while he was away. "Oh, he is only
a common fellow; his name will always recall to me the greatest
error of my life. I must return to the ordinary ideas of prudence
and honor; indeed, a woman loses everything in forgetting that." She
almost consented that the arrangement with the Marquis de
Croisenois, which had long been contemplated, should be brought to a
conclusion. The latter was wild with joy. He would indeed have been
greatly astonished if he had been told that it was only Mathilde's
resignation that made him so proud. But all Mademoiselle de la
Mole's ideas changed when she saw Julien again.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_24 ^paragraph 45}
  "Yes, that is my husband," she said to herself. "If I come back to
ideas of prudence, it is he whom I should marry."
  She was expecting a pleading, constrained manner in Julien, and
had even prepared her replies; for no doubt after dinner he would
venture to address a few words to her? Far from thinking of that, he
had remained in the drawing-room, with never a look toward the garden.
  "I must be sure of this right away," thought Mademoiselle de la
Mole, going into the garden. But Julien did not appear. Mathilde
even walked to and fro opposite the windows. She heard him
describing the old ruined castles that picturesquely surmount the
steep banks of the Rhine. He succeeded in turning a very pretty phrase
that would have been called esprit in some salons. Prince Korasoff
would have been very proud if he had been in Paris that evening; for
everything was exactly as he had foretold. He would have had nothing
but praise to give Julien.
  A plan among some of the members of the government was hatching to
dispose of some cordons bleus. Madame de Fervaques was eager that
her great-uncle should become Chevalier of the Order. The Marquis de
la Mole had the same intention in behalf of his father-in-law. They
combined their efforts, and the Marechale came almost every day to the
Hotel de la Mole. It was from her Julien learned that the Marquis
was going to be named Minister. He was offering the Camarilla a very
ingenious plan for noiselessly removing the Constitution within less
than three years.
  Julien could then hope for a bishopric if M. de la Mole became
Minister. But in his eyes now all those great interests were hidden as
it were by a veil. He looked at them only from a distance, vaguely.
His wretchedness, which was almost making him mad, showed him all
the interests of life as colored only by Mademoiselle de la Mole. He
was thinking that in five or six years, perhaps, he would succeed in
making her love him again. This cool, calculating head, as can be
seen, had degenerated almost to a state of irrationality. Of all the
qualities that had distinguished him formerly, there remained only
one, that of firmness.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_24 ^paragraph 50}
  Following literally the plan of Prince Korasoff, he had placed
himself every evening near Madame de Fervaques's chair, without ever
finding a word to say. The effort he made at appearing calm in
Mathilde's eyes drained him of all his force, and for a long time he
would remain almost lifeless beside the Marechale. Even his eyes
lost their former fire.
  As Madame de la Mole's manner was only a reflex of the opinions of
her husband, who might some day make her a Duchess, she had for some
days praised Julien to the very skies.

{BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_25
                              CHAPTER 25
                              Moral Love
-
          There also was of course in Adeline
                 That calm patrician polish in the address,
          Which ne'er can pass the equinoctial line
                 Of any thing which nature would express:
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_25 ^paragraph 5}
          Just as a mandarin finds nothing fine,
                 At least his manner suffers not to guess
          That anything he views can greatly please.
                                 DON JUAN, canto XIII, stanza 84
-
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_25 ^paragraph 10}
  "THERE is something queer about this family," thought Madame de
Fervaques; "they are just taken up with this young abbe, who can
only listen! He has expressive eyes, though."
  Julien found in the Marechale a vivid example of that patrician calm
which exhales a certain polite, colorless emotion. Spontaneity and
lack of self-control would have been as scandalous to Madame de
Fervaques as lack of majesty toward inferiors. The least sign of
sensibility was regarded by her as a sort of moral intoxication, which
one must blush at, and which can only injure a person of her rank. Her
great delight consisted in speaking of the last chase of the King;
of her favorite book, "Memoires du Duc de Saint-Simon"; and, above
all, of genealogy.
  Julien knew the place which, after the candles were lighted, would
bring the beauty of Madame de Fervaques into greater relief. There
he would invariably place himself, but with head turned so as not to
see Mathilde. Astonished at the persistence with which he hid
himself from her, she left the sofa one day, and took her work to a
little table near Madame de Fervaques.
  Julien could see her very plainly over Madame de Fervaques's hat.
Her eyes frightened him at first; but in the end they only drew him
out of his apathy, and he began to speak with great animation. He
was speaking to Madame de Fervaques, but his single aim was to work on
Mathilde. He was so greatly excited that the Marechale did not half
understand what he was saying. It was his first success with her. If
Julien could only have followed up his ideas with some German
mysticism and with Jesuitical piety, she would have immediately placed
him among the superior men who are called upon to regenerate the age.
  "Since he is so ill bred," Mademoiselle de la Mole was saying to
herself, "as to talk so long and so excitedly to Madame de
Fervaques, I will not pay any attention to him." So throughout the
evening she did not open her mouth.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_25 ^paragraph 15}
  Toward midnight, when she took her mother's candle to accompany
her to her room, Madame de la Mole stopped half way up the stairs to
say something pleasant about Julien. Mathilde was very angry when
she retired. One idea calmed her: "What I disdain may yet be a man
of great merit in the eyes of the Marechale!"
  As for Julien, he had done something, and was less unhappy. As his
eyes casually fell upon the Russia-leather case in which Prince
Korasoff had put the fifty-three love letters, Julien saw a
foot-note at the bottom of the first letter: "No. I must be sent a
week after the first interview."
  "I am late," cried Julien, "for it is a long time since I have known
Madame de Fervaques!" He immediately set himself to transcribing the
first love letter. It was a soul-wearying homily about virtue, full of
the shallowest phrases. Julien had the good fortune to fall asleep
at the second page.
  In a few hours the early sun found him still seated at the table.
The most painful incident in Julien's life was that every morning on
waking he would learn his misery anew. But that day he finished
copying the letter almost smilingly.
  "Is it possible," he thought, "that there could be a man who could
write a thing like that?" There were phrases nine lines long. At the
bottom of the original letter he saw this note in pencil: "The letters
must be carried in person, on horseback; a black cravat, and a blue
overcoat. The letter must be handed to the porter with a languishing
air; look, profound melancholy. If a maid is seen, the eyes must be
wiped furtively while speaking to her." All this was followed out to
the letter.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_25 ^paragraph 20}
  "Now I have done something foolish," thought Julien, when he left
the house of Madame de Fervaques, "in venturing to write to such a
celebrated piece of virtue; but so much the worse for Korasoff! But
I may be treated with the utmost contempt, and that will not be at all
amusing? This is the only farce I could ever appreciate. Yes, to
overwhelm with ridicule this odious creature that I call myself
would amuse me! Really, from my present state of mind, I should commit
some crime just to take my mind away from myself."
  For a month the happiest moment in Julien's life was when he put the
horse back into the stable. Korasoff had expressly forbidden him under
any circumstances to look at the woman who had forsaken him. But the
clatter of the horse's hoofs that she knew so well, and the way Julien
struck the stable door with his whip to call a groom, sometimes drew
Mathilde to her window curtain, where the thin muslin permitted him to
see her. When he looked from under his hat, he could see Mathilde's
figure without seeing her eyes.
  "Of course," he said to himself, "she cannot see me, and that is not
the same as looking at her."
  In the evening Madame de Fervaques looked at him just as if she
had never received the philosophical, mystical, and religious
dissertation he had handed with so much melancholy to the porter at
the door in the morning. The night before, chance had enabled him to
be eloquent, when he had placed himself so as to see Mathilde's eyes.
  Mathilde, soon after the Marechale arrived, left the sofa. It was
equivalent to deserting the regular group. M. de Croisenois appeared
crestfallen over this new caprice; his visible wretchedness removed
the sting from Julien's misery. This made him talk as he had never
talked before. As pride glides even into the hearts of the most
faithful guardians of the temple of virtue, the Marechale, on
returning to her carriage, said to herself. "Madame de la Mole is
right; this young priest has something extraordinary about him. I
suppose the first few days my presence intimidated him. Yes,
everything is so light and flimsy in this house, I see only virtue
that is aided by old age; it requires a reflection in years. That
young man can see the difference! He writes well, but I fear that
his asking for my advice has been brought about by a sentiment of
which he is not even aware. Well, what changes have taken place!
What makes me think well of this letter is the difference between
his style and that of other young men. It is impossible not to
recognize the zeal, the deep earnestness, the strong faith in this
young Levite's writing. He may have the sweet virtue of a Massillon!"

{BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_26
                              CHAPTER 26
                    The Best Places in the Church
-
         Services! talent! merit! bah!- be part of the group.
                                                      TELEMACHUS
-
  THE IDEA of a bishopric that Julien had, thus occurred also to a
woman who, sooner or later, would distribute the best places in the
Church of France. But that did not move Julien in the least; he had
not yet emerged out of his wretched state. In fact, every moment
increased his agony. The sight of his room, for instance, became
almost insupportable to him. In the evening, when he came in with
his candle, every piece of furniture, every little ornament, seemed to
him to proclaim some new feature in his miserable life.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_26 ^paragraph 5}
  "Now, that time it was a hard piece of work," he said to himself,
returning one day with more liveliness than usual. "Let us hope that
the second letter will be as wearisome as the first." It was more
so. What he was copying seemed so absurd to him that he transcribed
line for line without even thinking of the sense.
  "That is more emphatic," he said to himself, "than the official
notice of the Treaty of Munster, which my professor in diplomacy
made me copy in London."
  Then he happened to think of Madame de Fervaques's letters, which he
had forgotten to return to the Spaniard, Bustos. He looked them
over, and he found them just as nonsensical as the young Russian's.
There was perfect vagueness in them all. One might gather everything
or nothing from them. "It is the Aeolian harp of style," thought
Julien. "Amid all these lofty thoughts about the illimitable, about
death, and about the infinite, I see only an abominable fear of
ridicule."
  His daily routine for two weeks was to fall asleep in transcribing
some sort of a commentary on the Apocalypse, to take the letter with a
melancholy air the next morning to the house, to take the horse back
to the stable in the hope of seeing Mathilde's dress, to work, and
to appear in the evening at the opera if Madame de Fervaques was not
at the Hotel de la Mole.
  It was more interesting when Madame de Fervaques was visiting the
Marquise. Then he could see Mathilde's eyes over the feathers of the
Marechale's hat and would grow eloquent. His picturesque,
sentimental phrases were becoming striking and elegant. He felt that
he appeared absurd in Mathilde's eyes, but he wished to make an
impression upon her with the charm of his diction.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_26 ^paragraph 10}
  "The more absurd I am the more I should please her," thought Julien.
And then with abominable hardihood he would exaggerate certain aspects
of nature. He quickly perceived that in order not to appear vulgar
in the Marechale's eyes, he would have to eliminate all simplicity and
reason from his conversation. He continued, therefore, to make his
artificial effusions long or short, according as he saw approval or
disapproval in the eyes of the two great ladies whom he tried to
please.
  On the whole, his life was less unhappy than it was during his
days of inaction. But he was saying to himself one evening, "Here I
am, copying the fifteenth one of these abominable dissertations. The
first fourteen I have already handed to the Marechale's porter. I will
have the great distinction of filling all the pigeon holes in her
desk, and yet she treats me as if I had never written to her! Where is
going to be the end of all this? Is my constancy wearing on her as
much as on me? Really that Russian, Korasoff's friend, who was in love
with that pretty Richmond Quakeress, must have been a terrible man
in his time, to do any thing so villainous!"
  Like all mediocre creatures, whom chance throws in the presence of a
great general while executing important manoeuvres, Julien did not
understand the attack the Russian made on the young English girl's
heart. The first forty letters were designed simply to excuse the
hardihood of writing.
  "I want this fine woman to get out of the habit of receiving letters
that are perhaps only a little less insipid than her own life."
  One morning a letter was handed to Julien. He recognized the arms of
Madame de Fervaques and broke the seal with a haste that would have
seemed impossible a few days before. It was only an invitation to
dinner. But he remembered Prince Korasoff's instructions.
Unfortunately the young Russian wished to be as light as Dorat where
he should have used plain common sense; so Julien could not grasp
the position he would have to assume at the dinner.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_26 ^paragraph 15}
  The drawing-room was of the greatest magnificence, gilded like the
Gallery of Diana at the Tuileries, and ornamented with fresco
paintings. There were some blank places in the pictures, and Julien
learned later that the subjects had seemed quite indecent to the
mistress of the house, who had put a censorship on the paintings.
  "A moral age!" he thought.
  In the salon he noticed three persons who had been present at the
writing of that secret message. One of them, Monseigneur, the Bishop
de X., the Marechale's uncle, controlled the list of livings, and,
it was said, could not refuse anything to his niece.
  "What an immense stride I have made," Julien said to himself, with a
melancholy smile; "and still I am indifferent to everything! Here I am
dining with the famous Bishop de X!"
  The dinner was rather mediocre and the conversation languished. "The
table is just like a bad book," thought Julien. "All the great
subjects that occupy the human mind are boldly started, and then,
after talking for three or four minutes, one asks what it is all about
that is inviting the speaker's emphasis or ignorance."
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_26 ^paragraph 20}
  The reader perhaps has forgotten that little literary gentleman,
Tanbeau, the nephew of the Academician, and a future professor. By his
base calumnies he secretly tried to bring the la Mole drawing-room
into bad repute. This little gentleman, Julien hoped, would bring it
about so that Madame de Fervaques would look with indulgence on the
sentiment revealed in his letters.
  M. Tanbeau's dark soul was outraged at the thought of Julien's
success. But as, on the other hand, a man of distinction no more
than a fool can be in two places at the same time, the future
professor was saying to himself: "If Sorel becomes the lover of the
sublime Marechale she would place him in some great position, and I
should be rid of him at the Hotel de la Mole."
  Abbe Pirard, also, was addressing long sermons to Julien about his
success at Madame de Fervaques's house. There was sectarian jealousy
between the austere Jansenist and the Jesuitical drawing-room of the
Marechale, with its hopes for a regenerated monarchy.

{BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_27
                              CHAPTER 27
                            Manon Lescaut
-
    Now, once he was convinced of the stupidity and foolishness of the
prior, he succeeded rather as a rule in calling black what was
white, and white what was black.
                                                     LICHTEMBERG
-
  THE RUSSIAN'S instructions prescribed never to contradict the lady
addressed; that one should not under any circumstances leave off
ecstatic admiration. The letters continued in the same strain.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_27 ^paragraph 5}
  One evening at the opera, while in Madame de Fervaques's stall,
Julien admired, with the utmost fervor, the ballet of "Manon Lescaut."
His only reason for saying so was that he found it very poor. The
Marechale replied that the ballet was inferior to abbe Prevost's
novel.
  "What!" thought Julien, astonished as well as amused, "a person of
that calibre to praise a novel!"
  Madame de Fervaques affected, two or three times a week, the
greatest disdain for the scribblers who, with their insipid writing,
tried to corrupt the youth, who, alas! were only too much disposed
to the errors of the flesh.
  "In that immoral and dangerous class," continued the Marechale,
"'Manon Lescaut' is in the first rank. The weaknesses and anguish of a
wicked soul are pictured with a truth that is indeed profound; yet
that did not prevent your Bonaparte from saying, at Saint Helena, that
the novel was written only for servants."
  That word restored all the energy to Julien's soul.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_27 ^paragraph 10}
  "They want to discredit me with the Marechale," he said to
himself. "Some one has told her of my admiration for Napoleon." That
discovery amused him; it made him cheerful throughout the evening.
  "Now, remember, monsieur," she said, "that no one must love
Bonaparte who pretends to love me. We must accept him as a necessary
evil imposed by Providence. Besides, that man had not necessary the
temperament to appreciate masterpieces."
  "'When one loves me,'" Julien repeated to himself. "That means
nothing, and it might mean anything. That is the secret of speech
which is lacking in us poor provincials."
  He was thinking of Madame de Renal while he was copying an
enormously long letter destined for the Marechale.
  "How does it happen," she said to him the next day, with an
indifference that was only half concealed, "that you are always
speaking of London and Richmond in a letter which it seems you wrote
yesterday evening when you came back from the opera?"
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_27 ^paragraph 15}
  Julien was greatly embarrassed. He had copied the letter word for
word and had apparently forgotten to substitute the words Paris and
Saint-Cloud for the words London and Richmond in the original. He
began a few phrases, but he could not finish; he felt as if he would
laugh like a fool. Finally, in groping about for something to say,
he caught on the idea of saying:
  "Exalted by the discussion of those sublime things that are of the
greatest interests to human life, my soul, when I wrote to you, became
oblivious of its environment."
  "I am producing an impression," he thought. "Still, I might be bored
the whole evening." And he ran out of the de Fervaques mansion.
  In the evening, when he looked at the original letter from which
he had copied the night before, he came to the place where the young
Russian was speaking of London and Richmond. Julien was really
astonished to find the letter had something tender in it. It was the
contrast between the apparent lightness and the sublime depth of
Apocalyptic phraseology that distinguished it. The long sentences were
particularly pleasing to the Marechale. "There was not that light,
airy style that was made fashionable by Voltaire, that immoral man,"
she said.
  Although our hero did everything in the world to banish all
appearance of common sense in his conversation, there was still an
anti-monarchical and sceptical strain which did not quite escape
Madame de Fervaques. Surrounded as this great lady was by persons
who were eminently moral, but who could not express a single idea
throughout an evening, she was profoundly impressed by anything that
resembled originality. Yet she felt that she was being outraged. She
called that weakness the impress of the frivolity of the century.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_27 ^paragraph 20}
  All the time that Julien spent in connection with Madame de
Fervaques, Mademoiselle de la Mole had great need of self-control
not to think of him. Her soul was a prey to a great conflict.
Sometimes she would say to herself that she despised this gloomy young
man; but in spite of herself his conversation captivated her. What
astonished her more than anything else was his falsity, which was as
clear as day. He did not say a word to the Marechale that was not a
lie, or at least an abominable disguise of what he really thought;
that Mathilde knew perfectly. This Machiavellianism seemed most
striking to her.
  "What finesse!" she said to herself; "how different he is from those
sentimental noodles or common souls, such as Tanbeau, who all talk the
same way!"
  Yet Julien experienced some horrible days. It was a frightful
punishment for him that he had to appear every day at the
Marechale's house. His effort in playing a part deprived him of all
energy. Frequently at night, when he crossed the immense courtyard, it
was only through the sheer force of a tenacious resolve that he did
not lose all heart.
  "I conquered despair at the seminary," he said to himself, "and
yet how terrible it seemed there! I am making or losing a fortune in
my career in the one case as in the other; I am obliged to pass my
whole life in a class of society which is the most damnable and
disgusting on the face of the earth. The following spring I was,
perhaps, the happiest young man in the world."
  Nevertheless, all his fine reasoning was not proof against the
horrible reality.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_27 ^paragraph 25}
  He saw Mathilde at breakfast and dinner every day. According to
the letters which Marquis de la Mole dictated to him now, she was
going to marry M. de Croisenois. Already that happy young man appeared
twice a day at the house. The jealous eye of an abandoned lover did
not lose a single circumstance of the entire arrangement. When he
thought that Mademoiselle de la Mole was pleasant to her admirer,
Julien, on returning to his own room, could hardly refrain from
looking longingly at his pistols.
  "Ah! I should indeed be wise," he said to himself, "to take the
marks off my linen and go to some solitary wood about twenty miles
away from here, and put an end to my terrible life. As I am unknown in
the country, my death would not be learned for two weeks; and who
would think of me after two weeks?"
  It was very good reasoning; but the next day Mathilde's arm, seen
from the shoulder to the top of her glove, sufficed to plunge that
young philosopher into the most cruel recollection and to attach him
more than ever to life.
  "Oh, well!" he said to himself, "I am going to follow this Russian
diplomacy to the very end. How will it end, anyhow? As regards the
Marechale, certainly after finishing the fifty-three letters I shall
not add another line! As to Mathilde, the six weeks of this horrible
comedy have not removed the least bit of her anger or obtained for
me the least recognition. Good God! I should die of joy-" he did not
dare even to finish his thought.
  When, after a long reverie, he succeeded in resuming his
reasoning, he said to himself. "Well, one day I shall obtain that
happiness; and it may all be again as it is now, just because I have
not been able to please her! Then there would not be a single resource
left to me; I should be ruined, lost forever! What guarantee could she
give of her constancy? Pshaw! My manners are rude; my way of
speaking is clumsy and monotonous. Why am I as I am?"

{BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_28
                              CHAPTER 28
                               Boredom
-
    To sacrifice oneself for one's passions is understandable; but for
passions one does not have! O unhappy 19th century!
                                                         GIRODET
-
  AFTER READING Julien's long letters indifferently, Madame de
Fervaques in the end became interested in them. Only one thing
disconcerted her. "What a pity it is that M. Sorel is not really a
priest! One could then enter into some intimacy with him. With his
Cross and his bourgeois dress, one is exposed to cruel questions. What
can one say in reply?" She did not finish her thought, which was
that some malign soul might suppose that he was a little cousin, one
of her father's relatives, some little trader decorated by the
National Guard.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_28 ^paragraph 5}
  Up to the moment when she saw Julien, Madame de Fervaques's greatest
pleasure had been in writing the title of Marechale beside her name.
"It would be so easy," she thought, "for me to make him a grand
vicar in some diocese around Paris; but M. Sorel is so
insignificant, and then he is only a little secretary of M. de la
Mole."
  For the first time she, who had her doubts about everybody, began to
question her pretensions to rank and social prestige. Her old
servant remarked that when he brought her a letter from this handsome,
gloomy young man, he was sure that the distraught and discontented air
which the Marechale always assumed in the presence of one of her
servants disappeared. The weariness of a life that depends
altogether upon the effect on the public had become so intolerable
since she began to think of Julien, that if she did not treat her
maids outrageously for an entire day it was because the night before
she had spent an hour with that singular young man.
  His influence, that was now making itself felt, was proof against
all anonymous letters, even when they were well composed. In vain
Tanbeau furnished de Luz, de Croisenois, de Caylus, and the others
with two or three plausibly arranged calumnies which these gentlemen
took pleasure in spreading, without troubling themselves as to the
truth of the accusations. The Marechale, whose spirit was not strong
enough to resist such vulgar tricks, related her troubles to Mathilde,
and was always consoled.
  One day, after asking three times if there were any letters for her,
Madame de Fervaques suddenly resolved to answer Julien. That was a
victory over her wearisome life. At the second letter the Marechale
was almost constrained to stop, from the inconvenience of writing in
her own hand, an address as vulgar as "M. Sorel, care of Marquis de la
Mole."
  In the evening she said to Julien, drily: "You must bring me some
envelopes with your address on them."
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_28 ^paragraph 10}
  "Here I am installed as a footman playing the lover," thought
Julien, and he inclined his head, smiling like Arsene, the Marquis's
valet. The same evening he brought the envelopes to her, and early
next day there was a third letter awaiting him. There were five or six
verses at the beginning and two or three at the end, all covering
pages of close writing. Gradually she adopted the good habit of
writing every day. Julien replied with faithful copies of the
Russian manuscript.
  Such was the advantage of a forceful style, that Madame de Fervaques
was not at all astonished at the incongruity between his answers and
her letters. Her pride would have suffered a great deal if little
Tanbeau, who constituted himself a voluntary spy on Julien's
movements, had informed her that her letters were sometimes thrown
unopened into a drawer.
  One day, as the servant was bringing him a letter from the Marechale
into the library, Mathilde met the servant and saw the letter with the
address in Julien's handwriting. Entering the library just as the
valet left, she found that the letter was still on the table, and that
Julien, who was busy writing, had not put it away.
  "That I will not allow," Mathilde cried, taking possession of the
letter; "you have forgotten me altogether, I who am your wife. Your
conduct is abominable, monsieur!"
  At these words, her pride, disturbed by her unconventional
proceeding, almost killed her. She burst into tears, scarcely able
to breathe for her sobs.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_28 ^paragraph 15}
  Surprised, dumbfounded, Julien did not at first comprehend the
happiness the scene had in store for him. As he assisted her to a
seat, she threw herself with abandon into his arms. At first his joy
was boundless, but on second thought he recalled Korasoff.
  "I may lose everything now by a single word." His arms became rigid,
though indeed the effort was painful.
  "I must not permit myself to press this supple and charming figure
to my heart; otherwise she would despise me. What a queer
character!" While thus berating Mathilde's character, he in fact loved
her a hundred times more than ever; he seemed to hold a queen in his
arms. Julien's impassive coldness redoubled the wretchedness that
was tearing Mademoiselle de la Mole's heart. She was not
self-collected enough to try to read in his eyes what he really felt
for her at that moment. She could not bring herself to look at him;
she was trembling lest she might encounter an expression of contempt.
  As she sat on the library sofa silent, and with her head turned away
from Julien, she was a prey to the most cruel pain that mingled
pride and love can bring to the human heart. Into what a terrible
plight had she come!
  "It has remained to me, wretched as I am, to see my advances
repulsed, and repulsed by whom?" she added, almost mad with proud
disdain; "repulsed by my father's servant!"
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_28 ^paragraph 20}
  "I will not stand it," she said in a loud voice; and, rising
furiously, she opened the table drawer before her. She froze with
horror when she saw eight or ten unopened letters like the one the
valet had just brought. In all the addresses she recognized Julien's
handwriting more or less disguised.
  "So," she cried, beside herself, "not only have you come into her
good graces, but you despise her; you, a nobody, despise the Marechale
de Fervaques! Ah! pardon!" she added, throwing herself on her knees.
"Slight me if you will, but love me! I cannot live deprived of your
love!" Then she fell completely exhausted.
  "There she is, that proud woman, at my feet!" thought Julien.

{BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_29
                              CHAPTER 29
                      A Box at the Comic Theatre
-
                          As the blackest sky
                   Foretells the heaviest tempest.
                                    DON JUAN, canto I, stanza 73
-
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_29 ^paragraph 5}
  IN ALL THIS Julien was more astonished than happy. Mathilde's
upbraidings showed him how wise the Russian maxim is: "To say little
is to do little." "That is my only means of safety," he said to
himself.
  Raising Mathilde, he seated her on the sofa without saying a word.
Then she began to cry again. She took Madame de Fervaques's letters in
her hand, slowly opening them. She moved nervously when she recognized
the Marechale's handwriting. She turned over the pages of the
letters without reading them.
  "Answer me, at least," Mathilde said, beseechingly, without daring
yet to look at Julien. "You know I am proud; it is the misfortune of
my position and character, I admit it. Has Madame de Fervaques taken
your heart away from me? Has she made for you that sacrifice to
which this fatal love has drawn me?"
  A frightful silence was Julien's only answer. "What right has
she," he thought, "to ask me about an indiscretion unworthy of a man
of honor?"
  Mathilde then tried to read those letters, but, with her eyes filled
with tears, that was impossible. For a month she had been unhappy, but
her proud heart would not avow the fact to itself, pure chance alone
had led to the sudden outburst. For a single instant jealousy and love
had carried the day over pride.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_29 ^paragraph 10}
  She was seated on the sofa very close to Julien, and he saw her
beautiful hair and neck. In a moment he forgot his entire plan.
Passing his arm around her waist, he pressed her against his breast.
Slowly she turned her head toward him; he was astonished at the misery
he read in her eyes. He could hardly recognize her.
  Julien felt his strength disappear, so frightful was the act of
courage which he had outlined for himself. "Those eyes," he said to
himself, "will soon express only disdain if I allow myself to be drawn
into the allurements of love."
  Then, faintly, in words that she could hardly utter, she repeated to
him her humblest apologies for what her pride had suggested to her.
  "I, too, am proud," Julien said to her, in an unsteady voice, and
his features showed the great physical strain. Mathilde suddenly
turned to him; to hear his voice was a happiness of which she had
almost lost all hope. At that moment she recalled her pride only to
curse it. She wished to do something extraordinary, something
incredible, to show him how much she adored him and detested herself.
  "It was probably because of your pride that you treated me so well
for a while; it is certainly because of my courage and firmness that
you esteem me at this moment. Yes, I may have some feeling for the
Marechal."
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_29 ^paragraph 15}
  Mathilde trembled. There was a strange look in her eyes, as if she
had heard at that moment her death sentence pronounced. That
movement did not escape Julien, and he felt his courage fast leaving
him.
  "Ah," he thought, as he listened to the sound of his empty words,
"if I could only cover those pale cheeks with kisses, and if she would
not feel them! Yes, I may love the Marechal," he continued, his
voice gradually weakening, "but certainly I have no decisive proof
of any feeling for me on her part."
  Mathilde looked at him. He bore up under the look, hoping that his
face was not betraying him. He felt love penetrating to the
innermost depths of his heart. Never had he adored her so much; he was
almost mad over Mathilde. If she had had self-possession and courage
he would have fallen at her feet, abjuring forever his foolish comedy.
He had just enough strength to continue.
  "Ah! Korasoff." he was saying, inwardly. "Oh, that you were here!
How badly I need a word to guide me!" But he was saying aloud: "In
default of all sentiment, mere friendliness has sufficed to attach
me to the Marechal; she has been indulgent to me; she has consoled
me when I was despised. I, of course, cannot have illimitable faith in
appearances that are flattering, no doubt, but not liable to last very
long."
  "Oh, God!" cried Mathilde.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_29 ^paragraph 20}
  "Well, what guarantee will you give me?" replied Julien, finally
seeking for a chance to abandon the prudent forms of diplomacy.
  "What pledge can I give?"
  "What god will tell me that the position which you are disposed to
give me now will last for two days?"
  "My great love and misery, if you do not love me any more," she
replied, taking his hands.
  The movement removed the shawl for an instant, and Julien saw her
charming shoulders, her disordered hair recalling to him a certain
pleasing scene; and he was about to yield.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_29 ^paragraph 25}
  "One imprudent word," he said to himself, "and I begin again that
long series of days of despair. Madame de Renal was right in doing
what her heart dictated; this fine girl does not give way to her heart
except when good sense tells her to." He saw the truth of this in
the twinkling of an eye, and in that instant he regained all his
firmness. He withdrew his hands from Mathilde and moved away a little.
He began putting in order Madame de Fervaques's letters which were
scattered on the sofa; and it was with the greatest politeness,
which was indeed cruel at that moment, that he added:
  "Mademoiselle de la Mole will kindly permit me to reflect over all
this?"
  He withdrew quickly from the library, and she heard all the doors
close in succession.
  "The wretch was not affected even! But what am I saying- wretch?
He is wise, he is prudent, he is good; it is I who have done more
wrong than one can imagine!"
  Her way of looking at it continued all that day. Mathilde was almost
happy, for she gave herself up to love; one might have said that her
heart had never been moved by pride- and what pride! She trembled with
horror when, in the evening, a servant announced Madame de
Fervaques. The man's voice seemed to have a foreboding. She could
not look at the Marechale and stopped short in her greeting.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_29 ^paragraph 30}
  Julien, who was not over-proud over his painful victory, was himself
fearing her looks, and had not dined at the house that night. His love
and happiness increased rapidly the moment he was removed from the
scene of battle. Then again he began to blame himself. "How could I
have resisted her? Suppose she does not love me any more? In a
moment she can change, and I must admit I treated her shamefully."
  In the evening he felt that it was absolutely necessary for him to
appear at the Bouffes with Madame de Fervaques, who had given him a
special invitation. Mathilde would not fall to know of his presence or
his absence in the house. In spite of his courage he had not the
strength in the beginning of the evening to appear in public. While
talking he lost half of his happiness. Ten o'clock struck. He must
absolutely show himself. Happily he found the Marechal's box filled
with women, and he found himself relegated to the door, almost
hidden by their hats. That position saved him from making himself
ridiculous. The scenes of Caroline's divine despair in "Matrimonio
Segreto," made him shed tears. Madame de Fervaques saw him cry. It was
such a contrast to the masculine firmness in his face that the soul of
the great lady, long saturated as it was with the unfeeling pride of a
parvenue, was indeed touched. She began to speak to him. She wished to
enjoy the pleasure of hearing his voice at that moment.
  "Have you seen the de la Mole ladies?" she asked him; "they are in
the third box."
  And just as Julien leaned over, supporting himself on the edge of
the box, he saw Mathilde. Her eyes were glistening with tears. "And
this is not their day for the opera," thought Julien. "What
insistence!"
  Mathilde had induced her mother to come to the Bouffes in spite of
the inconvenience of the kind of box which a friend of the house had
offered. She wanted to see if Julien would spend the evening with
the Marechal.

{BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_30
                              CHAPTER 30
                               A Scare
-
    Here then is the fine miracle of your civilization! You have
made love into an ordinary affair.
                                                         BARNAVE
-
  JULIEN hurried into Madame de la Mole's box and found Mathilde in
tears. She wept without restraint, for there were only persons
indifferent to her in the stall- the man who had kindly offered it
to them, and other acquaintances. Laying her hand on Julien's, she
almost forgot her mother's presence. Choking with sobs, she could only
utter the words, "A guarantee!"
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_30 ^paragraph 5}
  "Anyhow, I must not talk to her," thought Julien, himself greatly
moved, shading his eyes with his hand, as if to protect them from
the brilliant light. "If I talk she might suspect my emotion; the
sound of my voice would betray me, and all would be lost again."
Self-command was even more painful for him now than in the morning,
for he had had time to think over what had happened. He feared that
Mathilde would be piqued from vanity. Though he was intoxicated with
love, he still determined not to talk.
  Mademoiselle de la Mole insisted upon taking Julien with them to the
house. Happily it was raining. The Marquise made him sit opposite,
talking to him all the way, and thereby preventing him from talking to
her daughter. One might have thought that the Marquise herself was
caring for Julien's welfare.
  Fearing no longer that he would lose all by showing his emotion,
he gave himself up to it altogether when alone. It need hardly be said
that Julien, on returning to his room, fell on his knees before Prince
Korasoff's letters. "Oh, great man! what do I not owe to you?" he
said, madly. Yet he did not entirely lose his self-control; he
compared himself to a great general who had just won a battle. The
advantage is certain, but what will happen to-morrow?
  He opened the "Memoires" dictated by Napoleon at Saint Helena, and
for two long hours he read, but only with his eyes. Throughout, his
mind and heart were soaring to the greatest heights of grandeur and
beauty.
  "Her heart is different from Madame de Renal's," he was saying to
himself, but he went no farther in the comparison. "I will make her
afraid," he cried out, all at once, throwing the book aside; "the
enemy will not obey me until she fears, and then she will not dare
to despise me." He walked about his room wild with joy, but more of
pride than love. "Yes, I will make her afraid," he repeated. Had he
not a right to be proud?
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_30 ^paragraph 10}
  "Even in her happiest moments Madame de Renal feared that my love
was not equal to hers; here it is a demon that I am to subjugate,
for I must subjugate her." He knew very well that the next morning
Mathilde would be in the library at eight o'clock; but he did not
appear until nine, burning with love, yet master of himself. Not a
single moment passed without a repetition on her part, distracted by
the doubt of, "Does he love me?" Her brilliant position, the
flatteries she received on all sides, were not enough to reassure her.
  He found her pale, calm, seated on the sofa, but unable to make a
single movement. Holding out her arms to him, she said:
  "Dear, I have offended you, it is true. Can you be angry with me?"
  Julien did not expect such a simple remark; he almost weakened.
  "You speak of a guarantee, my dear," she added, after a silence
which she hoped would be broken by him. "That is so. Take me; let us
go to London. I should then be lost forever- dishonored!" She had
the courage to withdraw her hand from Julien's to cover her eyes.
All the sentiments, all the feelings of maidenly modesty returned to
her. "Well, dishonor me," she said, with a sigh; "that is a
guarantee!"
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_30 ^paragraph 15}
  "Yesterday I was happy because I had the courage of being severe
with myself," thought Julien. After a moment of silence he was
sufficiently master of himself to say, in a chill tone:
  "Once on our way, and once, as you say, ruined, as a pledge of
what you say, who would tell me that you still love me, that my
presence in the coach would not be disagreeable to you? I am not a
monster! To see you pilloried by public opinion would be
wretchedness for me. It is not your position with the world that is
the obstacle, it is yourself. Can you answer for yourself that you
would love me in a week?"
  "Oh, if she would only love me a week," Julien was saying to
himself, "then I should die of sheer happiness! What do I care about
the future, about this life? And this divine pleasure may begin at
once if I so desire; it depends upon me alone!"
  Mathilde saw him pensive. "Well, then, so I am indeed unworthy of
you," she repeated, taking his hand. Julien kissed her, but
immediately the iron hand of duty was laid on his heart.
  "If she sees how much I adore her, I shall lose her"; and before
disengaging himself he had resumed again the firmness proper to a man.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_30 ^paragraph 20}
  That day, and for some days following, he was able to hide his great
happiness. There were times when he refused himself even the
pleasure of pressing her in his arms. At other times his great
happiness carried him beyond the control of his prudent course. It was
near a honeysuckle vine in the garden, where he had stood to look at
Mathilde's shutters and to mourn her inconstancy, a large oak hiding
him from view. Now, passing with Mathilde in the same place where he
had experienced so much misery, the contrast between past despair
and present happiness was almost too much for his nature. His eyes
would well with tears, and he would say, kissing her lips: "Here,
here, I have passed my time thinking of you; here I waited for hours
for the moment when your hands would appear."
  His weakness was complete. In colors too vivid to be false he
painted his great despair at that time. A word, a monosyllable,
would bear witness to the actual happiness which had now taken its
place. "But what am I doing? Good God!" Julien said to himself, "I
am lost." In his alarm he thought he saw less love in Mathilde's eyes.
Julien's face changed immediately; he became mortally pale; his eyes
lost their brilliancy. An expression of pride, not unmixed with
malice, succeeded his look of love, of the greatest abandon.
  "What is the matter, my dear?" asked Mathilde, tenderly.
  "I am lying to you," said Julien. "I am reproaching myself, and
God knows that I love you well enough not to lie to you. You love me
and you are devoted to me, and I have no need to talk to please you."
  "My dear, were those mere words you have been saying for the last
ten minutes?"
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_30 ^paragraph 25}
  "Yes; and I am sorry for it, my darling. I said the same thing
before in the presence of a woman who loved me and of whom I tired.
That is my weakness, I confess. Pardon me!"
  Mathilde's cheeks were bathed with bitter tears.
  "Something has had a stifling effect on me," continued Julien,
"and I had a moment of reverie; and then my execrable memory, which
I curse at this moment, prompted me, and I am abusing it."
  "Have I done anything that has displeased you?" asked Mathilde, with
charming simplicity.
  "Well, one day, I remember, when you were near the honeysuckle,
you picked a flower, and M. de Luz took it from you, and you let him
have it, and I was only two feet away from you."
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_30 ^paragraph 30}
  "M. de Luz?" replied Mathilde, "that is impossible; indeed, it is
not so!"
  "Well, I am sure of it," replied Julien, testily.
  "Oh, well, it is so then, my dear," replied Mathilde, lowering her
eyes. But she knew positively that for months she had not given M.
de Luz such a privilege. Julien looked at her with inexpressible
tenderness.
  "No," he thought, "she does not love me any less."
  In the evening she reproached him, laughingly, for his flame for
Madame de Fervaques. "A bourgeois loving a parvenue! Such creatures
are perhaps the only ones that Julien cannot make adore him! She has
really made of you a veritable dandy!" she said to him, playing with
his hair.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_30 ^paragraph 35}
  While he was embroiled with Mathilde, Julien had become one of the
best dressed men in Paris, and he had this advantage over the men of
fashion: once dressed, he no more thought about it.
  Only one thing piqued Mathilde. Julien continued copying the Russian
letters and sending them to Madame de Fervaques.

{BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_31
                              CHAPTER 31
                              The Tiger
-
                Alas! why these things and not others?
                                              BEAUMARCHAIS
-
  AN ENGLISH traveller tells of the intimacy with which he had lived
with a tiger. He had raised it and was always caressing it, but he
always kept a loaded revolver on his table.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_31 ^paragraph 5}
  Julien did not give himself up to the happiness he found, except
when Mathilde could not read it in his eyes. He acquitted himself of
his duty faithfully by speaking to her harshly from time to time. When
Mathilde's tenderness and devotion, which quite astonished him, were
on the point of making him lose his self-control, he had the courage
to leave her abruptly.
  For the first time Mathilde was really in love.
  Time, which was for her unending torment, now passed quickly for
him. Yet, as her pride had to have some expression, she wished to
expose herself rashly to all the dangers which her love might bring.
Julien alone was prudent; and it was only when there was a question of
danger that she did not yield to his wishes. But subdued, almost
humble toward him, she showed more hauteur than ever to every one in
the house, to her parents as well as to the servants.
  In the drawing-room, in the evening, in the presence of nearly sixty
people, she once called Julien aside to speak to him a long time
alone. Little Tanbeau happened to be near, and she asked him to go
to the library for the volume of Smollett that described the
Revolution of 1688. When he hesitated, she said: "You need not be in a
hurry," with an expression of disdain that was balm for Julien's soul.
  "Did you notice how the little fellow looked?" he asked her.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_31 ^paragraph 10}
  "His uncle has seen ten or twelve years' service in this
drawing-room, otherwise I should drive him out immediately."
  Her conduct toward MM. de Croisenois and de Luz was formal and
polished, but, indeed, no less provoking. Mathilde reproached
herself for all the confidences which she had made to Julien, and,
more than all, for the fact that she did not dare to declare to him
that she had exaggerated all the innocent marks of affection she had
shown those gentlemen. In spite of her fine resolutions, her womanly
pride prevented her from saying to Julien:
  "It is because I was speaking to you that I found such pleasure in
describing my weakness in not withdrawing my hand when M. de
Croisenois touched it on the marble table."
  Now, hardly would one of those gentlemen speak to her, when she
would have some question to ask Julien and find a pretext for
keeping him by her side.
  She was becoming large. With joy she told the news to Julien. "And
now, do you doubt me? Is not that sufficient guarantee? I am your wife
forever!"
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_31 ^paragraph 15}
  Her announcement astonished Julien profoundly. He was on the point
of forgetting his principle of conduct. "How, how can I deliberately
be cold and cruel to this poor young girl who has actually ruined
herself for me?"
  When she seemed to suffer, he had no longer the courage, even when
prudence raised her voice, to say anything rude to her about her
inconstancy.
  "I wish to write to my father," Mathilde said to him one day. "He is
more than a father to me- he is a friend. It is so unworthy of me
and of you to hide it from him, if only for an instant."
  "My God! what are you going to do?" Julien asked, frightened.
  "My duty," she replied, her eyes blazing with joy. She seemed nobler
than her lover.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_31 ^paragraph 20}
  "But he will drive me away in disgrace. That is his right, and we
must expect it."
  "I will take your arm and we will go out together in broad
daylight."
  The astonished Julien begged her to defer, to wait a week.
  "I cannot," she replied; "my honor speaks. I have seen my duty and I
must obey it instantly."
  "Well, then, I command you to wait," Julien replied, firmly. "Your
honor is not tarnished. I am your husband. Our mutual relations are
now changed. I, too, have rights. To-day is Tuesday; next Tuesday is
Duke de Retz's day; in the evening, when M. de la Mole returns, the
servant will hand him the fatal letter. He is thinking of making you a
Duchess, I am certain of it. Just see my misfortune! Judge of his
vengeance! I might have had pity for my benefactor, but I do not fear,
and I will fear, no one!"
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_31 ^paragraph 25}
  Mathilde obeyed. Since she had told Julien of her condition it was
the first time he had spoken to her with authority, for never had he
seen himself so loved. It was with a great deal of happiness that
the tenderness in his nature found a pretext for dispensing with the
necessity of saying anything harsh. He was greatly moved by the
thought of her confession to M. de la Mole. Is he to be separated from
Mathilde? And however sadly she might look upon his departure, would
she think of him a month after he left? He had a horror, too, of the
just condemnation of the Marquis.
  In the evening he confessed to Mathilde the second cause of his
emotion, and then, led away by his love, he also confessed the
first. She changed color.
  "Really," she said to him, "would six months away from me be an
actual misfortune for you?"
  "Terrible! the only thing in the world I look upon with terror."
  Mathilde was indeed happy. Julien had followed his plan so
assiduously that he began to think it was the only one that gave him
all this love.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_31 ^paragraph 30}
  The fatal Tuesday came. At midnight, when the Marquis returned to
the house, he found a letter with the superscription telling him
that it should be opened by his own hand and when no one else was
present. It read:
-
  "My Father:- All social ties are broken between us and only
those of nature remain. After my husband you are, and always will
be, the only being that is most dear to me. My eyes are filled with
tears when I think of the grief I cause you, but I do it only in order
that my downfall may not become public and that you may have time to
deliberate and to act. I have not been able to put off any longer
the confession I owe you. If your generosity, which has always been so
great to me, will grant me a little pension, I will retire wherever
you like, to Switzerland, perhaps, with my husband. His name is so
obscure that no one will recognize your daughter in Madame Sorel,
the daughter-in-law of a Verrieres carpenter. To write that name has
caused me indeed great pain.
  "I fear your anger for Julien, and it would only be just. I shall
not be a Duchess, my father, but I knew that while I loved him; for it
was I who loved him first, and it was I who have led him into this.
I know your good heart only too well to have me do anything that may
be or seem common. In vain I tried to think of M. de Croisenois,
with the view only of pleasing you. Why did you place real worth under
my eyes? You told me yourself, on my return from Hyeres, 'This young
Sorel is the only person who is interesting to me.' The poor boy is as
grieved as myself, if that is possible, over the pain which this
letter will give you. I cannot prevent your being angry as a father,
but yet love me as a friend.
  "Julien respected me. If he spoke to me sometimes it was only
through his great gratitude to you; for his natural pride caused him
to say nothing, except formally, to any one above him. He has a lively
and innate sense of the difference between social classes. It is I-
and I confess it blushingly to my dearest friend, and that
confession will never be made to anyone else- it is I who one day
pressed his arm in the garden.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_31 ^paragraph 35}
  "After a day has passed would you still be angry with him? My
conduct is irreparable. If you like, it will be only through me that
the assurance of his profound respect and of his despair at
displeasing you will pass. You will not see him, but I will rejoin him
wherever he goes. It is his right; it is my duty; he is the father
of my child. If you will be good enough to give us six thousand francs
for living expenses, I will accept it with the greatest gratitude.
Julien may establish himself at Besancon, where he will begin again
his profession as teacher of Latin and literature. In whatever low
estate he may find himself, I am certain he will rise. With him I care
nothing for obscurity. If a revolution takes place I am sure he
would act a great part. Could you say as much of any of those who have
asked for my hand? They have fine lands: is that enough cause for my
admiration? My Julien would reach a high station, even in the actual
state of affairs; if he had a million and the influence of my father-"
-
  Mathilde, who knew the Marquis to be a man of impulse, had written
eight pages.
  "What shall I do?" Julien was saying to himself, while M. de la Mole
was reading the letter. "What is my duty? What are my interests?
What I owe to him is indeed great; without him I should have been a
mere fool of a subordinate and not enough of a fool even not to be
hated and persecuted by others. He made me a man of the world. My
foolishness now will be, first, more rare, and second, less ignoble.
That is more than if he had given me a million. I owe this Cross to
him and the appearance of diplomatic services which drew me into the
company of peers. If he should prescribe my conduct for me, what could
he write?" Julien was rudely interrupted by M. de la Mole's valet.
  "The Marquis wishes you to come to him immediately, dressed or not."
The valet whispered, as he walked by Julien's side: "He is beside
himself with anger; take care!"

{BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_32
                              CHAPTER 32
                         The Hell of Weakness
-
     In cutting this diamond, a clumsy lapidary took away a few of its
brightest sparkles. At middle age, what do I say? Even under
Richelieu, the Frenchman had the strength of will.
                                                        MIRABEAU
-
  JULIEN found the Marquis furious. For the first time in his life,
perhaps, the great peer was rude. He called Julien all the vile
names he could think of.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_32 ^paragraph 5}
  Our hero was overwhelmed, yet his gratitude was not extinguished.
How many beautiful plans, cherished for so many years by the poor man,
disappeared in a moment! "But I must answer him, or else my silence
will increase his anger." He began with the role of Tartufe.
  "I am not an angel, I have served you well and you have paid me
generously. I was grateful, but I am twenty-two years of age. In
this house I was never understood by anyone but yourself and that
adorable person."
  "You scoundrel!" cried the Marquis. "Adorable! adorable! The
moment you found her adorable you should have left- fled!"
  "I tried to when I asked you for leave to go to Landguedoc."
  Weary of walking madly about the room, the Marquis, overcome by
his exasperation, threw himself into an arm-chair. Julien heard him
say half aloud:
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_32 ^paragraph 10}
  "He is not such a bad fellow!"
  "No, I am not to you," cried Julien, throwing himself on his
knees. But he was ashamed of that action, and he quickly rose.
  The Marquis was really beside himself with anger. When he saw him
fall on his knees, he began again to curse him in trooper fashion.
It was the novelty of hearing himself curse that diverted him somewhat
from his anger.
  "What! my daughter will be called Madame Sorel! my daughter not a
Duchess!" When those two thoughts presented themselves definitely to
him, M. de la Mole was tortured. Julien was afraid of being struck. In
the intervals of calm, while the Marquis was becoming accustomed to
his grief, he spoke to Julien a little more reasonably.
  "You must leave, monsieur," he said to him; "your duty is to go. You
are the last man in the world-"
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_32 ^paragraph 15}
  Julien, approaching the table, wrote:
  "For a long time life has been insupportable to me; I will put an
end to it. I beg the Marquis to accept the assurances of my great
gratitude, and my great regret for the embarrassment which my death
will cause in his house."
  "Will the Marquis be kind enough to read this paper? Kill me!"
said Julien, "or let your valet kill me! It is one o'clock in the
morning; I am going to walk in the garden, toward the lower wall."
  "Go to a thousand devils!" cried the Marquis, walking away.
  "I see," thought Julien; "he would not regret having his valet
take the burden of my death on his shoulders. Let him kill me! Indeed,
that is the only satisfaction I can give him. But, God! I love life! I
owe it to my son!"
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_32 ^paragraph 20}
  This thought, appearing for the first time clearly to his
imagination, absorbed him entirely during the first few moments of his
walk. "This new interest makes one prudent; I must be careful with
this furious man; he is bereft of reason; he is capable of anything.
Fouque is too far away. Besides, he will not understand the feelings
of such a man as the Marquis.
  "Count Altamira- am I sure of silence on his part? But my asking
advice of him would complicate my position. There remains only the
glum abbe Pirard, and his heart is shrivelled up with Jansenism. A
fool of a Jesuit would know the world and my condition far better.
M. Pirard is capable of beating me the very first time I tell him of
my trouble."
  Tartufe's genius again came to Julien's aid. "Well, I will go to
confession to him!" It was the last resolution he made in the garden
after walking about for two hours. He no longer thought of becoming
the mark for a bullet.
  He retired to his room to rest; but early in the morning Julien
was at some distance from Paris, before the door of the severe
Jansenist. To his astonishment he found that the abbe was not too much
taken by surprise by what he told him.
  "Indeed, I can reproach myself for a great deal," said the abbe,
more anxious than irritated. "I thought I suspected that love. My
friendship for you, oh my unfortunate friend, has prevented me from
warning the father!"
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_32 ^paragraph 25}
  "What is he going to do?" asked Julien. He loved the abbe that
moment, and anything like a scene would have been very painful to him.
"I see three things," continued Julien. "First, M. de la Mole can kill
me"; and he repeated the suicidal letter which he had given to the
Marquis. "Second, I can be shot point blank by Norbert, who will ask
for a duel."
  "Would you accept it?" asked the abbe furiously, rising.
  "You don't let me finish. I will certainly not take aim at my
benefactor's son. Third, he can have me put away somewhere. If he
tells me to go to Edinburgh or to New York, I shall obey; then it is
quite possible that Mademoiselle de la Mole's condition can be hidden.
But I will not allow them to make away with my child."
  "I do not for a moment doubt that is the first idea of that man."
  Mathilde, at Paris, was in the greatest despair. She had seen her
father at seven o'clock, and he had shown her Julien's letter. She
trembled lest he might think it proper to put an end to his life,
and without telling her anything about it.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_32 ^paragraph 30}
  "If he is dead, I will die," she said to her father. "You are the
cause of his death; perhaps you will find pleasure in it; but I
swear by his shade that I will first put on mourning, and I shall be
known publicly as Madame Sorel the widow. I will send out my cards.
You will find me neither hesitating nor cowardly." Her love was indeed
driving her mad.
  On his part, M. de la Mole was nonplussed; but he began to see
things with a ray of reason.
  At breakfast Mathilde did not appear, and the Marquis was relieved
of a great weight and felt considerably flattered when he found that
she had not said a word to her mother. Then Julien came back.
  Mathilde called him and threw herself into his arms almost before
the eyes of her maid. Julien, not over grateful for this transport,
seemed more diplomatic and prudent since his conference with abbe
Pirard and his calculation of possibilities.
  Mathilde, with tears in her eyes, told him that she had read his
letter announcing his suicide. "My father may think better of it;
but leave at once for Villechieres. Mount your horse again, and
leave before they get up from the table."
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_32 ^paragraph 35}
  As Julien's hesitating manner did not change, she burst into tears
anew. "Let me manage our affairs here," she cried, pressing him in her
arms. "You know I do not separate myself from you voluntarily. Write
in care of my maid, and let the address be in someone else's
handwriting. I will write you volumes. Good-by- go!"
  Though wounded in his pride by the command, Julien nevertheless
obeyed. "It is terrible," he thought, "that even in their pleasant
moments these people have a way of giving me pain."
  Mathilde firmly resisted all her father's prudent plans. She
wished the matter to be settled under no other conditions than
these: that she should be Madame Sorel, and that she should retire
to Switzerland, or remain in her father's house in Paris. "And if
people should talk," she urged, "two months after our marriage I
will go travelling with my husband, and then the birth of my child
would cause no comment."
  Her firm position, though at first assailed by bursts of anger,
finally turned the Marquis. In a moment of tenderness he said to his
child:
  "Here is a note for ten thousand livres; send it to your Julien, and
let him make it impossible for me right away to take it back."
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_32 ^paragraph 40}
  In order to obey Mathilde, whose love for him expressed itself in
a command, Julien had covered forty useless miles. He was at
Villechieres managing the affairs of the farmers. The Marquis's
generosity gave him occasion to return. He went to ask an asylum of
abbe Pirard, who, during his absence, had become Mathilde's most
useful adviser. As often as the Marquis questioned him, he proved that
anything else than a public marriage would be a crime in the eyes of
God. "And, happily," the abbe would add, "worldly wisdom is here in
accord with religion. Could you for a moment count on a secret, with
Mademoiselle de la Mole's temperament, unless she chose to keep it? If
you do not have a public marriage, society would busy itself a long
time over this strange mesalliance. Everything must be told at
once without the least mystery."
  "That is so," added the Marquis, pensively; "In this life of ours to
talk of a wedding three days after belongs only to a man who has no
ideas. I must profit by some anti-Jacobin measures on the part of
the government to pass unobserved in this matter." Two or three of
M. de la Mole's friends thought like abbe Pirard. The greatest
obstacle in their eyes was Mathilde's firmness. Yet, after so many
good reasons, the Marquis could not accustom himself to renouncing the
hope of a tabouret for his daughter. His memory was crowded with the
scenes of force and falsity that were enacted in his youth. To yield
to necessity, to fear the law, was something absurd and dishonoring to
a man of his rank. He paid very dearly for such enchanting illusions
ten years before the arrival of his dear daughter.
  "Who could have foreseen it?" he would say to himself. "A girl of
such a determined character, of such a lofty disposition, prouder even
than myself! Her hand has been asked by every one that has been most
illustrious in France! Well, I must renounce all prudence; all is
confusion worse confounded. We are marching straight to chaos!"

{BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_33
                              CHAPTER 33
                             A Man of Wit
-
    The Prefect travelling along on horseback asked himself: why would
I not be Minister, President of the Counsel, Duke? Here is how I
will make war... By this means I would throw the innovators into
irons...
                                                        LE GLOBE
-
  NO ARGUMENT could destroy a resolution that had been fixed by ten
years of thought. The Marquis could not at heart find any reason for
being angry, yet he could not make up his mind to forgive. "If only
Julien would suddenly die!" he said to himself now and then. He
found some consolation in following up many chimerical projects;
they nearly withstood the reasonable arguments of abbe Pirard.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_33 ^paragraph 5}
  A whole month passed unmarked by any decisive step. In this family
affair, as in matters of state, the Marquis had certain brilliant
ideas about which he would be very enthusiastic for three days. Then
any line of conduct would seem inadequate because supported only by
good reasoning; and yet he would reason only as was suitable to his
favorite plan. For three days he had worked with the ardor and
enthusiasm of a poet to bring the matter to a certain head. Then the
next day he did not think of it again. Julien felt troubled by the
Marquis's slowness. After some weeks he began to think that M. de la
Mole had really adopted no plan of action. Madame de la Mole and the
entire house thought that Julien was in the provinces to take care
of the lands. He had only hidden himself with abbe Pirard, and saw
Mathilde almost every day. She would spend an hour with her father
every morning; but for weeks, sometimes, not a word would be uttered
about their great trouble.
  "I do not want to know where that man is," her father said to her
one day. "Send him this letter." Mathilde read:
-
  "My lands in Landguedoc yield twenty thousand six hundred francs.
I will give ten thousand six hundred to my daughter and ten thousand
to M. Julien Sorel. Of course I give the lands, too. Notify the notary
to prepare two separate deeds and to give them to me to-morrow.
After this all is over, Monsieur, can I expect an answer to this?
                                           "MARQUIS DE LA MOLE."
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_33 ^paragraph 10}
-
  "I thank you so much!" Mathilde cried gayly. "We are going to live
at Chateau Aiguillon, between Agen and Marmande; they say the
country there is as beautiful as in Italy."
  The gift came as a great surprise to Julien. He was no longer that
harsh and cruel man that we have known. The future of his child
absorbed his every thought. Such a fortune, coming unexpectedly to a
man as poor as he, gave rise to great plans. He saw already an
income of thirty-six thousand livres for his wife as well as for
himself.
  As for Mathilde, all her thoughts were absorbed in adoration of
her husband, for so she proudly called him. Her sole ambition was to
have the marriage recognized. She spent her time exaggerating the
great prudence she had shown in uniting herself to such a superior
man. His personal worth alone occupied her mind. His absence, the
complexity of the affair, the little time they could pass in
speaking of their love, combined to bring out the good results which
his prudence before had begun.
  Mathilde gradually became impatient at the thought that she saw so
little of the man she adored. In a moment of anger she wrote her
father, beginning like Othello:
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_33 ^paragraph 15}
  "That I have preferred Julien to all the advantages that society
could offer to a daughter of Marquis de la Mole, my choice has proved.
The pleasures of a society life are nothing to me. As weeks have now
passed since I have been separated from my husband, it is long
enough to show my respect for you. Before next Thursday I shall
leave home. Your kindness has made us rich. No one knows my secret
except abbe Pirard. I will go to him, and he will marry us. An hour
after the ceremony we will be on our way to Landguedoc, never to
appear again in Paris except at your request. But what is like a
stab to my heart is the fact that it will all be a good tale at your
expense and mine. Will not the epigrams of a foolish public oblige
my excellent Norbert to quarrel with Julien? Under such
circumstances I know I have no influence with him; we should then find
in his heart only a discontented plebeian. I beg you on my knees, my
father, to be present at our marriage in M. Pirard's church next
Thursday. Then the public talk will not be so poignant; and the life
of my child, as well as that of my husband, will be spared."
  The Marquis was greatly embarrassed by that letter; he must then
come to some decision! All his habits, all his ordinary friends, had
lost their influence over him. At this juncture, the traits of his
character, impressed by the great events in his youth, became again
manifest. The misfortunes of the Emigration had made him a man of
reflection; for after enjoying for two years an immense fortune, and
all the distinctions of the Court, he had been thrown, in the year
1760, into the greatest wretchedness. That hard school had changed the
heart of a young man of twenty-two. Indeed, he was not enslaved by his
great fortune. Yet his heart, preserved from the corrosion of gold,
was mastered by one ambition: to see his daughter the possessor of a
great title.
  During the six weeks that had passed, the Marquis had been
thinking of making Julien rich; for poverty seemed ignoble, almost
dishonoring to M. de la Mole, and impossible for his daughter's
husband. He himself was always throwing money away. The next day it
seemed to him that Julien might learn the mute eloquence of his
great gift, change his name, and go to America, and write to
Mathilde that he was dead to her. The Marquis was already thinking
that the letter had been written, and was wondering what effect it
would have on his daughter.
  On the day when he was drawn out of his dreams by Mathilde's real
letter, after he had been thinking a long time of making away with
Julien in some way, the idea came to him of building up an immense
fortune for him. He would give him the name of one of his estates; and
why could he not have the peerage passed to him? Duke de Chaulnes, his
father-in-law, had frequently spoken to him, after his only son had
been killed in Spain, of his desire to transmit his title to
Norbert. It could not be denied that Julien had a singular aptitude
for affairs. "He is daring, even brilliant at times," the Marquis
was saying to himself, "but at the very bottom of his character I
see something terrifying. That is the impression he invariably
makes; there is something in that!
  "My daughter was telling me the other day that Julien is not
connected with any salon or any clique. He has not a single support
against me, not a single resource if I abandon him. But is that from
ignorance of the actual state of affairs? Two or three times I have
already told him there is no real or profitable candidacy except
from the salon. No! he has not that adroit and cautious spirit of a
procureur who never loses a minute or an opportunity. There is nothing
of the Louis XI in him. On the other hand, I see something
antagonistic to nobility in him. Would he use it as a dam against
his passions?
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_33 ^paragraph 20}
  "Well, one thing remains, he cannot stand a slight, and I will
hold him by that. There is no religion in noble birth, that is true;
he does not respect us instinctively. Of course, it is wrong; and a
seminarist's soul should not be touched except by want. He, on the
other hand, will not brook a single slight."
  Pressed as he was by his daughter's letter, M. de la Mole saw the
necessity of immediate action. "Now, here is the great question: has
Julien's audacity gone so far as to court my daughter because he knows
that I love her more than anyone else and I have an income of one
hundred thousand livres? Mathilde says no. No, Monsieur Julien, I will
not be deceived on that score. Was there real, sudden love, or
simply the common desire of raising himself to a fine position?
Mathilde has a clear head; she knew that that suspicion would lose him
forever in my eyes, and hence the confession she made that she loved
him first! To think that a girl of such a lofty character would forget
herself so far as to make advances, to press his arm in the garden
of a night! Preposterous! As if she could not have found a hundred
other occasions, less indecent, to let him know that she thought
something of him! 'He who excuses himself, accuses himself.' I have
reason to suspect Mathilde." And the Marquis was more decided that day
than he had ever been before. Yet he thought he would wait and write
to his daughter. M. de la Mole did not dare to have an argument with
Mathilde; he was afraid he would make a complete and sudden
concession. And he wrote:
  "Do not do anything more stupid. Here is a commission of a
Lieutenancy of Hussars for M. Chevalier Julien Sorel de la Vernaye.
See what I have done for him! Do not oppose me; do not ask any
questions. Let him leave for Strasburg, where his regiment is
stationed, in twenty-four hours. Enclosed find an order on my
banker. Obey!"
  Mathilde's love and joy were infinite. Wishing to profit by her
victory, she replied immediately:
  "M. de la Vernaye would be at your feet, proffering you thanks, if
he knew all that you have been kind enough to do for him; but with all
this generosity, my father has forgotten me. Your daughter's
reputation is in danger; one indiscretion is enough to give her
everlasting shame, which an income of twenty thousand ecus could not
repair. I will not send the commission to M. de la Vernaye unless
you give me your word that in the course of the next month my marriage
shall be celebrated in public at Villechieres. Soon after that your
daughter will not be able to appear in public except under the name of
Madame de la Vernaye. I thank you, dear papa, for having delivered
me from the name of Sorel."
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_33 ^paragraph 25}
  The answer was unexpected, and so the Marquis wrote again:
  "Obey, or I take everything back. Take care, imprudent one! I do not
know who your Julien is, and you know him less than I do. Let him
leave for Strasburg immediately. I will inform you of my wishes in a
fortnight."
  The firm reply astonished Mathilde. "I do not know Julien!" The fact
threw her into a reverie which ended with most enchanting ideas. "My
Julien's genius has not been clothed in the little salon uniform,
and my father cannot believe in his superiority just because he proves
it. However, if I do not obey, I see a possibility of a public
scandal; my position in the world will become wretched, and I may make
myself perhaps less lovable in Julien's eyes. Poverty for ten years
and the choice of a husband for his own sake must in the end be
crowned by wealth to escape ridicule. My father, at his age, might
at a distance forget me. Norbert will marry some amiable, clever
woman. Old Louis XIV was led astray by the Duchess de Bourgogne-"
  She resolved to obey him, but did not communicate her father's
letter to Julien. That strange character might be led to do
something rash! In the evening, when she told Julien that he had
been made a Lieutenant of Hussars, his joy was beyond all control. A
life-long ambition and his love for the coming child- all was seen
in his wild delight. The change of name astonished him most.
  "Now, at last, my dream is fulfilled, and I have only myself to
thank! I know how to make myself esteemed by this proud creature!"
he added, looking at Mathilde. "Her father cannot live without her,
nor she without me."

{BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_34
                              CHAPTER 34
                               A Storm
-
                     My God, give me mediocrity!
                                           MIRABEAU
-
  JULIEN seemed to be in a dream. He scarcely replied to the
tenderness she showed him, but remained silent and pensive. Never
had he appeared so grand, so adorable in her eyes. She had a vague
fear of the pride which was about to change their entire position. She
saw abbe Pirard arrive almost every morning at the house. Could not
Julien find out from him some of her father's intentions? Has not
the Marquis, in a capricious moment perhaps, written to him? After all
this happiness, how could she explain Julien's cold looks? She did not
dare ask.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_34 ^paragraph 5}
  She did not dare- she, Mathilde! Then at that moment in her love for
Julien appeared something vague, something unforeseen, something
that resembled terror. Her heart had all the passion of which a person
raised in the effete civilization which Paris admires was capable.
  Early next morning Julien was at abbe Pirard's. The post horses
had come into the courtyard, dragging a dilapidated coach that had
been hired at the neighboring village.
  "Such an outfit is not proper," said the severe abbe to him. "Here
are twenty thousand francs which M. de la Mole has presented to you.
He wishes you to spend them in a year, but try to do it with as little
foolishness as possible." Such a great sum thrown at a young man could
only breed sin in the eyes of the priest.
  "The Marquis adds that M. Julien de la Vernaye will receive this
money from his father, whom it is unnecessary to call by any other
name now. M. de la Vernaye might think it proper, perhaps, to make a
present to M. Sorel, a Verrieres carpenter, who took care of him as
a child. I can take care of that part of the arrangement," added the
abbe. "I have induced M. de la Mole to make some arrangement with abbe
de Frilaire, that Jesuit, whose influence is decidedly stronger than
ours. The recognition of your high birth by the man that governs
Besancon is one of the tacit conditions of the arrangement."
  Julien was beside himself with joy, and ran up to kiss the abbe.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_34 ^paragraph 10}
  "Here, here!" said the abbe, pushing him away, "what do you mean
by this worldly nonsense?" And he kept on reading the letter.
  "As to Sorel and his sons, I will give them, in my name, an
additional pension of five hundred francs, to be paid to each one as
long as I am satisfied with them."
  Julien instantly became cold and haughty. He thanked him, but in
measured and not very effusive terms. "Is it possible," he said to
himself, "that I am the natural son of some great lord who was
exiled by the terrible Napoleon to the mountains?" That idea seemed
less improbable to him every moment. "My hatred for my father would be
a proof! I am no longer an outcast."
  A few days later the Fifteenth Hussars, one of the crack regiments
of the army, had a battle-drill at Strasburg. Chevalier de la
Vernaye was on the most beautiful charger in Alsace. It had cost him
six thousand francs. He had received the Lieutenancy without being a
sub-lieutenant except on the muster-roll of which not a word was to be
said.
  His impassive air, his severe and masterful eyes, his pallor, his
unalterable sang-froid, gave him a reputation from the very first.
Soon his perfectly polished manners, his skill with pistols and
other arms, which he showed without too much affectation, removed
all occasion for making unpleasant remarks on his account. After
five or six days of hesitation the opinion of the regiment declared
itself in his favor.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_34 ^paragraph 15}
  "That young man," said the old officers, "has everything except-
youth."
  Julien wrote from Strasburg to M. Chelan, the old curate of
Verrieres, who was now in the ripest old age.
  "You have no doubt learned with pleasure of the events which have
given me my new rank. I enclose five hundred francs, which I wish
you to distribute without any form, without even mentioning my name,
to those who are unfortunate and poor as I was, and whom no doubt
you are helping as you formerly helped me."
  Julien was intoxicated with ambition, but not with vanity.
Nevertheless, he gave a great deal of attention to his outward
appearance. His horses, his uniform, the livery of his men were
correct enough to have done honor to an English nobleman. Hardly was
he a Lieutenant, which he had become only through influence, than he
calculated already that he would become Commander-in-Chief at thirty
at the utmost, like all the great generals. He should have been more
than a Lieutenant at twenty-three.
  He was thinking only of his glory and of that of his son, when he
was surprised by the arrival of a servant from the Hotel de la Mole
with a letter.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_34 ^paragraph 20}
  "All is lost," wrote Mathilde. "Come as quickly as you can; desert
if necessary! When you arrive, wait for me in a carriage near the
little garden door at No. __ X street. I must talk to you! Perhaps I
could let you in by the garden gate. It is all over, I fear. You can
count on me, though! You will find me always devoted and firm, even in
adversity. I love you."
  In a few minutes Julien obtained permission from the Colonel and
left Strasburg at full gallop. But the uncertainty that devoured him
did not permit him to continue his mad ride beyond Metz. There he
jumped into the mail coach, arriving soon at the place indicated, near
the little door of the de la Mole garden. The door opened, and
Mathilde, forgetting everything, threw herself into his arms.
Fortunately, it was only five o'clock in the morning, and the street
was still deserted.
  "All is lost! My father, fearing that he would weaken at the sight
of my tears, left Thursday night."
  "But where?"
  "No one knows. Here is his letter; read it!" and she came into the
cab with Julien.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_34 ^paragraph 25}
  "I could pardon him everything except his idea of seducing you
because you are rich. This, my poor child, is the terrible truth. I
give you my word of honor that I will never consent to a marriage with
that man. I can assure him of an income of ten thousand if he moves
away from here, away from France, or, better still, if he goes to
America. Read the letter which I have received in reply to my
request for information. Why, he had even asked me himself to write to
Madame de Renal. I will never read anything from you relative to
that man; I have a horror of Paris and you. I beg you to keep
everything that may happen secret. Leave that vile man, and you will
find a father again."
  "Where is Madame de Renal's letter?" Julien asked, coldly.
  "Here it is. I did not want to show it to you until you were
prepared."
  "My duty to the sacred cause of religion and morality, monsieur,
impels me to discharge this obligation to you. A rule that cannot fail
orders me to speak ill of a fellow man in order to avoid a greater
scandal. The grief that I feel should be conquered by my sentiment
of duty. It is only too true, monsieur, that the conduct of that
man, relative to whom you have asked for information, would seem
inexplicable. It might be proper to hide or disguise a part of the
truth; prudence would require it more than religion; but his
conduct, concerning which you inquire, has been indeed damnable and
worse than I can tell. Poor and wretched, it was through consummate
hypocrisy, after leading astray a weak and unfortunate woman, that
this man has tried to get on in the world and become somebody. It is
also my painful duty to add that I am forced to think that M. J. has
not a particle of religion; in truth I am constrained to believe
that one of his means of success in a house is to try to lead astray
the woman that is loved the most. Under the cover of disinterestedness
and fine phrases he aims only to be able to control in some way the
master of the house as well as his fortune. He leaves behind him grief
and eternal regret."
  This long letter, half effaced by tears, was in Madame de Renal's
own handwriting. She had written it with more care than usual.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_34 ^paragraph 30}
  "I cannot blame M. de la Mole," cried Julien, after finishing. "He
is prudent; he is right. What father wants to give a cherished
daughter to such a man? Good-by!"
  Julien leapt from the cab and ran to the coach that had remained
at the end of the street. Mathilde, whom he seemed to have
forgotten, attempted to follow him; but the looks of the tradesmen who
appeared at their doors, and by whom she was known, compelled her to
retreat into the garden.
  Julien left for Verrieres.
  During the journey he tried to write to Mathilde, but his hand
traced only illegible lines.
  He arrived at Verrieres on a Sunday morning. He went straightway
to an arms dealer, who congratulated him on his recent good fortune.
It was the talk of the neighborhood, he said. With great difficulty
Julien gave him to understand that he wanted a pair of pistols. These,
at his request, the merchant loaded for him.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_34 ^paragraph 35}
  The "three bells" were heard- the well-known signal in French
villages, announcing the beginning of Mass- as Julien entered the
new church of Verrieres. The lofty windows of the sacred edifice
were draped with crimson curtains. He took a seat a little in the rear
of Madame de Renal's bench; it seemed to him she was praying with
the greatest devotion. The sight of the woman he had adored made his
arm tremble, and he could not at first execute his design.
  "I cannot do it," he said to himself; "I cannot do it! It is a
physical impossibility!"
  At that moment the young clergyman who was celebrating Mass
sounded the Host. Madame de Renal lowered her head, which at that
moment was almost entirely hidden by the folds of her shawl. Julien
could not take very good aim; he fired one shot and missed, but at the
second she fell.

{BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_35
                              CHAPTER 35
                             Sad Details
-
    Do not expect weakness from me. I have avenged myself. I
deserved death, and here I am. Pray for my soul.
                                                        SCHILLER
-
  JULIEN remained motionless; there seemed to be a mist before his
eyes. When he came to himself somewhat, he noticed that the
worshippers were fleeing from the church, and the priest had left
the altar. Julien unthinkingly followed a few women who were leaving
the church shrieking. A woman who wished to go out more quickly than
the rest pushed him rudely aside so that he fell. His foot caught in a
chair that had been overturned by the crowd; as he arose he felt
himself seized by a gendarme. Mechanically he felt for his pistols,
but another gendarme caught his arm. He was led to jail. After
taking him into a cell they handcuffed him and then left, locking
the door with both locks. It all happened so quickly that he did not
know what had taken place.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_35 ^paragraph 5}
  "Great God! all is at an end now!" he said aloud. "Yes, in two weeks
the guillotine, or suicide here!" His reasoning carried him no
further. His head felt as if it were pressed by a vise, and he
looked around to see if he was between any one's hands. After a few
moments he fell into a profound slumber.
  Madame de Renal was not mortally wounded. The first ball had
passed through her hat; as she was turning around the second one had
lodged. The ball had hit her shoulder, and, glancing off after
breaking the bone, had struck the Gothic pillar where it removed a
large piece of stone.
  When, after a long and painful examination, the physician said to
Madame de Renal: "I am as sure of your life as I am of mine," she
seemed to be greatly afflicted.
  For a long time she had sincerely prayed for death. The letter which
her confessor had dictated to her, and which she had written to M.
de la Mole, had given the finishing stroke to a spirit enfeebled by
continuous misery. It was because of Julien's absence. Her
confessor, a young and fervent ecclesiastic who had recently arrived
from Dijon, was not deceived in his suspicions.
  "To die like this, and not by my own hand, is not a sin," thought
Madame de Renal; "God will pardon me, perhaps, if I say that I am glad
death is at hand." She dared not add, "And death at Julien's hands
is my greatest happiness!"
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_35 ^paragraph 10}
  Hardly had the surgeon and her friends left when she called Elisa to
her.
  "The warden," she said, blushing, "is a cruel man. Of course he will
maltreat him, believing that I should like it. It is horrible to think
of it! Won't you go, as of your own accord, and give this to the
warden? There are some louis in it. You can tell him that our holy
faith does not permit cruelty. Above all, he must not speak of this
little gift of money."
  From this came the constant kindness with which Julien was treated
by the warden. It was the same M. Noiroud, a model of an official,
whom we have seen frightened by the appearance of M. Appert.
  A magistrate appeared in the prison. "I killed her. I
intentionally killed her," said Julien to him; "I bought the pistols
and had them loaded. Article 1342 of the Penal Code is explicit; I
deserve death, and I expect it."
  The judge, astonished by such a reply, wished to multiply the
questions so as to bring out possibly a se coupat.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_35 ^paragraph 15}
  "But, don't you see," said Julien to him, smilingly, "that I make
myself as culpable as you desire? See, monsieur, you shall not miss
the prey you are pursuing; you shall have the pleasure of sentencing
me to death. Please leave me! There remains only one sad duty to
perform," thought Julien, "I must write to Mademoiselle de la Mole."
  "I am avenged," he wrote to her. "Unfortunately my name will
appear in the papers, and I cannot withdraw unknown from this life.
I shall die in two months. My vengeance was terrible; just like my
grief at being separated from you! From this moment I forbid myself to
write or to pronounce your name. Never speak of me, not even to my
child. Silence alone can honor me. Among men generally I shall
always be thought of as an assassin.
  "Permit me to tell the truth at this last moment. You will forget
me; this great catastrophe, about which I beg you never to open your
mouth to a living soul, will in a few years remove all that is
romantic and beautiful in your character. You were made to live with
the heroes of the Middle Ages. Show their firm character! All that has
happened is secret, and you will not be compromised. You can go
under an assumed name, and you need have no confidante. If it is
absolutely necessary for you to have the aid of a friend, I advise you
to take abbe Pirard. Do not speak to anyone, especially the people
of your class, like de Luz and de Caylus. A year after my death
marry M. de Croisenois; I command you, as your husband, to do it. Do
not write to me, for I will not answer. Less wicked by far than
Iago, to whom I may be compared, I am going to say like him:
-
           "'From this time forth I never will speak word.'
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_35 ^paragraph 20}
-
  I will not be seen nor will I talk. You have from me my last words
as my last homage.                                         J.S."
-
  It was after sending that letter away that Julien, fully conscious
of what he had done, first felt his wretched state. Every hope his
ambition had given him was now successively torn from his heart by the
thought: "I shall die!" Death itself did not seem terrible: all his
life had been only a long preparation to endure the evils of life, and
he had not forgotten all that had passed, to be afraid of the greatest
evil of all.
  "What!" he said to himself, "if within sixty days I were to fight
a duel with a great fencer, should I have the weakness to think of
it all the time, and should I be frightened?" For more than an hour he
reasoned with himself in that strain. When he had looked clearly
into his soul again, and the naked truth appeared distinctly before
his eyes, there crept in the form of regret.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_35 ^paragraph 25}
  "Why should I have remorse? I have committed a horrible crime; I
have murdered; I deserve death; and there it is. I die after
settling my account with humanity; I leave no duty unfulfilled; I
owe no one. My death will not be disgraceful except in the means
that will be employed. That alone, it is true, is enough for my
shame in the eyes of the Verrieres public. There remains one thing,
though, to stand well with them, and that is to throw money to them
when I begin my death march; my memory linked with gold will shine
resplendent with them."
  After such reasoning, he concluded: "I have nothing more to do on
earth!" and he fell asleep again. At nine o'clock in the evening the
warden awakened him to hand him his supper.
  "What do they say in Verrieres?"
  "Monsieur Julien, the oath that I took before the crucifix in the
royal chamber on the day that I was installed in office obliges me
to be silent." He was silent, but remained in the room. The evident
hypocrisy amused Julien.
  "I must let him wait a long time for the five francs he wants to
sell his conscience for."
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_35 ^paragraph 30}
  When the jailer saw the meal finished without being tempted in any
way, he said, in a soft, hypocritical tone:
  "The friendship I have for you, monsieur Julien, forces me to speak,
say what they might that it is against the interests of justice,
because that might help you in your defence. Monsieur Julien, who is a
good person, I know, will be pleased if I inform him that Madame de
Renal is doing well."
  "What! she is not dead?" cried Julien, beside himself. "Why, don't
you know?" replied the jailer, stupidly, more than ever anxious for
a tip. "It would be wise if monsieur Julien would give something to
the surgeon who in pursuance of law and justice should not open his
mouth; but in order to please monsieur, I went to his house and he
told me everything."
  "So, then, the wound is not a fatal one, after all!" muttered
Julien. "Would you answer for it with your life?"
  The warden, a giant six feet tall, fearful of bodily harm,
shuffled away toward the door. Julien, seeing that he had taken the
wrong means for getting at the truth, sat down again and threw a
napoleon to M. Noiroud.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_35 ^paragraph 35}
  The more he heard of what the man had to say about the slightness of
Madame de Renal's wound, the more he felt tears coming into his eyes.
  "Go!" he said all at once. The warden obeyed. Hardly was the door
closed when Julien cried out: "Great God! she is not dead!" and he
fell on his knees, his tears streaming over his cheeks. At that crisis
he felt himself becoming religious again.
  "What do I care for the hypocrisy of the priests? Can they remove
anything from the truth and the sublimity of the idea of God?" Only
then did Julien begin to repent of his crime.
  The information he received relieved him of his despair, as well
as of the intense physical strain under which he labored since leaving
Verrieres. His tears flowed freely; he awaited death with resignation.
  "She will live, then"; he said to himself, "she will live to
pardon me and to love me again!"
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_35 ^paragraph 40}
  Late the following morning the jailer, on awaking him, said: "You
have a brave heart, monsieur Julien. I have been here twice, but I did
not want to wake you. Here are two fine bottles of wine which M.
Maslon, our curate, has sent you."
  "What! Is that fool here yet?" asked Julien.
  "Yes, monsieur," replied the guard in a whisper. "But don't talk
so loud; it might injure you." Julien laughed outright.
  "Where I am now, my friend, you are the only one that can do me
any harm if you are not humane. You shall be well paid," continued
Julien, resuming his imperious air and justifying his manner with
another tip.
  M. Noiroud, disgustingly obsequious, recounted again with great
detail all he had learned about Madame de Renal; but he did not say
anything about the visit of Mademoiselle Elisa.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_35 ^paragraph 45}
  A new idea came to Julien. "This man may make perhaps three or
four hundred francs, for the jail is not filled; I can assure him of
ten thousand francs if he wants to go to Switzerland with me. The
difficulty would be only to persuade him of my good faith." But the
idea of a long discussion with such a creature was disgusting to
Julien, and he began to think of something else.
  The evening was made short, for at midnight he was taken away in a
coach. The gendarme who accompanied him was very kind. In the morning,
when he arrived at the Besancon prison, a cell on an upper tier of a
Gothic dungeon was assigned to him. He thought the architecture was of
the fourteenth century, and he admired the graceful, cheering
effect. A narrow space between two walls, across a deep courtyard,
permitted of a beautiful view.
  He was examined that morning, and then he was left alone for several
days. He was calm and resigned. The matter seemed very simple to
him: "I wanted to murder; I should be put to death." Beyond that he
did not go. The trial, the annoyance of appearing in public, his
defence- all that he considered simply embarrassing details,
annoying formalities, of which there was time enough to think during
the trial. He did not even think of death. "I will think of that after
I am sentenced." Life, indeed, was not annoying to him now; he
looked at everything in a new light; he no longer had any ambition.
  He thought only rarely of Mademoiselle de la Mole. Remorse
overwhelmed him, nevertheless, and he thought very often of Madame
de Renal, especially during the silence of the night, when he would be
disturbed in his high cell only by the cry of ospreys. He thanked
heaven for not having wounded her fatally.
  "It is remarkable," he said to himself. "I thought by her letter
to M. de la Mole that she had forever destroyed my happiness, and less
than two weeks after that I think no more of what occupied me then. An
income of two or three thousand livres to live quietly in a mountain
country like Vergy- I was happy there; I did not know how happy I
was!"
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_35 ^paragraph 50}
  At other times he would rise abruptly from his chair, saying: "If
I had killed Madame de Renal I should have killed myself- I must be
certain of that if I don't want to commit suicide. Kill myself? That
is the great question," he thought. "These formal judges, who are so
wrought up against the poor defendant, and who would hang the best
citizen for touching a Cross- why, I should deprive them of their
power, of their abuse, and that in vile French, which the department
newspapers will call eloquence! I shall live five or six weeks yet, at
most. Kill myself? No!" he said after a while. "Napoleon lived-
besides life is agreeable now; it is calm and peaceful here. I am
not bored," and he began writing an order for some books which he
wished to have sent from Paris.

{BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_36
                              CHAPTER 36
                              A Dungeon
-
                        The tomb of a friend.
                                           STERNE
-
  SUDDENLY he heard a noise in the corridor, though it was not the
time when visitors were admitted in the prison. An osprey flew away
shrieking. The door opened, and the venerable curate Chelan,
tremblingly leaning on his cane, entered and threw himself into his
arms.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_36 ^paragraph 5}
  "O good Lord! is it possible, my child? Wretch, I should say," and
the good man could not add another word.
  Julien, fearing he would fall, led him to a chair. The hand of
time had rested heavily on the good old man, who was formerly so
energetic. He appeared to Julien to be only a shadow of himself.
When he regained his breath, the old man said:
  "Day before yesterday, only, I received the letter from Strasburg
with your five hundred francs for the poor of Verrieres. It was
brought to me in the mountain at Liveru, where I have retired at my
nephew Jean's. Yesterday I learned the terrible news. O heaven! is
it possible?" The old man no longer wept, he seemed dumbfounded. He
added, mechanically: "You will need your five hundred francs here now;
take them."
  "I have need of you, my father," Julien cried, tenderly. "I have
other money"; but he could not obtain a satisfactory answer. From time
to time a tear trickled down M. Chelan's cheeks; then he would look at
Julien, almost overcome on seeing his hands kissed. That face formerly
so expressive of energy and noble sentiment now showed only the
deepest apathy. Soon a peasant came to fetch the good old man home.
  "He must not be tired out," he said to Julien, who recognized him as
the nephew.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_36 ^paragraph 10}
  This visit plunged Julien into the most cruel despair. He could
not even shed tears. Everything appeared to him hopelessly gloomy.
He felt the blood freeze in his veins.
  It was the most cruel moment he had yet experienced since committing
the crime; it revealed death to him in all its horrors. All his
thoughts of firmness and fortitude disappeared like a mist. And in
this cruel state he continued for several days. With such dejection he
had need of a physical stimulant. Julien thought himself a coward
for having recourse to it.
  At the end of a horrible day, spent walking to and fro in his narrow
cell, he cried out:
  "What a fool I am! I have got to die like everybody else. It is
the thought that I might die looking as the poor old man did that
has made me so downcast. But a quick death, in the flower of my youth,
puts me above such sad decrepitude."
  Yet with all his reasoning, Julien remained low-spirited and
wretched after that visit. There was no longer any rude, rugged
courage in him; no more of the Roman stoicism; death had seemed at a
greater height and less easy of reach.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_36 ^paragraph 15}
  "Now, this will be my thermometer," he said to himself. "This
evening I am ten degrees below the courage line with which I should go
to the guillotine; this morning I was up to the line. Oh, well! what's
the difference if it comes back to me at the last moment?" The idea of
a thermometer diverted his mind somewhat from his wretched condition.
  On awaking the next morning, he was ashamed of his feelings of the
preceding day. "My happiness and peace are at stake!" He resolved to
write to the Attorney-General to ask that no one be admitted to see
him. "And Fouque," he thought; "suppose he took it into his head to
come to Besancon, what would not be his disappointment!" For two
months, perhaps, he had not thought of Fouque.
  "I was such a fool in Strasburg, my thoughts did not go farther than
my coat collar."
  The thought of Fouque engrossed him now, and his heart became
tender. He walked about in great agitation. "Here I am now,
decidedly twenty degrees below the mark; if this weakness continues it
would be better if I killed myself. What joy for Maslon and Valenod if
I die a coward!"
  Fouque really came. That plain, good man was beside himself with
grief. His sole idea, if he had one, would have been to sell all he
had in order to bribe the warden and save Julien. He spoke for a
long time about the escape of de Lavalette.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_36 ^paragraph 20}
  "You make me feel bad," Julien said to him. "M. de Lavalette was
innocent; I am guilty. Without being aware of it, you made me think of
the difference. But is it really so? Really, you want to sell
everything you have?" asked Julien, becoming suddenly the critical
observer again.
  Fouque overjoyed at the thought of a consent on Julien's part, began
with the details, even to a hundred francs of what he would receive
from his various holdings.
  "What a sublime effort on the part of a bourgeois! What economy!
What little scrapings and savings! It makes me blush now when I see
him sacrifice everything for me! Would one of those handsome young men
whom I have seen at de la Mole's and who read Rene think of such a
ridiculous thing? Except those who are very young and had their
money left to them, who of those fine Parisians would make such a
sacrifice?" All of Fouque's shortcomings and coarseness disappeared
and Julien threw himself into his arms. Never had the provinces
received such homage from Paris. Fouque, wild over the enthusiasm
which he saw in his friend's eyes, took it for a consent to escape.
  This view of the sublime in human character restored to Julien all
the force which M. Chelan's visit had removed. Yes, he was still
young; if, instead of inviting him to cool judgment, old age had
only brought him emotion, he would have been cured of one misgiving.
  The examinations now came more frequently. "I have killed, or at
least wished to kill, with malice aforethought," he repeated every
day. But the judge was for the niceties of form above everything else.
Julien's declarations did not make the examinations any shorter and
only piqued the judge's pride. Julien did not know that an effort
was made to have him transferred to a horrible dungeon, and it was due
to Fouque's efforts that they left him in his little cell a hundred
and forty-eight steps above the ground.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_36 ^paragraph 25}
  Abbe de Frilaire was among the important men who gave Fouque
orders for wood. The good merchant even went so far as to call on
the grand vicar. To his great delight M. de Frilaire told him that,
touched by Julien's good qualities and by the services he had before
rendered at the seminary, he was thinking of speaking a good word
for him to the judges. Fouque saw a ray of hope for his friend, and
upon leaving bowed almost to the ground, begging the grand vicar to
distribute in Masses for Julien's acquittal the sum of ten louis.
  Fouque was greatly mistaken; M. de Frilaire was not a Valenod. The
abbe refused and tried to convince the good peasant that he would do
better to keep his money. Seeing that, short of imprudence, it was
impossible to make him clear on that point, he advised him to spend
that sum in gifts to the poor prisoners, who indeed were in need of
everything.
  "That Julien is a singular creature! His conduct is inexplicable,"
thought M. de Frilaire; "yet nothing should be so to me. Perhaps it
will be possible for him to become a martyr in this. At all events,
I will know the end of the whole affair and find perhaps the means
of holding Madame de Renal in my power. She does not care much for me;
indeed, at bottom, she detests me. Perhaps I can find some way of
becoming reconciled with M. de la Mole, who has a weakness for this
little seminarian."
  The trial had been placed on the calendar some weeks before.
Julien saw only one disagreeable thing: a possible visit from his
father. He consulted Fouque about writing to the Attorney-General to
be spared that visit. The horror which the prospective sight of his
father gave him just at this time was like a stab to the good honest
heart of the wood merchant. He could see then why so many people hated
his friend. Out of respect for his great trouble, he disguised his
thought as best he could.
  "Anyhow," he replied, coldly, "this order cannot be applied to
your father."

{BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_37
                              CHAPTER 37
                            A Powerful Man
-
    But there are so many mysteries in her gait and so much elegance
in her stature! Who can she be?
                                                        SCHILLER
-
  THE DOOR of his cell opened early the next morning, and Julien
woke up with a start. "Good God!" he thought, "that is my father! What
a terrible scene is coming!" At the same instant a woman dressed
peasant fashion threw herself into his arms. It was Mademoiselle de la
Mole. He could hardly recognize her.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_37 ^paragraph 5}
  "Cruel one! I knew only by your letter where you were. What you call
your crime, which is only a noble revenge, shows me more than ever the
courage that is in your heart. I did not know that in Verrieres-"
  Though he had tried to prevent Mademoiselle de la Mole from visiting
him, he found her now very attractive. Could anyone fail to see in her
manner, in her speech, this noble, disinterested love? Was she not far
above most women? He believed he was indeed loving a queen. After a
few moments he said, with rare eloquence:
  "The future is outlined very clearly before me. After my death,
you are Madame de Croisenois, my widow. The noble, romantic soul of
that widow, converted again to ideas of prudence by a singularly
tragic circumstance, will perhaps appreciate the real worth of the
young Marquis. You must yield to the happiness that is awaiting you
from the side of riches and high rank. But, dear Mathilde, your
arrival in Besancon, if it is at all suspected, will be a mortal
blow to M. de la Mole, and that is something I shall never forgive
myself. I have caused him enough grief. The Academician will say he
has warmed a snake on his hearth."
  "I must confess I did not expect such unfeeling reasoning from you,"
replied Mademoiselle de la Mole, half angry. "My maid is almost as
prudent as you are. I received a card of admission in her name and
have come here under the name of Madame Michelet."
  "And Madame Michelet could arrive so quickly here?"
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_37 ^paragraph 10}
  "Oh, you are always the superior man- the man that I have loved!
First, I have given a hundred francs to the judge's secretary, who
first said that admission was out of the question; but after receiving
the money the good man made me wait a while, then raised more
objections, until I thought I should be robbed here-" She stopped.
  "Well?" asked Julien.
  "Don't get angry, dear Julien," she pleaded, embracing him. "I was
obliged to tell my name to the secretary. He first took me for a young
shop woman in love with the handsome Julien. Indeed, he would not
let me in under any other condition. I swore to him that I am your
wife, and now I shall have permission to come and see you every day."
  "She is stark mad," thought Julien. "I could not have possibly
prevented her. After all, M. de la Mole is a great peer, and public
opinion will find a good excuse for a young Colonel who will marry
this charming widow. My death will hide everything, and he will give
himself up with delight to Mathilde's charms. It is the daring of a
great soul. Most singular!"
  She earnestly pleaded that they should commit suicide together.
After she had become somewhat calm and had her fill of looking at
Julien, she became all at once possessed by curiosity. She looked
her lover all over as if she were trying to find something that she
had imagined in him. Yes, Boniface de la Mole seemed to be resurrected
in him, but of more heroic mould!
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_37 ^paragraph 15}
  Mathilde engaged the best lawyers in the district. These, indeed,
were at first offended by her extravagant offers, but they
eventually yielded. She discovered this fact: that all doubtful
affairs in Besancon were in M. de Frilaire's balance. Under her
obscure name of Michelet she had at first found insurmountable
difficulties to gain an audience of this all-powerful Congregationist,
but the rumor of the beauty and of the charm of the "modiste" who
had come all the way from Paris to console the young abbe, Julien
Sorel, spread rapidly throughout the town.
  Mathilde walked alone through the streets of Besancon, hoping that
she would not thus be recognized. At all events, she did not think
it would be damaging to his cause to produce a great impression upon
the people. Mademoiselle de la Mole believed that she was plainly
dressed, as becomes a sorrowing woman, but not plainly enough to avoid
attracting great attention. She had gained considerable notice when,
after a week's trial, she obtained an audience of M. de Frilaire.
  With all her courage, her ideas of the influential Congregationist
were so linked with prudent knavery that she trembled when she rang
the door-bell. She could hardly walk when she was told to go up the
stairway to the grand vicar's apartments.
  The solitude in the Episcopal palace chilled her. "I might be
sitting here in the chair and all at once I might be seized and made
away with! For whom could my maid ask? The gendarme captain would be
very slow. Indeed, I am lost in this great city."
  After looking round the apartment Mademoiselle de la Mole became
more reassured. A valet in fine livery had opened the door for her.
The waiting-room was furnished with much delicate luxury, quite
different from the coarse magnificence of some of the best houses in
Paris. When she saw M. de Frilaire with his paternal look coming
toward her, all ideas of the crime disappeared. She did not even
find in his handsome face the imprint of that energetic, rugged virtue
which is so antagonistic to Parisian society. The covert smile that
played on the features of the man who was all powerful in Besancon,
announced a man of the world- the learned prelate and prudent
administrator. Mathilde thought she was in Paris. It required only a
few minutes for Mathilde to declare to him that she was the daughter
of his powerful opponent, the Marquis de la Mole.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_37 ^paragraph 20}
  "Indeed, I am not Madame Michelet," she declared, assuming her proud
tone, "and I don't care if I make this confession. I have come to
consult you, monsieur, about the possibility of having an acquittal
secured for M. de la Vernaye. In the first place, he is guilty only of
a blunder. The woman at whom he shot is doing well. In the second
place, I can immediately dispose of fifty thousand francs and
promise twice as much again. Finally, my own gratitude and that of
my entire family will find nothing impossible for any one who saves M.
de la Vernaye."
  M. de Frilaire appeared astonished at hearing the name. Mathilde
showed him several letters from the Minister of War addressed to M.
Julien Sorel de la Vernaye.
  "You see, monsieur, my father has charged himself with his
welfare. We have had a clandestine marriage. My father desires that he
shall become a superior officer before announcing a marriage which
might be deemed rather singular for a de la Mole."
  Mathilde noticed that the kind and benevolent expression in the abbe
disappeared as he became more and more interested. Shrewd hypocrisy
was plainly visible on his face now.
  The abbe had his doubts, and so he read again the official
documents. "What advantage can I gain from such a strange confidence?"
he asked himself "Here I am all at once in close relation with a
friend of the celebrated Marechale de Fervaques, the niece of the
all-powerful Bishop X__, who may appoint anyone Bishop of France. What
I was looking for in the distant future presents itself immediately
under my eyes. This may bring me to the realization of my fondest
hopes!"
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_37 ^paragraph 25}
  At first Mathilde was frightened to see the change of expression
in the face of the influential man. "But, indeed," she said to
herself, "the worst thing would have been if I had not made an
impression on this egotistical priest, puffed up as he is with power
and wealth."
  M. de Frilaire, dazzled by the view of the rapid road to the
Episcopacy, and, moreover, astonished by Mathilde's intelligence,
was for a moment off his guard. Mademoiselle de la Mole almost had him
at her feet, trembling with ambition.
  "It is all clear now," she thought. "Nothing is impossible here
for a friend of Madame de Fervaques." In spite of her jealousy she had
the courage to explain that Julien was an intimate friend of the
Marechale and had met at her house Bishop X. almost every day.
  "When they draw four or five panels for a list of thirty-six
jurors among the titled citizens of the department," said the grand
vicar, slowly measuring his words, "I should consider myself a bad
guesser if in each list I could not count on eight or ten friends
who are the most intelligent of the lot. Almost always I shall have
a majority over those voting for a death penalty. You see,
mademoiselle, with what ease I can relieve you of all your trouble-"
  The abbe stopped all at once, surprised at his own words. He was
telling things that should never be told to the laity. But in his turn
he stupefied Mathilde when he informed her that what astonished and
interested the Besancon public most of all in this strange affair
was that Julien had inspired such a passion in Madame de Renal. M.
de Frilaire saw quickly how much pain he gave her by his account.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_37 ^paragraph 30}
  "I have the advantage now!" he thought. "At least I have a means
of turning this headstrong person to my purpose. I was fearful that
I might not succeed." The distinguished, decisive air increased in his
eyes the charm of the rare beauty which he saw almost suppliant before
him. Regaining his sang-froid, he did not hesitate to turn the knife
in her heart. "I should not be surprised, after all," he said,
lightly, "if you learn that M. Sorel had shot this woman, whom he
formerly loved so much, through sheer jealousy. Indeed, there may be
some truth in that; for a long time she was visiting a certain abbe
Marquinot from Dijon, a sort of an immoral Jansenist, like all the
rest."
  M. de Frilaire delighted in this torture of the pretty girl, in whom
he had found the weak spot. "Why," he said, looking at Mathilde's
brilliant eyes, "why should M. Sorel have chosen the Church, if it was
not because at that very moment his rival was celebrating Mass?
Everybody gives the man whom you think of so much great credit for
intelligence and prudence. Would it not have been much simpler for him
to hide himself in M. de Renal's garden, with which he is so familiar,
with the greatest certainty of being neither seen nor seized, nor even
suspected? He could there have given the mortal blow to the woman of
whom he was jealous."
  Such reasoning, apparently irrefutable, made Mathilde almost
beside herself. That strong spirit, passing in high society as the
reflex of the true human heart, could not appreciate the pleasure of
such sneering at prudence. In the society in which Mathilde moved in
Paris passion very seldom went beyond the range of prudence, and it
was only from the fifth story that people ever threw themselves out of
the window.
  Abbe de Frilaire was now sure of having her in his power. He gave
Mathilde to understand that he could influence the magistrates who
were charged with sustaining the prosecution. After the panel was
drawn he could approach directly and personally thirty out of the
thirty-six jurors. If Mathilde had not appeared so pretty to M. de
Frilaire he would not have talked to her so plainly before the fifth
or sixth interview.

{BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_38
                              CHAPTER 38
                               Intrigue
-
    Castres, 1676.- A brother just killed his sister in the house next
to mine; this gentleman was already guilty of a murder. By having five
hundred ecus secretly distributed to the counsellors, his father saved
his life.
                                         LOCKE, Voyage to France
-
  WHEN SHE LEFT the Bishop's house, Mathilde did not hesitate to
send a courier to Madame de Fervaques. The fear of compromising
herself did not stop her for an instant; she begged her rival to get a
letter for M. de Frilaire, written in the Bishop's own handwriting.
She even begged her to go herself to Besancon. That was indeed
heroic on the part of a jealous and proud girl.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_38 ^paragraph 5}
  Following Fouque's advice, she was prudent enough not to tell Julien
of what she was doing. Her presence alone was sufficiently distracting
to him. More sincere at the approach of death than he had ever been in
his life, he felt remorse not only with respect to M. de la Mole,
but also as regards Mathilde.
  "How is it," he asked himself, "that I feel so happy and yet wearied
in her presence? She loses everything for me, and this is the way I
pay her back! Am I indeed a wretch?" The question would have
disconcerted him when he was ambitious; then his only shame would have
been not to succeed.
  His position with respect to Mathilde was the more painful to him
since he inspired in her every moment the most extraordinary love
imaginable. She could only speak of the strange sacrifices which she
proposed to make in order to save him.
  Carried away by the feeling that extinguished all her pride, she did
not wish to pass a single moment without doing something unheard of
for him. The strangest and most perilous projects filled her
conversations with him. The wardens, who were well paid, gave her
the freedom of the jail. Mathilde was not content with the sacrifice
of her reputation; it was nothing to her to have her affair made known
to society. To ask pardon for Julien on her knees before the King's
carriage, to invite the Prince's attention at the risk of being
overwhelmed with contempt, was the least of the chimeras that
crowded her imagination. With friends of hers near the King, she was
sure of being admitted in the private grounds of Saint-Cloud!
  Julien was aware that he was not worthy of such devotion. Indeed, he
was becoming distraught by such heroism. He was sensible only of a
simple and obscure tenderness; while, on the other hand, in Mathilde's
proud soul, the idea of a public entered as an essential element. For,
in the midst of all her anguish, in the midst of all her fears for
Julien's life, which she did not wish to survive, she had a secret
satisfaction in astonishing the public by her great love and
extraordinary devotion. Julien was growing angry with himself at not
being touched by such heroism. He would have been more touched than
ever if he had known with what madness Mathilde was assailing the
devoted but eminently reasonable Fouque. This one saw a good deal that
he could blame in Mathilde's devotion; as for himself, he would have
sacrificed everything he had in the world and risked his life a
hundred times for Julien's sake. He was overwhelmed by the quantity of
gold that Mathilde threw away right and left. During the first few
days the sum thus spent was stupefying to Fouque, who had all the
provincial veneration for gold; but he discovered that Mademoiselle de
la Mole's projects changed frequently; and to his own relief he
found a word that characterized such foolish actions- she was
fickle. That epithet is only one remove from blockhead- the
severest censure in the province.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_38 ^paragraph 10}
  "Strange," said Julien to himself, as she left the jail one day,
"that such a passion, of which I am the object, leaves me so cold, and
two months ago I worshipped her! I have frequently read that with
the approach of death a man loses interest in everything; but it is
horrible to think that one is ungrateful, without the ability of
changing! Am I, then, such an egoist?" He experienced the most
humiliating self-reproach.
  Ambition was dead in his heart, but another passion arose from its
ashes. It was remorse, he thought, for having attempted to murder
Madame de Renal. Indeed, he had the greatest love for that woman. He
was singularly happy when, left alone and fearing no interruption,
he could give himself up entirely to thoughts of the happy days he had
passed in Verrieres and in Vergy. The slightest incident connected
with those days- alas, only too swiftly passed!- had irresistible
charm for him. He never gave a thought to his brilliant career in
Paris; that, indeed, bored him. This trait, becoming accentuated
from day to day, was partly guessed at by Mathilde. She clearly saw
that she had to struggle with an inordinate love of solitude.
Sometimes she would pronounce with evident terror Madame de Renal's
name, and then she would see Julien tremble. Then her passion would
become immeasurable.
  "When he dies, I will not survive him a moment," she would say to
herself. "What will they say in the Paris drawing-rooms when they
see a girl of my rank worshipping a man on the brink of execution?
To appreciate such a feeling we must go back to heroic times. It is
like the loves that inflamed hearts in the days of Charles IX and
Henry III." In the midst of these reflections the horrible thought
would come, as she pressed Julien's head to her breast: "Oh, this
charming head must soon drop! Well," she would add, spurred on by
generous heroism, "my lips, which are now kissing his pretty hair,
will be cold twenty-four hours later." These moments of abandon and
passion attached her to Julien as she had never been before. The
idea of suicide, which now took possession of her- formerly so far
removed from her heart- now urged her on, ruling her with
irrepressible force. "No, the blood of my ancestors has not become
thinned in me," Mathilde would say to herself with pride.
  "I have a favor to ask of you," said her lover to her one day.
"Let your child be nursed in Verrieres. Madame de Renal will see to
its nursing."
  "What you ask is indeed hard," replied Mathilde, turning pale.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_38 ^paragraph 15}
  "Yes, and I ask your pardon a thousand times!" cried Julien,
emerging out of his reverie and pressing her in his arms.
  After drying his tears, he came back to his first thought, but a
little more circumspectly. He had given a tone of melancholy
philosophy to his conversation. He spoke of that future which would
soon be closed to him. "Indeed, my darling, passion is an accident
in life; but that accident cannot occur except to superior hearts.
My child's death would no doubt be the greatest piece of good
fortune for your family. Neglect alone would be the fate of that child
of misery and shame. I trust some day- which I do not want to fix, but
which I clearly see- you will follow my instructions to the letter:
that you will marry the Marquis de Croisenois."
  "What, disgraced as I am?"
  "Dishonor cannot overtake a name like yours. You will be a widow,
and the widow of a madman. That is all. I'll go farther. My crime,
since it was not instigated by love of money, cannot be a disgrace.
Perhaps at that time some philosophical legislator will effect the
abolition of capital punishment. Then some friendly voice will say,
for example: 'See, Mademoiselle de la Mole's first husband was mad,
but not a criminal! It was shameful to cut off his head.' Then my
memory will not be infamous, at least not after a little time has
elapsed. Your position in the world, your fortune, and, permit me to
add, your character, will enable M. de Croisenois, after he becomes
a husband, to play a part in the world which he could not obtain
himself. He has only birth and courage; and these qualities, which
would have made a man in 1729, become an anachronism a century later
and are fruitful only of pretensions. There is something else
necessary to place oneself at the head of young France. You will bring
as an aid to him a firm and initiative character to the political
party to which your husband will belong. You might succeed the
Chevreuses and the Longuevilles of the Fronde. But then, darling,
the divine spark which animates you now may be extinguished! Let me
also say," he added, "in fifteen years you will look back upon your
love for me as an excusable folly, but nevertheless a folly." He
stopped all at once, lost in reverie. He again had those ideas that
were so distasteful to Mathilde. "In fifteen years Madame de Renal
will adore my boy, and you will have forgotten him!"

{BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_39
                              CHAPTER 39
                             Tranquillity
-
    It is because I was foolish then that I am wise today. O
philosopher who sees only what is instantaneous, how shortsighted
you are! Your eye is not made for following the subterranean work of
the passions.
                                                     MME. GOETHE
-
  THE CONVERSATION was cut short by an official examination, which was
followed by a conference with the attorney charged with his defense.
Those were the only disagreeable moments in a life that was full of
tender reveries. "There was a murder and premeditated murder," said
Julien to the judge as well as to his attorney. "I am sorry,
gentlemen," he added, smiling; "but it makes the matter a little
less complicated."
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_39 ^paragraph 5}
  "Indeed," Julien said to himself, when the two men left him, "I must
be brave, and apparently braver than these two men. They look upon the
matter as the greatest evil, the very prince of horrors; and yet I
will not concern myself about it until the time comes. That is because
I have known a greater misfortune," continued Julien,
philosophizing; "I suffered much more on my first trip to Strasburg,
when I thought that Mathilde had abandoned me; and yet to think I
desired the intimacy with so much passion which leaves me so cold
to-day! Indeed, I am much happier alone than when that pretty girl
is with me."
  The attorney, a man of great formality, really believed him mad,
thinking, like the public, that it was jealousy that put a pistol in
his hand. One day he ventured to tell Julien that this idea, whether
true or false, would make an excellent plea. But the prisoner could
show only contempt and anger. "Not on your life, monsieur, cried
Julien, beside himself, "must you think of such an abominable lie!"
The prudent advocate was for a moment afraid of personal injury.
  He prepared his case. The fateful day was fast approaching. Besancon
and the entire department could speak only of that cause celebre.
Julien was indifferent to this detail and begged to be spared all
reference to it.
  That day, as Fouque and Mathilde came to inform him of what the
public was saying, being, as it seemed to them, very favorable, he
stopped them abruptly by saying:
  "Leave me my ideal. The petty chicaneries, the little details you
bring here from real life, draw me away from my heaven; they run
counter to my heart. One should die the best way he can. As for
myself, I want to think of death only in my own way. What do I care
for others? My relations with others are to be abruptly cut short.
Please don't talk to me about them; it is enough to have to see the
judge and the attorney.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_39 ^paragraph 10}
  "Really," he then began to muse, "It appears that it is my destiny
to die dreaming. An obscure person like myself, sure of being
forgotten in a fortnight, would indeed be a fool to enact a comedy
now. Strange, I haven't known how to enjoy life until I see my end
so close!"
  He passed his last days walking to and fro in the narrow corridor on
the top floor of the prison, smoking excellent cigars, which
Mathilde had ordered from Holland by a courier. He was not aware
that all the field-glasses in town were daily ranged to see him
appear. His mind was far away in Vergy. He never spoke of Madame de
Renal to Fouque, but two or three times his friend told him that she
was rapidly recovering. The news fairly mastered his soul.
  While Julien dwelt almost entirely in the realms of ideas, Mathilde,
occupied with real things, as is proper for an aristocratic person,
advanced so well the relations between Madame de Fervaques and M. de
Frilaire through direct correspondence, that there was already a
suggestion of the Episcopate.
  The venerable prelate, who controlled the list of livings, added
in a postscript to a letter to his niece: "This poor Sorel has only
been foolish; I hope we shall get him back."
  On receiving these lines M. de Frilaire was beside himself with joy.
He no longer had any doubts as to saving Julien.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_39 ^paragraph 15}
  "If it weren't for this Jacobin law, which provides for a long
panel, and which has for its only aim to remove all influence from
people of quality," he said to Mathilde, before the list of the
thirty-six jurors was drawn up for the session, "I could answer for
the verdict. It was I who saw to it that the curate N. was
acquitted."
  Next day M. de Frilaire found with pleasure that among the names
drawn from the panel there were five Congregationists from Besancon,
and among the others the names of Valenod, de Moirod, and de Cholin.
"I can answer for these eight jurors," he said to Mathilde. "The first
five are machine men. Valenod is my agent; Moirod owes everything to
me; de Cholin is an imbecile, afraid of everybody."
  A list of the jurors was published in the newspapers, and Madame
de Renal, to her husband's great horror, wished to go to Besancon. All
that he could obtain from her was that she would not leave her bed, so
as not to have the disagreeable duty of being summoned as a witness.
"You don't understand my position," said the ex-Mayor of Verrieres. "I
am now a Liberal from defection, as they call it. No doubt, that
rascal of a Valenod or M. de Frilaire would see to it with the
prosecuting attorney about making the affair as disagreeable to me
as possible."
  Madame de Renal soon submitted to her husband's wishes. "For if I
appeared at the assizes," she said to herself, "I should appear I came
for revenge." In spite of all her promises to be prudent, which she
made to her confessor and to her husband, she wrote with her own hand,
when scarcely arrived at Besancon, the following letter to each of the
thirty-six jurors:
  "I will not appear at the trial, because my presence might be
prejudicial to M. Sorel. I only wish one thing, and that ardently:
that he might be saved. You must know that the horrible idea of an
innocent man being sentenced to death on my account would no doubt
poison and shorten the rest of my life. How can you sentence him to
death since I am alive? No, society has not the right to take away a
life and, such as Julien Sorel's! Everybody at Verrieres has known him
to have had moments of aberration. True, the poor young man has a
great many enemies. But even among his enemies is there one who does
not appreciate his admirable talents and his profound learning? It
is not an ordinary person on whom you are going to pass sentence,
monsieur. For eighteen months we have all known him as a pious,
good, industrious young man; but two or three times a year he would be
seized with a fit of melancholy that would drive him almost to
insanity. All Verrieres; all our neighbors in Vergy, where we spend
the summer season; my whole family, and the sub-prefect himself,
will bear testimony to his exemplary piety. He knows the whole Bible
by heart. Would a wicked man spend years in studying the Holy Book? My
sons will have the honor of presenting this letter to you. They are
children. Please question them, monsieur; they will give you details
about this young man that will convince you of the barbarity of
sentencing him to death. Far from avenging me, it would kill me.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_39 ^paragraph 20}
  "What can his enemies say? The wound inflicted in a fit of temporary
insanity, which even my children remarked in their tutor, is so
slight, that in less than two months I have been enabled to travel
from Verrieres to Besancon. If I learn, monsieur, that you hesitate to
apply such a barbarous law to an innocent man, I will leave my bed,
where I remain only in obedience to my husband's wishes, and come to
embrace your knees. Declare, monsieur, please, that premeditation
has not been proved, and you will not have occasion to reproach
yourself for having shed innocent blood!"

{BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_40
                              CHAPTER 40
                             The Judgment
-
    The country will long remember this celebrated trial. Interest
in the accused was brought to the point of agitation: it is that his
crime was astonishing, yet not heinous. Even if it had been, this
young man was so handsome! His great fortune, which had come to an end
so soon, augmented the pity. "Will they condemn him?" the women
asked of the men they knew, and we saw them grow pale as they waited
for an answer.
                                                    SAINTE-BEUVE
-
  THE DAY of trial came that was dreaded alike by Madame de Renal
and Mathilde. The strange appearance of the town redoubled their
terror. Even the phlegmatic soul of Fouque was touched. The whole
province had flocked to Besancon to witness the trial amid such
romantic circumstances. For several days, already, there was no room
to be had at any of the inns. The judge of the assizes had been
assailed by requests for tickets of admission; for all the women in
town wished to be present at the trial. In the street, pictures of
Julien were in great demand. Mathilde held in reserve, as a last
resort, a letter written entirely by the Bishop de X. That prelate,
who directed the affairs of the Church in France, and controlled the
appointment of the Bishops, had agreed to ask for Julien's
acquittal. The day before the trial Mathilde brought the letter to the
all-powerful grand vicar.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_40 ^paragraph 5}
  At the conclusion of the interview, M. de Frilaire, half-moved
himself, laid aside his diplomatic reserve, and said to Mathilde, just
as she had burst into tears: "I can answer for the verdict. Among
the twelve persons charged with ascertaining if your protege's crime
is habitual, and, above all, if there was any premeditation, I can
count on six who are devoted to me. And I have given them to
understand that it depends upon them whether I shall one day mount
to the Episcopacy. Baron Valenod, whom I have made Mayor of Verrieres,
controls two of his officials- de Moirod and de Cholin. True, chance
has given us in this affair two jurors whose views are rather queer.
But although ultra-Liberal, they are true to me in all matters of
weight, and I have asked them to vote like Valenod. I have learned
that the sixth juror, an immensely wealthy manufacturer and Liberal,
aspires to an office under the Ministry of War, and no doubt he is not
desirous of acting contrary to my wishes. I have given him to
understand that M. de Valenod is my representative."
  "And who is this M. Valenod?" asked Mathilde, uneasily.
  "If you knew him, you would not have the least doubt about our
success. He is a bold, impudent, coarse fool, a born leader of
fools. In 1814 he was poor, and now I am going to make him a
prefect; he is capable of striking the other jurors if they do not
vote to suit him."
  Mathilde was not altogether reassured. Another conference took place
in the evening. Julien had resolved not to say a word in defence, in
order not to prolong a disagreeable scene of which the result seemed
to him only too certain. "My lawyer will speak," he said to
Mathilde. "As it is, I shall be exposed only too long to the sight
of my enemies. These rich provincials are sour over the progress I owe
to you, and, believe me, there is not one of them but desires my
death, even though he may shed tears like a fool when I am executed."
  "They want to see you humiliated; that is only too true," replied
Mathilde; "but they are not cruel. My presence in Besancon and my
distress have interested all the women. Your face will do the rest. If
you only say a word before the judges, everybody will be with you."
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_40 ^paragraph 10}
  Next day at nine o'clock, when Julien walked down from the jail to
go to the court-house, the guard succeeded only with difficulty in
making way for him through the crowd that were massed in the hall.
Julien, after a good night's rest, was self-composed. He only had a
feeling of pity for that vast crowd, who, without intending the
least cruelty, would, he thought, applaud a verdict for death. He
was greatly surprised when, after a quarter of an hour in the midst of
the crowd, he was obliged to recognize the fact that the public had
only pity for him. Not one unfavorable word reached his ears. "These
provincials are less bloodthirsty than I thought," he said to himself.
He was impressed by the appearance of the court-room, which was in
real Gothic style; all around there were pretty little stone
columns, gracefully carved. He thought he was in England.
  Soon his attention was attracted to a dozen handsome women who
filled the balcony over the places reserved for judges and jury,
opposite the prisoner's dock. Running his eyes over the crowd, he
saw that the space behind the railing to the rear was entirely
filled with women. Most of them seemed young and handsome; and their
eyes, he thought, were alive with interest. An immense crowd filled
the rest of the hall. At the doors they were fighting for admission,
and the guards could hardly maintain silence. When all eyes were
turned to the accused, as he stood in the dock on a slight
elevation, he was received with looks of astonishment and tender
interest.
  One might have thought he was not twenty years of age. He was
dressed simply but neatly. His hair and brow were indeed charming.
Mathilde, herself, wished to superintend his dress for the occasion.
He was indeed extremely pale. Hardly seated, he heard on all sides:
"Lord, how young he is!" "My, he is only a boy!" "He looks even better
than his picture!"
  "Defendant," said the gendarme to him, on his right, in a friendly
tone; "you see the ten ladies who are in the balcony?" pointing to a
little place alongside the part occupied by the jurors, "that's the
prefect's wife, and right near her is the Marquise de M. She takes a
great deal of interest in you. I heard her speak to the judge. Then
right beside her is Madame Derville."
  "Madame Derville!" cried Julien, blushing. "When she leaves here,"
he thought, "she will write to Madame de Renal." He did not know of
Madame de Renal's arrival in Besancon.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_40 ^paragraph 15}
  The witnesses quickly gave their testimony. As soon as the
prosecuting attorney commenced, two women in the gallery opposite
Julien burst into tears. "Madame Derville is not moved like that!"
thought Julien. He noticed, however, that her face was flushed.
  The prosecutor spoke pathetically, in bad French, of the barbarity
of the crime, and Julien observed that Madame Derville's neighbors
seemed to disapprove of it. Several jurors, who were evidently
acquainted with these ladies, spoke to them, seeming to reassure them.
"That isn't a bad sign," thought Julien.
  Up to this point, Julien seemed to have only contempt for the men
who were in the courtroom. The vapid eloquence of the prosecuting
attorney served only to increase it. However, Julien's apathy
disappeared when he noticed the interest that was taken in him. He was
well pleased with the firm look of his attorney. "No wind now!" he
said to the latter, as he arose to speak.
  "All the eloquence that was taken from Bossuet will only help
you," replied his lawyer. In truth, he had not spoken five minutes
when all the women were nervously fingering their handkerchiefs.
Encouraged by this, the lawyer continued with even greater emphasis.
Julien was greatly moved, feeling as if he were about to burst into
tears. "Good Lord, what will my enemies say!" He was about to give way
to his emotion, when he surprised a scowling look on Baron Valenod.
"That fool's eyes are glittering!" he said to himself. "What a triumph
for that despicable soul! If my crime would have led only to this, I
should have cursed him! God knows what he will tell Madame de Renal
about me!"
  That thought made him insensible to everything else; but he was
recalled to himself by the evident marks of public sympathy. The
attorney had just finished. Julien thought that it was proper he
should shake hands with him.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_40 ^paragraph 20}
  Time had passed quickly, and the attorney and the defendant received
some refreshment. Julien was struck by one circumstance: not a woman
had left her place to go to dinner.
  "Lord, I am just dying of hunger," said the lawyer; "aren't you?"
  "Yes," replied Julien.
  "Look, there is the prefect's wife, who has had her dinner brought
to her," said the lawyer, pointing to the little balcony. "Now,
cheer up; everything is going all right," he said, as the case was
resumed.
  It was midnight when the judge of the assizes summed up the case. He
was obliged to stop; the sound of the clock sounded ominously in the
midst of the silence and anxiety.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_40 ^paragraph 25}
  "There is the beginning of my last day," thought Julien. He was soon
seized by his idea of duty. Up to this point, he had mastered his
emotion and kept to his resolution not to speak; but when the judge of
the assizes asked him if he had anything to say, he arose. He saw
before him Madame Derville's eyes, shining brilliantly in the light.
"Is she crying on my account?" he asked himself.
  "Gentlemen of the jury," he said, "I can brave contempt now, and I
will speak. Gentlemen, I have not the honor of belonging to your
class; you see in me only a peasant who rebelled against the lowliness
of his station.
  "I ask no favor of you," continued Julien, firmly; "I am not
deceiving myself. Death is awaiting me, and that will be just. I
have made an attempt on the life of a woman who was worthy of the
highest respect and consideration. Madame de Renal was like a mother
to me. My crime is atrocious, for it was premeditated; I therefore
deserve death, gentlemen of the jury. But if I should appear less
culpable, I see men here who, without stopping to think of any
allowance to be made for youth, would like to punish and discourage
forever, through me, a class of young men who, born in a lowly station
in life and borne down by poverty have the good fortune of becoming
well educated, and have dared to mix up with what the pride of the
rich calls 'society.'
  "That is my crime, gentlemen, and I shall be punished with a greater
severity, since I am not judged by my peers. I do not see on the
juror's bench any rich peasant, but only bourgeois who are feeling
they have been outraged."
  In that strain Julien spoke for twenty minutes. He said everything
that weighed on his heart. The prosecuting attorney, who was eager for
aristocratic favor, bounded from his seat. In spite of the
abstractness of Julien's speech, all the women were in tears. Madame
Derville herself was holding her handkerchief to her eyes. Before
concluding, Julien came back to his criminal intention, to his
repentance of the act, and to his respect and almost filial
adoration which in the happy days he had for Madame de Renal. Madame
Derville gave a cry and fainted away.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_40 ^paragraph 30}
  One o'clock struck when the jurors retired. Not a single woman had
left the place. Even men had tears in their eyes. The conversation was
first animated, but gradually, as the verdict of the jury was long
in coming, the strain of the people present produced an ominous quiet.
It was a solemn moment. The very light seemed dimmer than usual.
Julien, worn out with trouble, was hearing the question discussed by
his side whether the delay was a good or a bad sign. It gave him
pleasure to find that he had the good wishes of everyone. The jury did
not come back, and yet not a single woman had left the hall.
  When two o'clock struck there was a general movement in the
courtroom. The door of the jurors' room was opened, and Baron
Valenod advanced theatrically, followed by the rest of the jurors.
He coughed a little, then declared that on their soul and conscience
the jury found it as their unanimous verdict that Julien Sorel was
guilty of murder, and of murder with criminal intent. That verdict
meant a death sentence, and, soon after, that was pronounced. Julien
looked at his watch, thinking of M. de Lavalette. It was a
quarter-past two. "To-day is Friday," he thought. "Yes, but this is
a happy day for this Valenod who has condemned me. I am too closely
watched to be saved by Mathilde, as Madame de Lavalette had done. So
in three days, at this very hour, I will know what is in store for
me in the great hereafter."
  Just then he heard a cry that recalled him to his mundane existence.
The women all around him were sobbing. He saw that all faces were
turned to a little balcony built around the capital of one of the
Gothic pillars. He found out later that Mathilde had hidden herself
there. As the cry was not renewed, everybody turned to Julien again,
for whom the guards were trying to make a way through the crowd.
  "I must try not to give this rascally Valenod an occasion for
triumph," said Julien to himself. "With what a contrite and humble air
he delivered that verdict that has sent death to me! And yet this poor
judge, on the bench for so many years, had tears in his eyes, even
while he was sentencing me. What a joy for Valenod to revenge
himself for our former rivalry about Madame de Renal! I shall not
see her again, that is certain. A last farewell is impossible for
us; I feel it. How happy I should be to tell her what horror my
crime has caused me."
  He kept on repeating the words: "I have been justly condemned."

{BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_41
                              CHAPTER 41
-
  WHEN HE WAS led back to the jail, he was brought into the
condemned cell. Though ordinarily attentive to every little
circumstance, he was not aware that he was not led back to his usual
cell. He was thinking what he would say to Madame de Renal if he
were fortunate enough to see her before the end came. He thought
that she might interrupt him, as he would strive at the very first
word to describe his repentance of his act. After such a deed, how
could I persuade her that I love her alone? For really, did I not want
to kill her from ambition and my love for Mathilde? When he retired,
he saw that the curtains were of a rough texture. Then his eyes told
him the truth. "Ah, I am in the condemned cell. That is right. Count
Altamira has told me that before his execution Danton said in his loud
voice: 'It is singular how the verb guillotine cannot be conjugated in
all the tenses.' You can say, 'I shall be guillotined,' 'Thou wilt
be guillotined,' but not, 'I have been guillotined.'
  "Why not," Julien mused, "if there is another life? My God, if I
meet the Christian God, I am damned forever; for he is a tyrant, and
as such, he is moved only by thoughts of revenge. His Bible tells only
of fearful punishment. I have never loved him; I have never even
wished that he should be loved sincerely. He is pitiless!" and he
recalled several passages from the Bible. "He will punish me cruelly!
  "But suppose I find the God of Fenelon? He will tell me, perhaps:
'Much wilt thou be forgiven, because thou hast much loved.' Have I
loved much? Yes, I have loved Madame de Renal, but I have been so
cruel to her! See, there as elsewhere, simple, modest worth was
abandoned for tinsel!
  "But what a perspective! A Colonel of Hussars if there had been war;
Secretary of Legation in peace; then Ambassador; for I should have
known how to get on. And even I were only a fool, could Marquis de
la Mole's son-in-law fear any rival? All my stupidity would have
been pardoned, or, rather, thought clever. I should have been a man of
importance, enjoying the greatest life in Vienna and London.
  "Not so fast; softly, monsieur! The guillotine in three days!"
Julien laughed outright at his own thoughts. "In truth," he thought,
"a man has two personalities in him. Who the devil would think of this
malign reflection? Well, my friend, the guillotine in three days!"
he said to his "other self." "M. de Cholin will hire a window together
with abbe Maslon. Of course, one of these worthy personages will steal
the price of that window from the other."
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_41 ^paragraph 5}
  Then this passage of Rotrou's "Venceslas" occurred to him all at
once:
-
  Ladislas.- My soul is prepared.
  The King (father of Ladislas)- The scaffold is also ready. Take
your head there.
-
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_41 ^paragraph 10}
  "Not a bad answer!" he thought, as he fell asleep.
  Someone awoke him in the morning with a pressure of the hand.
  "What, already!" Julien said, opening his sunken eyes. He thought he
was in the hands of the executioner.
  It was Mathilde. "Happily," he thought, "she has never understood
me;" and that thought made him self-collected again. Mathilde looked
as if she had been sick for six months; he could hardly recognize her.
  "That infamous Frilaire was a traitor," she said, wringing her
hands; and she could not continue.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_41 ^paragraph 15}
  "Didn't I do well yesterday, when I spoke?" asked Julien; "it was
extempore, and the first time in my life, too! True, I had a fear that
it was the last." At that moment, Julien played on Mathilde's feelings
with as much self-possession as a pianist on the keys. "The
advantage of noble birth illustrates my weakness. True," he added,
"but Mathilde's soul has raised her lover to her level. Do you believe
that Boniface de la Mole appeared better before his judges?"
  That day Mathilde was pathetically tender, like a poor girl in an
attic; but she could not get the simplest word out of him. He
tormented her in the same way he often did before.
  "Nothing is known of the sources of the Nile," Julien was saying
to himself "It has not been given to the eye of man to see the king of
rivers in its state as a simple stream. So no human eye will ever
see Julien weak; it is because he is not weak. But I am easily
touched; the simplest word, uttered without affectation, can make my
voice falter and bring tears to my eyes. How often those dry and
apathetic souls have despised me for this weakness! They thought
that I would ask for clemency; that's what they could not bear!
  "It is said that Danton at the foot of the scaffold was moved by
thoughts of his wife; but Danton had given strength to a nation of
coxcombs and prevented the enemy from reaching Paris. I alone know
what I could have done; all the rest- they know me only at best as a
possibility.
  "If Madame de Renal were here in my cell, in place of Mathilde,
could I answer for myself? My great despair and my repentance would
appear in Valenod's eyes and the rest of the patricians as a
cowardly fear of death; their weak little hearts are so proud that
their pecuniary position puts them above temptation. 'See what it is,'
de Moirod and de Cholin may have said, who have condemned me to death,
'to be a carpenter's son!' One may become prudent, educated; but the
heart never learns. Even with poor Mathilde, who is crying now, or,
rather, who cannot cry any more," he said, looking at her red eyes. He
pressed her in his arms. The sight of real grief made him forget his
cool reasoning. "She has cried, perhaps, all night; but one day how
ashamed she will be to think of it all! She will look back upon
herself as a young, misguided girl who had ignoble thoughts about a
plebeian. De Croisenois is weak enough to marry her, and, really, he
would do well; she would give him a role to play,
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_41 ^paragraph 20}
-
        "'Du droit qu'un esprit ferme et vaste en ses desseins
          A sur l'esprit grossier des vulgaires humains.'
-
  "Oh, yes, that's pleasant. Since I am going to die, all the verses I
ever learned in my life come back to me. It may be a symptom of the
end."
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_41 ^paragraph 25}
  Mathilde said, in a choking voice: "He is there in the next room."
He really listened to her then. "Her voice is so weak," he thought,
"yet her whole imperious character is heard in it." She lowered her
voice so as not to aggravate him.
  "And who is it?" he asked, softly.
  "Your lawyer, to have you sign your appeal."
  "I will not appeal!"
  "What, you will not make an appeal?" she cried, as she rose, her
eyes aflame with anger. "And why not, pray?"
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_41 ^paragraph 30}
  "Because, just now, I feel I have the courage to die, without
causing too much laughter at my expense. And who tells me I should
feel the same way after two months in this damp cell? I see already
interviews with priests, with my father- nothing in the world would be
so disagreeable to me; I'd rather die!"
  This unforeseen stubbornness aroused again Mathilde's proud
nature. She had not been able to see abbe de Frilaire before the
prison doors were opened in Besancon, and her anger spent itself on
Julien. She adored him, and yet for a quarter of an hour he found
again, in her condemnation of his character and in her regrets at ever
having loved him, all that fiery temperament which had formerly
overwhelmed him in the de la Mole library.
  "Heaven owes it to the glory of your race to have you give birth
to a son," he said to her. "As for myself," he thought, "I should be a
fool to live two months longer in this hole, a prey to all the
infamy and humiliation to which the patrician party will subject me,
with only such a conversation as this to console me. Well, day after
to-morrow I shall fight a duel with a man known to be self-possessed
and remarkably adroit; so remarkable," continued this
Mephistopheles, "he never misses!"
  "Well, then, you will come round?" Mathilde continued, eloquently.
  "No, indeed, I will not appeal," he said to himself. Firmly fixed in
this resolution, he fell into a profound reverie. "The carrier will
bring the newspaper at six o'clock as usual. At eight o'clock, after
M. de Renal has read it, Elisa, walking on tiptoes, will put it on her
bed; later she will wake up, and then, all at once, while reading, she
will feel moved. Her pretty hand will tremble; she will even read
the words: 'At five minutes after ten he ceased to breathe.' She
will cry; I know her. In vain did I try to murder her; all that will
be forgotten; and the person whom I wished to deprive of life will
be the only one who will sincerely mourn my death.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_41 ^paragraph 35}
  "Oh, that is an antithesis!" he thought; and throughout the scene
with Mathilde, lasting for over a quarter of an hour, he only
thought of Madame de Renal. In spite of himself, even while replying
to what Mathilde was saying, he could not tear himself away from his
memories of her bedroom. He saw the Besancon newspaper on the
counterpane of yellow taffeta; he saw that white hand which had
pressed him so frequently; he saw Madame de Renal weep; he followed
each tear as it flowed down her cheek.
  Mademoiselle Mathilde, despairing of Julien's consent, called the
lawyer. He was an old captain of the Army of Italy of 1796, when he
was a companion of Manuel.
  As a matter of form he combated the prisoner's resolution. Julien,
wishing to treat him with consideration, then explained to him all his
reasons. "Indeed, you are almost right," he said to him; "but you have
three full days for an appeal, and it is my duty to come back to see
you every day. If a volcano should open under the prison within the
next two months, you would be saved; and you might die of a
disease," he added, looking at Julien.
  Julien shook him by the hand. "I thank you; you are a man. I will
think of that."
  As Mathilde walked out with the lawyer, he had more friendship for
the lawyer than for her.

{BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_42
                              CHAPTER 42
-
  AN HOUR LATER, after a deep sleep, he was awakened by the flow of
tears on his hand. "Oh, it's Mathilde yet!" he said, only half
awake. "Faithful to her resolution, she comes now to attack mine
with her love." He did not open his eyes at first, gloomy over the
prospect of another scene. The verse about Belphegor's flight from his
wife came to him; but he heard a deep sigh. Opening his eyes, he saw
Madame de Renal.
  "Oh, I see you then again before I die!" he cried, throwing
himself at her feet; "or am I dreaming? But pardon, Madame, I am
only a murderer in your eyes," he said, quickly, coming back to
himself.
  "Monsieur, I have come to beg you to appeal; I know you do not
want to do that-" but her sobs would not allow her to continue.
  "Please forgive me!"
  "If you want me to forgive you," she said, throwing herself into his
arms, "make the appeal right away."
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_42 ^paragraph 5}
  Julien covered her with kisses.
  "Will you come to see me every day during these two months?"
  "I swear I will, every day; unless my husband forbids me."
  "I will sign it," cried Julien. "Really, you forgive me? Is it
possible?" He pressed her in his arms, wild with joy. She gave a
little cry. "Oh, it's nothing," she said, "but you hurt me a little."
  "Oh, it is your shoulder!" cried Julien, bursting into tears.
Disengaging himself, he took her hand and kissed it. "Who would have
told me that the last time I saw you in your room at Verrieres?"
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_42 ^paragraph 10}
  "Who would have told me then that I would write an infamous letter
to M. de la Mole?"
  "You know that I have always loved you, and only you!"
  "Is it possible?" cried Madame de Renal, herself wild with
delight. Leaning over Julien, who was on his knees, she mingled her
tears with his.
  Never in his life had Julien experienced such happiness.
  Some time afterward, when they could speak, Madame de Renal said:
"And this young Madame Michelet, or, rather, this Mademoiselle de la
Mole? For I am beginning to believe in the strange romance."
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_42 ^paragraph 15}
  "It is all appearance," replied Julien. "She is my wife, but not
my mistress."
  Interrupting each other for a hundred times, they finally told
each other as to what they had done. The letter that had been
written to M. de la Mole had been dictated by a young priest who
directed Madame de Renal's conscience, and she had copied it. "What
horror hasn't my religion caused me! And yet I have softened some of
the horrible things in that letter!" Julien's happiness proved to
her that he forgave her. Never was she as wild with love.
  "I think I am religious," Madame de Renal said to him. "I
certainly believe in God. I equally believe, and I have seen it to
be a fact, that the wrong I am doing is great; but since I see you,
even after you shot me-" Here Julien could only kiss her.
  "Please, I want to talk reason to you, for fear of forgetting it.
When I see you, all duty disappears. I feel only love for you; indeed,
the word 'love' is too feeble! I feel for you what I should feel for
God alone- respect, love, obedience. I don't know what you inspire
in me! If you should tell me to stab the guard, I would do it
without further thought. Explain this to me, please, before I leave
you. I want to look clearly into my heart, for in two months we
shall part. Really, shall we part?" she asked, smiling.
  "I take back what I said," replied Julien. "I will appeal from the
sentence if you quit thinking of harming your life in any way."
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_42 ^paragraph 20}
  Madame de Renal's face changed all at once. The greatest
tenderness followed her deep reverie.
  "Supposing we died together right now?" she said, at last.
  "Oh, who knows what is going to be in the next world?" replied
Julien. "Perhaps frightful punishment, or perhaps nothing. Can we
not pass two months together in delight? Two months! that is a great
many days. I shall never be as happy again!"
  "You will never be so happy?"
  "Never!" replied Julien, ravished. "I talk to you as if I were
talking to myself. God knows I am telling the truth."
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_42 ^paragraph 25}
  "It is to command me when you talk like that," she said, with a
timid, melancholy smile.
  "Well, then, you swear on the love you bear me that you will never
make an attempt on your life- neither directly nor indirectly?
Remember, now," he added, "that you must live for my child, whom
Mathilde will abandon to some servants when she becomes the Marquise
de Croisenois."
  "I swear," she replied, coldly; "but I am going to take your
appeal myself, written in your own hand. I will go myself to the
Attorney-General."
  "Take care; you will compromise yourself."
  "After having come to see you in jail, I am forever a by-word for
Besancon and for all Franche-Comte," she said, visibly affected.
"The limits of modesty have been overstepped long ago. I am a woman
lost to honor. It is true that it was all for you!"
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_42 ^paragraph 30}
  Her tone was sad in the extreme, and Julien embraced her again
with renewed fervor. It was not the intoxication of love, but rather
great gratitude. He had just appreciated for the first time all the
sacrifices she had made for him.
  Some charitable soul, no doubt, informed M. de Renal that his wife
was making long visits to Julien in jail; for in three days he sent
his carriage to her, with command to return to Verrieres
immediately. The cruel separation made a bad day of it for Julien.
He was informed, two or three hours later, that a certain priest,
who was not able to push himself forward among the Jesuits in
Besancon, had stationed himself, early in the morning, in the street
just outside the prison gate. It rained, and there in the rain the man
was trying to play the martyr. Julien felt wretched as it was, and
this foolishness caused him even greater dejection.
  He had already refused a visit from this priest in the morning,
but the man took it into his head to become Julien's confessor, so
as to stand well with the young women of Besancon by pretending to
have received great confidences. He loudly declared that he would pass
day and night at the prison gate. "God has sent me to touch the
heart of this backslider"; and the common people, always anxious for a
scene, began to flock around him.
  "Yes, my brethren," he said to them, "I will pass day and night
here, and as many other days and nights as necessary. The Holy Ghost
has spoken to me. I have a mission from on high. It is I who will save
the soul of young Sorel. Let us pray."
  Julien had a horror of notoriety and of everything that might
attract attention to him. He was thinking of seizing a moment when
he could pass out of the world by his own hands; but he had some
hope of seeing Madame de Renal, being still intoxicated with love.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_42 ^paragraph 35}
  The prison gate was in one of the most frequented streets. The
thought of that squalid priest gathering a crowd around him tortured
his soul. "And no doubt every moment he is mentioning my name." This
was more painful to him than death. Two or three times an hour he sent
the warden, who was friendly to him, to go out and see if the priest
was still at the door.
  "Monsieur, he is on both his knees in the mud," always brought
back the warden. "He is praying at the top of his voice, and
reciting Litanies for your soul."
  "The rogue!" thought Julien. That moment, in fact, he heard a
murmur. It was the people responding to the Litanies. To add to his
impatience, he saw the warden himself move his lips, repeating the
Latin words. "They are beginning to say," added the warden, "that your
heart has been indeed made hard, to refuse the aid of that holy man."
  "Oh, my country! How barbarous you are yet!" he cried out,
angrily; and he uttered his thought aloud, without thinking of the
warden's presence.
  "That man wants an article in the newspaper, and he is sure of
getting it now. Cursed provincials! At Paris I should not have been
subjected to these vexations. There they use more finesse with their
roguery.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_42 ^paragraph 40}
  "Let the holy priest enter," he said at last to the warden, the
perspiration rolling off his brow. The warden crossed himself and left
with great joy. The holy priest was horribly ugly, and was literally
covered with mud. The cold rain made the cell gloomier and damper than
ever. The priest made a pass as if to embrace Julien, and began
talking to him very affectionately. The barest hypocrisy was evident
in all this. Never in his life was Julien so disgusted.
  A quarter of an hour after the priest's entrance he found himself
a coward for the first time. Death appeared horrible to him. He
thought of the state of putrefaction in which his body would be two
days after his execution.
  He either had to betray himself by some mark of weakness, or throw
himself upon the priest and strangle him with his chain. But the
sudden idea came to him to beg the saintly man to go and offer a
Mass for him for forty francs that day. It was noon then, and the
priest immediately left.

{BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_43
                              CHAPTER 43
-
  WHEN HE LEFT, Julien wept as if his heart would break. Every now and
then he said to himself that if Madame de Renal had been in Besancon
he would have confessed his weakness to her. Just when he was
regretting most the absence of the woman he adored he heard Mathilde's
footsteps. "The worst thing about being in jail," he thought, "is that
you can't keep your door shut." All that Mathilde could say only
served to irritate him.
  She told him how, on the day of the trial, M. de Valenod, with the
nomination of prefect in his pocket, wished to spite M. de Frilaire
and to enjoy the pleasure of giving a verdict for death. "What a
strange idea your friend had," M. de Frilaire just said to me, "to
attack the petty vanity of the bourgeois aristocracy! Why did he speak
of caste? He only indicated to them what they had to do for their
own interests. Those fools were not thinking of it at all and were
almost ready to cry. That caste interest just shielded their eyes from
the horror of a death sentence. Indeed, we must confess M. Sorel is
inexperienced in the affairs of life. If we do not succeed in saving
him by an appeal to clemency, his death will be a sort of suicide."
  Mathilde did not care to tell Julien what she suspected, namely that
abbe de Frilaire, seeing Julien doomed, thought it would serve his
ambition to aspire to become his successor. Almost beside himself with
impotent anger, he said: "Go and hear a Mass for me and give me a
moment's peace!" Mathilde, already very jealous of Madame de Renal's
visits, understood the cause of Julien's anger. She burst into
tears. Her grief was indeed real. Julien, however, became only the
more impatient. He had need of solitude, and he did not know how to
get it. Finally, Mathilde, after trying everything to win him over,
left him, and almost at the same moment Fouque appeared.
  "I want to be alone," he said to his faithful friend; and, when he
saw the latter hesitate, "I am composing a memoir as a mark of my
return to grace. Well, give me the pleasure never to talk of death. If
I need anything particularly to-day let me speak first."
  When at last Julien was alone he found himself in a more cowardly
state than ever. The little strength that he had left was spent in
trying to hide himself from Mademoiselle de la Mole and Fouque. Toward
evening one idea consoled him.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_43 ^paragraph 5}
  "If in the morning, at the time when death appears worst to me, I
should be informed that my execution is at hand, my fear would cause
some comment; like a gawk entering a drawing-room. Some of the
clear-sighted among the provincials might look for my weakness, but no
one shall ever see it." And he felt a little less cowardly. "I am a
coward now," he repeated to himself, "but no one will know it."
  Even a more disagreeable scene awaited him the next day. For a
long time his father had said that he would visit him. That day,
before Julien was awake, the old, white-haired carpenter entered the
cell.
  Julien was weak, and resigned himself to the reproaches he expected.
To cap his disagreeable sensations, he had that morning a lively sense
of remorse for never having loved his father.
  "Chance has placed us on the earth together," the latter said, while
the warden was putting the cell in order, "and we have done each other
as much evil as possible; but this execution is the last straw-"
Then when they were left alone the old man began to overwhelm him with
the vilest abuse. Julien could not restrain his tears. "What an
unworthy weakness," he said to himself with rage. "He is going to tell
everybody of my want of courage. What a triumph for Valenod and for
all the other hypocrites that rule Verrieres! In France they indeed
seem great. They have all social advantages. Up to this moment I could
say to myself they all have money, it is true; they have honors heaped
upon them. But I- I have nobility of heart, and here is a witness whom
all will believe, and who will certify to all Verrieres that I was
nothing but a coward before my death!"
  Julien was on the brink of despair. He did not know what to do to
send his father away, and to attempt to hoodwink that sharp old man
was at this moment beyond his power.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_43 ^paragraph 10}
  As his mind ran over all possible means, he finally hit on this
idea: "I have saved up money." This stroke of genius immediately
changed the old man's face.
  "How should I dispose of it?" continued Julien, more calmly. The
effect he produced now removed all sense of inferiority from him.
  The old carpenter was burning to have not a penny of the money
escape him; Julien had said that he would divide it among his
brothers. He talked long and vivaciously.
  "Ah, well, the Lord has directed me in this. I will give a
thousand francs each to my brothers and the rest to you."
  "Very good," replied the old man, "the rest is due me; but since God
has been so gracious as to soften your heart, if you want to die
like a good Christian you must pay your debts. There was the expense
for your rearing and your education of which you are not thinking
now."
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_43 ^paragraph 15}
  "There is a father's love!" Julien repeated to himself, when he
found himself alone at last.
  The warden then appeared. "Monsieur," he said, "after parents'
visits I always bring a good bottle of champagne. It is a little dear,
six francs a bottle, but it gladdens the heart."
  "Bring three glasses!" cried Julien, with the impatience of a child,
"and invite the two prisoners whom I hear walking in the corridor."
  The warden led in two convicts who had been sentenced for the second
time to the galleys. These fellows were remarkable for their
cleverness and courage.
  "If you give me a twenty-franc piece," said one of them to Julien,
"I will tell you everything about my life."
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_43 ^paragraph 20}
  "But you will lie to me?"
  "No, indeed," he replied; "my friend here, who is jealous about
the twenty francs, will say when I am not telling the truth."
  His record was an abominable one. It revealed a daring heart in
which the ruling passion was money. When they left, Julien was no
longer the same man. All his despair vanished. The misery his
pusillanimity engendered from the time Madame de Renal had left made
way only for melancholy now.
  "Whenever I was not fooled by appearances," he said to himself, "I
saw that Paris drawing-rooms were peopled by men like my father, or by
such clever rascals as these galley convicts. Oh, yes, they are
good! A fashionable man never arises in the morning with the
poignant thought: 'How will I get my dinner?' And still they vaunt
their probity, and when called as jurors they sentence a man to
death because he has stolen silver plate with which to buy bread!
But if there is an intrigue at Court, or if there is a question of
gaining or losing a portfolio, my virtuous drawing-room gentlemen
commit exactly the same crime as those do whose hunger transports them
to the galleys.
  "There is no natural right. That is only an old piece of nonsense,
worthy of the attorney who summed up my case the other day, and
whose ancestors became rich from the confiscations under Louis XIV.
There is no right except when there is a law to prohibit such and
such a thing under penalty. Previous to the law there is nothing
natural, except the strength of the lion or the crying necessities
of a human being suffering from hunger and thirst. The men that are
honored are only rascals who have the good fortune not to be found
out. The prosecutor whom society has hurled at me got rich through
infamy. I have committed a crime and I am justly condemned; but as far
as that is concerned, Valenod has been a hundred times more harmful to
society.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_43 ^paragraph 25}
  "Oh, well," Julien added, gloomily, with no longer a trace of anger,
"in spite of his avarice my father is worth more than all of them.
He has never loved me. I have dealt him a mortal blow by dishonoring
him with my disgrace. This fear of want of money, this exaggerated
view of the sin in men that is called avarice, gave him the only
means for consolation in the sum of three or four hundred louis I am
going to leave him. On a Sunday, after dinner, he will show his gold
to all the simple people in Verrieres. 'At this price,' his look
will say, 'who of you would not be charmed at having a son
guillotined?'"
  This philosophy might not be true, but it was of a nature to make
death lose its sting. Five long days dragged out. He was kind and
gentle to Mathilde, whom he saw writhing under the most cruel
jealousy. One evening Julien thought seriously of committing
suicide. His heart was crushed by the deep despair into which Madame
de Renal's departure had thrown him. There was nothing more in life to
charm him. Lack of exercise, too, began to tell on his health,
giving him the spiritual, feeble look of a German student. He lost
that manly force which can resist the attack of the most painful
thoughts.
  "I have loved the truth- where is it? There is everywhere hypocrisy,
or, at least, charlatanism, even among the most virtuous and the
greatest." His lips expressed disgust. "No, man cannot be proud of
man!
  "Madame de X__, making a donation to some orphan children, tells
me that such a prince has just given ten louis. Lies! but what am I
saying? Napoleon at Saint-Helena- charlatan!- a proclamation in
favor of the King of Rome!
  "Good God! if such a man, after all the misfortune that should
have recalled him to duty, lowers himself to deception, what can you
expect of the rest of the race?
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_43 ^paragraph 30}
  "Where is truth? In religion? Yes," he added, with a bitter smile.
"In the mouth of Maslon, or Frilaire, or Castanede? Perhaps in the
true Christianity, whose priests are not paid more than the Apostles
have been? But St. Paul was paid by the pleasure of speaking; of
hearing himself talked about! Oh, if there were a true religion!
Fool that I am! I see a Gothic cathedral with venerable windows. My
feeble heart imagines itself to be the priest in these windows. My
heart would understand it all; my soul is yearning for it. But what do
I see? Only a sleek rascal. But the real priest; a Massillon, a
Fenelon. Massillon has cursed Dubois. The 'Memoires de Saint-Simon'
has spoilt Fenelon for me- but anyhow a real priest! The real tender
souls will be together. We shall not be alone. This good priest will
tell us about God. But what God? Not the God of the Bible- a little,
cruel tyrant thirsting for revenge? No, the God of Voltaire- good,
just, infinite!"
  The recollections he had of the Bible, which he knew by heart, moved
him deeply. "But how, when there are Three together, we believe in
the name of God, after all the horrible abuse on the part of the
priests?
  "But to live alone, what torture! But I am getting foolish and
impatient," said Julien to himself, passing his hand over his brow. "I
am alone in this cell, but I have not lived alone on earth. I have had
a strong idea of duty, right or wrong, and I see it has been to me a
mighty tree on which I leaned through storm and stress. I hesitated,
yet I have never failed to act. After all, I was only a man, but I was
never swept off my feet!
  "It is the damp air of the cell that is making me think as I do. And
why should I be a hypocrite yet, even while condemning hypocrisy? It
is neither death nor the cell nor the damp air; it is only Madame de
Renal's absence that is working on me. If I should be compelled now,
at Verrieres, to live for six weeks in the cellar in order to see her,
should I complain? I am still influenced by the times," he said aloud,
with a bitter smile. "Even when I talk to myself, a step away from
death, I am still a hypocrite. Oh, nineteenth century! A huntsman
discharges his fowling piece in the forest, his prey falls, and he
rushes forward to get it. His boots destroy an ant hill and crush
the ants, and not only the ants but also the eggs. The most
philosophical among the ants would only know of a black body, immense,
frightful- the huge boot that crushed their dwelling amid much noise
and the flash of red flame.
  "And so death, life, eternity, is a mystery. It is simple only
when one can comprehend it. The ephemeral insect is born at nine
o'clock in the morning of a summer's day, to die at five o'clock in
the afternoon. Does it know what night is? Give it five hours more
of existence and it will know all that is meant by 'night.' And so
I- I shall die at twenty-three! Give me five years yet to live with
Madame de Renal." Then Mephistopheles-like, he began to laugh.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_43 ^paragraph 35}
  "What foolishness to talk of these great problems! First, I am
only a hypocrite, for I talk as if there were someone here to listen
to me. Second, I forget both life and love when I have only such a few
days left. Oh, Madame de Renal is gone! Perhaps her husband will not
let her come any more to Besancon and persist in her imprudence.
That is what makes me so desolate, and not the absence of a just,
all-powerful God, who is all good and not revengeful. Ah! if He
existed, indeed, I should fall at his feet. I have deserved death. I
would tell him- but great God! good God! gracious God! give back to me
the one I love!"
  The night was then far advanced. After an hour or two of peaceful
slumber, Fouque arrived. Julien was strong and resolute like a man who
was master of himself.

{BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_44
                              CHAPTER 44
-
  "I DON'T WANT to play such a trick on abbe Chas-Bernard as to send
for him," he said to Fouque. "He would not dine for three days. But
try to find me a Jansenist, a friend of M. Pirard, and who is likely
to be above intrigue."
  Impatiently Fouque had been awaiting such a proposition. Julien
acquitted himself with all the decency required by public opinion.
Thanks to abbe de Frilaire, Julien, in spite of his bad choice as to a
confessor, became in his cell a protege of the Congregation. With just
a little more cleverness he could have made his escape. But the
atmosphere of the cell had produced its enervating effect. He had no
heart for any undertaking.
  He was happier than ever when Madame de Renal visited him again.
  "My first duty is to you," she said, embracing him. "I just stole
away from Verrieres."
  Julien was no longer held by pride in her presence, and he told
her all of his fears and doubts. She was sweet and tender to him. In
the evening, as soon as she left, she had the priest, whom Julien
could not shake off, call at the house of her aunt. As he only
wished to stand well with the society women of Besancon, Madame de
Renal quickly induced him to have a neuvaines sounded at the abbey
Bray-le-Haut. No word could express Julien's great love.
                                          {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_44 ^paragraph 5}
  By throwing away a great deal of money, and by abusing even the
credit of her aunt- a celebrated, rich woman- Madame de Renal obtained
permission to see him twice a day. At this Mathilde's jealousy
became almost frantic. M. de Frilaire had told her that his
influence could go no farther than to permit her to see her friend
once a day only. She dogged Madame de Renal's footsteps in order to
find out everything she was doing. M. de Frilaire exhausted all the
resources of a clever mind to prove to her that Julien was unworthy of
her. Yet, in the midst of all her torment, she only loved him the
more, and almost every day she created a scene with him.
  Julien wished to act the upright man even to the end with this
poor girl whom he had so strangely compromised; but his wild love
for Madame de Renal carried him completely away. When he could not
persuade Mathilde of the innocence of her rival's visits, he would say
to himself:
  "Well, the end of this drama is near; it is an excuse for me if I do
not know how to dissimulate any better."
  Then Mademoiselle de la Mole heard of the death of the Marquis de
Croisenois. The rich M. de Thaler had permitted himself indiscreet
remarks as to Mathilde's sudden disappearance, and M. de Croisenois
had demanded that he should deny them. But M. de Thaler showed him
anonymous letters describing the whole matter with such detail as to
make it impossible for the poor Marquis not to realize the truth. Then
M. de Thaler said many things that were quite coarse. Beside himself
with misery and anger, M. de Croisenois immediately demanded such an
apology that the millionaire preferred a duel. Folly triumphed, and
the one of the two- a most lovable young man- fell mortally wounded.
That death made a strange impression on Julien's heart.
  "Poor de Croisenois," he said to Mathilde, "was really kind to us!
He might have hated me after your imprudent acts in the
drawing-room. He might have quarrelled with me, for hatred that
comes from a slight is ordinarily uncontrollable."
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_44 ^paragraph 10}
  M. de Croisenois's death changed Julien's ideas completely as to
Mathilde's future. For several days he tried to prove to her that
she should accept M. de Luz's hand.
  "He is not a daring man, not too much of a Jesuit," he said to
her, "and will without doubt reach a high mark. With a lower but
steadier ambition than poor de Croisenois, and without a Duchy in
his family, he would not make the least difficulty about marrying
Julien Sorel's widow."
  "And a widow," Mathilde replied, coldly, "who despises all
passion; for she has lived long enough to know that her lover after
six months prefers another woman, the source of all our misery!"
  "You are unjust. Madame de Renal's visits will give the most telling
points to the Paris lawyer who is charged with my appeal for clemency.
He will paint the murderer as cared for tenderly by his victim, and
that will produce its effect; and perhaps-"
  A mad jealousy that could not avenge itself, the continuation of a
hopeless despair- for supposing even that Julien were pardoned, how
was she to win back his heart?- the shame and anguish of loving her
unfaithful lover brought Mademoiselle de la Mole to a silence from
which neither the officious attentions of M. de Frilaire, nor even the
rude brotherliness of Fouque could draw her out.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_44 ^paragraph 15}
  As for Julien, he lived, except when Mathilde was present, a life of
love. Not a thought did he give to the immediate future. By the
strange effect of a pure passion Madame de Renal shared the same
indifference, the same absence of care.
  "Formerly," Julien would tell her, "when I should have been so happy
during our walks in the woods of Vergy, a terrible ambition dragged my
soul into unknown lands. In place of pressing my breast against the
charming arm which was so near my lips, the future took me away from
you. Even after much struggling I should have succeeded in playing a
great part in life; I should have died without knowing the real
happiness that has come to me from your visits here."
  Two events began to trouble his heart. Julien's confessor, Jansenist
though he was, was not a novice in Jesuitical intrigues. He indeed
gave himself up to them entirely. He told him one day that in order
not to commit the terrible sin of suicide he should do all that was
possible to obtain grace. Now, since the clergy had the greatest
influence with the Minister of Justice in Paris, an easy means
presented itself to him- to become converted with eclat.
  "Ah! with eclat," repeated Julien. "That is your word. You, too,
my father, are enacting a comedy like the missionaries."
  "Your age," replied the Jansenist, gravely; "that interesting face
of yours, which Providence has given you; even the very motive of your
crime, which remains inexplicable; the heroic acts of Mademoiselle
de la Mole in your behalf, even to the marvellous friendship your
victim shows you- all have contributed to make you the hero of the
young women of Besancon; they have forgotten everything for you,
even discretion.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_44 ^paragraph 20}
  "Your conversion will take deep root in their souls. It will make
a profound impression. You can be of great service to the cause of
religion, and I- I should hesitate at the frivolous reason which the
Jesuits would give on such an occasion. Even in a case which has no
concern with their rapacity, they still have a means of doing injury.
  "The tears which your conversion will bring will wipe away the
corrosive effect of ten editions of Voltaire."
  "And what will I have then if I despise myself?" Julien replied,
coldly. "I have been ambitious; but I don't want to tarnish myself.
I have acted with the world in view; now I live only from day to
day. With a reward before me, I should indeed consider myself
unfortunate in the extreme if I gave myself up to such cowardice."
  The other incident to which Julien was even more sensible came
through Madame de Renal. Some intriguing friend had succeeded in
persuading her naive, timid soul that it was her duty to go to
Saint-Cloud and there throw herself at the feet of King Charles X.
  She had made sufficient sacrifices in separating herself from
Julien; yet, after such efforts, the disagreeable incidents
connected with such a spectacle, which at other times would have
appeared worse than death to her, were nothing in her eyes now.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_44 ^paragraph 25}
  "I will go to the King; I will confess freely that you are my lover.
A man's life, and such a man as Julien, should be above everything.
I will say that it was through jealousy that you tried to kill me.
There are numerous instances of poor young men who have been acquitted
in such a case by the humaneness of a jury or of the King."
  "I will not see you again; I will have the jail closed to you!"
cried Julien. "To-morrow I will kill myself in despair if you do not
swear to me at once that you will do nothing to make a public
spectacle of both of us. That idea of going to Paris is not yours;
tell me the name of the designing woman who suggested it to you! Let
us be happy during the few days of this short life of mine; let us
hide our existence from the world. Mademoiselle de la Mole has all the
influence necessary in Paris; you may surely believe that she has done
everything that is humanly possible. Here in the province I have
against me all the rich, substantial men. Your action would more
than ever incense these rich people for whom life is such an easy
thing. Let us not make ourselves a laughing stock to Maslon,
Valenod, or their betters."
  The bad air in the jail was becoming insupportable to Julien.
  Fortunately, the day set for his execution, all nature was bathed in
bright sunlight, and Julien was strong with courage. To walk in the
open air was as delicious a sensation for him as walking on land is
for the sailor who has been a long time at sea.
  "Well, it is all right," he said to himself, "I am not wanting in
courage!" Never had he felt as exalted as at the moment when his
head was about to fall, and the tender moments he had experienced
formerly in the woods of Vergy won him again.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_44 ^paragraph 30}
  Everything passed off simply, unaffectedly, on his part.
  The day before he had said to Fouque, "I cannot answer for my
emotion; this cell is so horribly ugly! so damp! I get feverish at
times, and I am not myself; but never fear! You will not see me
flinch."
  He had made all the arrangements for the following morning. Fouque
was to take away Mathilde and Madame de Renal together.
  "Get them in the same carriage," he said to him. "See that that
postilion's horses are kept at a trot. They will either fall into each
other's arms or they will vow eternal hatred. In either case the
poor women will have their minds taken off their terrible grief."
  Julien had received Madame de Renal's oath that she would live to
care for Mathilde's child.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_44 ^paragraph 35}
  "Who knows? Perhaps we have sensations after death," he said one day
to Fouque. "I should like very much to rest- yes, rest is the word- in
that little cave on the high mountain overlooking Verrieres. Several
times I have told you how ambition inflamed my heart when I lay in the
hollow that night and gazed far away over the rich provinces of
France. It was my passion then. Yes, that grotto is dear to me- though
it cannot be denied that it is not situated to suit a philosopher's
soul.
  "Well, those good Congregationists in Besancon make money out of
everything; if you know how to go about it they will sell you my
mortal remains."
-
  In that Fouque succeeded.
  He was spending the night alone in his room beside his friend's
corpse, when, to his great surprise, he saw Mathilde enter. A few
hours before he had left her ten leagues from Besancon. She looked
haggard.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_44 ^paragraph 40}
  "I want to see him!" she cried.
  Fouque had not the courage either to speak or to rise. He pointed
with his finger to a pall over a board. Thus covered rested all that
remained of Julien.
  She threw herself on her knees. The thought of Boniface de la Mole
and of Marguerite of Navarre gave her superhuman courage. Her
trembling hands lifted the mantle. Fouque turned his eyes away.
  He heard Mathilde walk quickly across the room. She had lit
several candles. When Fouque had courage enough to look round, he
saw that she had placed Julien's head on a little marble table
before her and was kissing the brow.
  Mathilde followed her lover even to the tomb which he had
selected. A large number of priests escorted the coffin. Unknown to
all, she carried on her knees, as she sat in the mourning carriage,
the head of the man she had adored.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_44 ^paragraph 45}
  Arrived at the most elevated spot on one of the high mountains of
the Jura, twenty priests, in the middle of the night, celebrated
Mass for the dead in that little cave, which was made resplendent with
numerous tapers. All the inhabitants of the little mountain
villages, who had met the procession, followed it, attracted by the
strange ceremony.
  Mathilde appeared in the middle in heavy widow's weeds, and at the
end of the service had several thousand five-franc pieces scattered.
  When she remained alone with Fouque, she buried her lover's head
with her own hands. Fouque was nearly mad with grief.
  Mathilde had the rough grotto adorned with sculptured Italian
marble.
  Madame de Renal was true to her promise. She made no attempt to take
her own life; but three days after Julien's death she died as she
was kissing her children.
                                         {BOOK_TWO|CHAPTER_44 ^paragraph 50}
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                               THE END