by Stendhal
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become his pupils and were treated by him with considerable courtesy. Gradually he even acquired some supporters; it became bad form to call him Martin Luther.
But what's the point of naming his friends and his enemies! All that is sordid, and it's all the more sordid, the more genuine the vocation. Yet men like this are the only moral teachers available to the common people, and how would the latter fare without them? Will newspapers ever succeed in replacing priests?
Since Julien's new promotion, the master of the seminary made a point of never speaking to him without witnesses. This conduct was a measure of prudence for master as well as disciple; but it was above all an ordeal. The unvarying principle of the strict Jansenist Pirard was: Is a man worthy in your eyes? Put obstacles in the way of everything he desires, everything he undertakes. If his worth is genuine, he will find the means to overturn or get round the obstacles.
It was the hunting season. Fouqué had the idea of sending a stag and a wild boar on behalf of Julien's family. The dead animals were left in the passage between the kitchen and the refectory. That was where all the seminarists saw them on their way in to dinner. They were an object of great curiosity. For all that it was dead, the boar frightened the younger ones; they fingered its tusks. No one talked of anything else for a week.
This gift, which put Julien's family into the segment of society deserving respect, dealt envy a deadly blow. He was a superior being to whom fortune had given her accolade. Chazel and the most distinguished among the seminarists made overtures to him, and might almost have complained to him that he had not informed them of his family's wealth, and had thus put them at risk of failing to show due respect for money.
The army came round for conscripts; Julien, as a seminarist, was exempt. He was deeply stirred by this incident. So there's an end for ever to the moment when, twenty years ago, a heroic life would have begun for me!
He was walking alone in the seminary garden, and he overhead a conversation between some stonemasons who were working on the boundary wall.
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'That's it then, better be off, they're doin' another conscription.'
'Last time round, what a doddle! there was masons becomin' officers, becomin' generals, I'm tellin' yer.'
'An' just look at it now! Only beggars goin' off. Anyone with the means stays back 'ome.'
'If you're born poor as a church mouse, you stay that way-that's all there is to it.'
'Talkin' of that, is it true what they're sayin', that he's dead?' asked a third mason, joining in.
'It's the big 'uns are sayin' that, see! They were right scared of him.'
'What a difference; work was work in his day! And to think he was betrayed by his marshals! Talk of traitors!'
This conversation consoled Julien somewhat. As he moved away he repeated to himself with a sigh:
The only king remembered by the crowd! *
The season for examinations came round. Julien answered brilliantly; he observed that Chazel himself was trying to display all his learning.
On the first day, the examiners appointed by the notorious vicar-general de Frilair were exceedingly put out to find themselves constantly having to give first place on their lists, or at the very least second, to this Julien Sorel who had been pointed out to them as the blue-eyed boy of Father Pirard. Bets were laid in the seminary that Julien would be put first on the final ranking list, which carried with it the honour of dining with Monsignor the bishop. But at the end of a session bearing on the Church Fathers, a clever examiner who had questioned Julien on St Jerome and his passion for Cicero moved on to Horace, Virgil and the other profane writers. Unknown to his fellows, Julien had learned off by heart a large number of passages from these authors. Carried away by his success he forgot where he was, and at the examiner's repeated insistence, he recited and paraphrased several of Horace's odes with great ardour. After letting him plait a rope for his own neck for some twenty minutes, the examiner suddenly changed countenance and sourly reproached him for the time he had
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wasted on these profane studies, and the useless or criminal ideas with which he had filled his head.
'I am a fool, sir, you are quite right,' said Julien with a humble air, recognizing the clever strategy that had trapped him.
The examiner's ploy was considered a dirty trick, even at the seminary, but this did not prevent Father de Frilair--that clever operator who had so skilfully organized the network of the Congregation in Besançon, and whose despatches to Paris struck fear into the hearts of judges, prefect and even the general staff of the garrison--from putting the number 198 in his powerful hand against Julien's name. He was delighted at this chance to mortify his enemy the Jansenist Pirard.
For ten years his overriding concern had been to take the mastership of the seminary from him. Father Pirard, who followed for himself the plan of conduct he had outlined to Julien, was sincere, pious, devoid of intrigue, attached to his duties. But heaven in its wrath had endowed him with a bilious temperament, of the kind that is deeply affected by insults and hatred. None of the slights intended for him were lost on this fiery soul. He would have handed in his resignation time and time again, but he believed himself to be of some use in the post in which Providence had placed him. I am preventing the spread of Jesuitism and idolatry, he told himself.
At the time of the examinations he had not spoken to Julien for as long as two months, and yet he was ill for a week when, on receiving the official letter announcing the ranking in the examination, he saw the number 198 opposite the name of the pupil he regarded as the star of the establishment. The only consolation for this stern character came in concentrating all his means of surveillance on Julien. He was overjoyed to discover in him neither anger, nor plans for revenge, nor loss of morale.
A few weeks later Julien was startled at the sight of a letter he received: it bore a Paris postmark. At last, he thought Mme de Rênal has remembered her promises. A gentleman signing himself Paul Sorel and claiming to be a relative of his was sending him a note of hand worth five hundred francs. The writer added that if Julien continued to study the good Latin
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authors with the same success, a similar sum would be sent to him every year.
She's done it, it's her kindness! thought Julien, overcome with tenderness, she wants to console me; but why isn't there a single word of friendship?
He was wrong about the letter: Mme de Rênal, guided by her friend Mme Derville, was wholly engrossed in her deep remorse. In spite of herself she did often think of the strange being who had come into her life and thrown it into turmoil, but the last thing she would have done was write to him.
If we spoke in the language of the seminary we might recognize a miracle in this sending of five hundred francs to Julien, and say that it was Father de Frilair himself that heaven was using to make this gift to Julien.
Twelve years previously, the Abbé de Frilair had arrived in Besançon with the slimmest of portmanteaux which, according to rumour, contained all this worldly wealth. He was now one of the richest landowners in the département. In the course of this rise to prosperity, he had bought one half of a piece of land, the other portion of which fell by inheritance to M. de La Mole. Hence a great lawsuit between these characters.
In spite of his dazzling existence in Paris and the offices he held at Court, the Marquis de La Mole sensed that it was dangerous to fight a vicar-general in Besançon who had the reputation of making and unmaking prefects. Instead of soliciting a bribe to the tune of fifty thousand francs, disguised under some heading or other allowed by the budget, and conceding to the Abbé de Frilair this paltry lawsuit worth fifty thousand francs, the marquis took umbrage. He believed himself to be in the right--indubitably in the right!
Now if it is permitted to say so: what judge does not have a son or at least a cousin who needs help to get on in the world?
To enlighten those who are really blind, the Abbé de Fril
air took Monsignor the bishop's carriage and went in person to give the cross of the Legion of Honour to his barrister. M. de La Mole, somewhat thrown by the posture of his opponent, and sensing that his lawyers were weakening, sought advice from Father Chélan, who put him in touch with Father Pirard.
These contacts had been going on for several years at the
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time of our story. Father Pirard threw his passionate character into this affair. In constant touch with the marquis's lawyers he studied his case and, finding justice on his side, went about openly canvassing support for the Marquis de La Mole against the all-powerful vicar-general. The latter was outraged at the impertinence of it, and coming from a little Jansenist, what's more!
'Just take a look at this Court nobility which thinks itself so powerful!' Father de Frilair would say to his intimate acquaintance. 'M. de La Mole didn't even send a wretched cross to his agent in Besançon, and he'll let him fall from office just like that. And yet, so I gather from letters, this noble peer doesn't let a week pass without going to show off his Blue Sash * in the Lord Chancellor's salon, whoever he happens to be.'
Despite all Father Pirard's activity, and the fact that M. de La Mole was always on the best of terms with the Minister of Justice and more particularly his departments, all that he had managed to achieve after six years' effort was not losing his case outright.
In constant correspondence with Father Pirard over a matter they both pursued with passionate interest, the marquis eventually came to appreciate the priest's cast of mind. Gradually, despite the great gulf between their social positions, their correspondence took on a tone of friendship. Father Pirard told the marquis of the attempts to force him by a succession of public affronts to resign his position. In his anger at the infamous strategy, as he saw it, that had been deployed against Julien, he recounted his story to the marquis.
Although exceedingly rich, this great lord was no miser. Not once had he been able to get Father Pirard to accept anything, not even reimbursement of the postal charges incurred for the lawsuit. He seized upon the idea of sending five hundred francs to his favourite pupil.
M. de La Mole took the trouble to write the accompanying letter himself. This made him think of the priest.
One day, the latter received a short note which entreated him, on a pressing matter, to make his way forthwith to an inn in the suburbs of Besançon. There he found M. de La Mole's steward.
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'His lordship the marquis has instructed me to bring you his barouche,' the man told him. 'He hopes that having read this letter you will see fit to leave for Paris, in four or five days' time. I shall use such time as you are good enough to specify in visiting his lordship's lands in the Franche-Comté. After which, on the day that suits you, we shall leave for Paris.'
The letter was short:
Rid yourself, my dear sir, of all the tiresome cares of the provinces; come and breathe some calm air, in Paris. I am sending you my carriage, which has orders to await your resolve for four days. I shall await you myself in Paris until Tuesday. All that I need, sir, is for you to say 'yes', and I shall accept in your name one of the best livings in the neighbourhood of Paris. The richest of your future parishioners has never set eyes on you, but is more devoted to you than you can possibly imagine; he is the Marquis de La Mole.
Without realizing it, the stern Father Pirard loved this seminary rife with his enemies, which had been the focus of all his thoughts for the past fifteen years. M. de La Mole's letter was like the appearance of the surgeon called in to perform a cruel and necessary operation. It was certain that he would be dismissed from his office. He arranged to meet the steward three days hence.
For forty-eight hours he was in a fever of uncertainty. Eventually he wrote to M. de La Mole and drafted a letter to Monsignor the bishop, a masterpiece of ecclesiastical prose, if rather lengthy. It would have been difficult to couch it in a more irreproachable style, or one exuding more sincere respect. And yet this letter, intended to give Father de Frilair an uncomfortable hour in the presence of his superior, voiced all the subjects of serious complaint, and went into the instances of sordid petty harassment which, though endured with resignation for six years, were now forcing Father Pirard to leave the diocese.
His firewood was stolen from his woodpile, his dog was poisoned, etc., etc.
Once the letter was finished, he sent someone to wake Julien who, at eight in the evening, was already asleep like all the seminarists.
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'You know where the bishop's palace is?' he said to him in stylish Latin. 'Take this letter to Monsignor. I shall not conceal from you that I am sending you in among the wolves. Be all eyes and ears. No lying in your answers; but bear in mind that anyone questioning you might well take genuine delight in being able to do you harm. I am indeed glad, my boy, to give you this experience before leaving you, for I make no secret of it to you: the letter you bear is my resignation.'
Julien stood there motionless, he was fond of Father Pirard. It was to no avail that the voice of prudence said to him: once this upright man has left, the Sacred Heart faction will demote me and maybe even expel me.
He was unable to think of himself. What was bothering him was a sentence he was trying to phrase politely, and he felt genuinely at a loss how to do it.
'What's up, dear fellow, aren't you going?'
'You see, Father,' said Julien timidly, 'I gather that in all your long period of administration, you haven't put any savings by. I've got six hundred francs.'
Tears prevented him from going on.
'This too will be noted,' said the ex-master of the seminary coldly. 'Off you go to the bishop's palace, it's getting late.'
Chance had it that Father de Frilair was on duty in the bishop's parlour that evening; Monsignor was dining at the prefecture. So Julien handed the letter to Father de Frilair himself, but without knowing who it was.
Julien was astonished to see this priest boldly opening the letter addressed to the bishop. The handsome face of the vicargeneral soon expressed a mixture of surprise and keen pleasure, and became even more grave. While he was reading, Julien, who was struck by his prepossessing countenance, had time to study it. It was a face which would have had more gravity about it, had it not been for the extreme cunning which showed in certain features, and might even have reached the point of signifying untrustworthiness if the owner of this fine face had ceased for an instant to keep it under control. The long projecting nose formed a single, perfectly straight line, and unfortunately gave to what was in other respects a highly distinguished profile the unmistakable likeness of a fox. Be
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that as it may, this priest who seemed so taken up by Father Pirard's resignation was attired with an elegance that Julien found much to his liking, and had never encountered in a priest before.
Julien only discovered later what Father de Frilair's special talent was. He knew how to amuse his bishop, an amiable old man who was cut out for life in Paris, and viewed Besançon as a place of exile. The bishop had very poor eyesight and passionately loved fish. Father de Frilair took the bones out of the fish served up to Monsignor.
Julien was silently watching the priest rereading the letter of resignation when the door suddenly burst open. A richly dressed footman hurried through; Julien only had time to turn round towards the door; he caught sight of a little old man wearing a pectoral cross. He prostrated himself: the bishop gave him a kindly smile and passed on. The handsome priest followed him, and Julien remained alone in the parlour to admire its pious splendour at his leisure.
The Bishop of Besançon, a man of intelligence who had been sorely tried but not broken by the long hardships of the Emigration, * was over seventy-five and supremely indifferent to what would happen in ten years' time.
'Who is that seminarist with a discerning look in his eye that I think I glimpsed as I passed?' asked the bishop. 'Aren't they all supposed, according to my rule, to be in bed at this hour?'
<
br /> 'This particular one is wide awake, I can promise you, Monsignor, and he brings great news: the resignation of the sole remaining Jansenist in your diocese. The terrible Father Pirard has at last got the message.'
'Has he indeed!' said the bishop with a laugh, 'I defy you to replace him with anyone his equal. And to demonstrate the extent of his worth, I shall invite him to dine with me tomorrow.'
The vicar-general attempted to put in a few words on the choice of a successor. The prelate, disinclined to talk business, said to him:
'Before ushering in the next one, let's find out a bit about how this one comes to be leaving. Send for that seminarist: the truth is found in the mouths of babes.'
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Julien was summoned: I'm going to find myself between two inquisitors, he thought. He had never felt braver.
When he entered, two tall valets attired more elegantly than M. Valenod himself were in the process of disrobing Monsignor. The prelate saw fit to question Julien on his studies before getting on to the subject of Father Pirard. He talked a bit about dogma and was astonished. He soon moved on to the humanities, to Virgil, Horace and Cicero. Those names, thought Julien, earned me my 198th place. I've nothing to lose, let's try a brilliant performance. He succeeded; the prelate, himself an excellent humanist, was delighted.
At dinner at the prefecture a young girl of well-deserved reputation had recited her poem about Mary Magdalene. * The bishop was well launched on the subject of literature, and soon forgot Father Pirard and all matters of business in the interests of debating with the seminarist whether Horace was rich or poor. The prelate quoted several odes, but at times his memory was sluggish and Julien immediately recited the whole ode with a demure air; what struck the bishop was that Julien maintained a conversational tone throughout; he uttered his twenty or thirty lines of Latin as if he were talking about what went on in his seminary. They talked at length about Virgil and Cicero. At the end the prelate could not resist complimenting the young seminarist.
