by Stendhal
'It would be impossible to improve on the education you have received.'
'Monsignor,' said Julien, 'your seminary can offer you a hundred and ninety-seven candidates far less unworthy than myself of your esteemed approbation.'
'How can this be?' asked the prelate, astonished at this figure.
'I can supply official proof to back what I am most humbly claiming in front of Monsignor. In the annual examination at the seminary, when I replied on the very subjects which now earn me Monsignor's approbation, I was put in 198th place.'
'Ah! he's Father Pirard's little blue-eyed boy!' exclaimed the bishop, laughing and turning to Father de Frilair. 'We should have expected as much; but that's fair play. I'm right in
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thinking, am I not, my boy,' he added turning to Julien, 'that they woke you up to send you here?'
'Yes, Monsignor. I've only ever been out of the seminary once on my own, and that was to go and help Father ChasBernard adorn the cathedral on Corpus Christi day.'
'Optime,' said the bishop; 'so you were the one who showed such courage in putting the bunches of feathers up on the canopy, were you? They make me tremble every year; I'm always afraid they'll cost me a man's life. My boy, you will go far; but I don't wish to halt your career, which will be a brilliant one, by starving you to death.'
And on the bishop's orders, biscuits were brought in with some Malaga wine; Julien did honour to them, and Father de Frilair even more so, knowing how his bishop loved to see people tucking in with good cheer.
The prelate, feeling more and more pleased with the way his evening was ending, spoke for a moment on ecclesiastical history. He noted a complete lack of understanding in Julien. The prelate moved on to the moral state of the Roman Empire under the emperors in Constantine's century. The end of paganism was accompanied by the same state of anxiety and doubt which afflicts gloomy and bored minds in the nineteenth century. Monsignor observed that Julien had scarcely even heard of Tacitus.
Julien replied candidly, much to the prelate's astonishment, that this author was not to be found in the library at the seminary.
'I am highly delighted,' said the bishop gaily. 'This gets me out of a spot: for the past ten minutes I've been trying to think of a way to thank you for the agreeable evening you have procured me, and most unexpectedly, I'm sure. I was not expecting to find a learned doctor in one of the pupils at my seminary. Even though the gift may not be all that canonical, I wish to give you a set of Tacitus.'
The prelate had eight superbly bound volumes brought to him, and insisted on inscribing the title-page of the first one in his own hand with a compliment in latin for Julien Sorel. The bishop prided himself on his fine latin; his last words to him
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were spoken in a serious tone which marked a complete contrast with the rest of the conversation:
'Young man, if you behave well, one day you will have the best living in my diocese, and not a hundred leagues from my bishop's palace either; but you must behave well.'
Weighed down with his books, Julien left the bishop's palace in great astonishment as midnight was striking.
Monsignor had not said a word to him about Father Pirard. Julien was particularly astonished at the extreme civility of the bishop. He could not conceive of such urbanity of manner allied with so natural an air of dignity. Julien was particularly struck by the contrast when he saw the sombre Father Pirard again, waiting impatiently for him.
'Quid tibi dixerunt?' (What did they say to you?) he bellowed out at him, as soon as he caught sight of him.
When Julien stumbled a little over translating into Latin what the bishop had said:
'Speak in your own tongue, and repeat Monsignor's exact words, without adding or suppressing anything,' said the exmaster of the seminary with his harsh voice and his profoundly inelegant manners.
'What a strange present from a bishop to a young seminarist!' he said as he leafed through the splendid Tacitus, seemingly appalled by the gold leaf.
Two o'clock was striking when, after a fully detailed account, he allowed his favourite pupil to go back to his room.
'Leave me the first volume of your Tacitus with Monsignor the bishop's flattering dedication,' he said to him. 'That line of Latin will act as your lightning-conductor in this house after I am gone. Erit tibi, fili mi, successor meus tamquam leo quœrens quem devoret. (For to you, my son, my successor will be as a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour.)
The following morning Julien found something odd about the way his companions spoke to him. It made him all the more reserved. So this is the effect of Father Pirard's resignation. The whole establishment knows about it, and I'm thought of as his favourite. There must be an element of insult in this way of behaving; but he was unable to detect it. On the contrary, there was an absence of hatred in the eyes of everyone
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he encountered going through the dormitories: What does this mean? It must be a trap, let's play things carefully. Eventually the little seminarist from Verrières said to him with a laugh: Cornelii Taciti opera omnia (the complete works of Tacitus).
At these words, which were overheard, it seemed as if they were all trying to outdo one another in their compliments to Julien--not only on the magnificent present he had received from Monsignor, but also on the two-hour long conversation with which he had been honoured. They knew everything, right down to the smallest details. From that moment on, there was no more envy; they curried servile favour with him: Father Castanède, who only the previous day had been the ultimate in rudeness to him, came up to him and took him by the arm to invite him to lunch.
Through a fatal flaw in Julien's character, the insolence of these boorish creatures had hurt him deeply; their servility revolted him and gave him no pleasure.
About midday, Father Pirard said farewell to his pupils, making a point of delivering a stern speech to them. 'Do you want worldly honours', he said to them, 'and every kind of social advantage, the pleasure of commanding others, of holding the law in contempt, and of getting away with being insolent to everyone? Or do you want your eternal salvation? The least alert among you have only to open your eyes to tell these two paths apart.'
No sooner had he left than the devout followers of the Sacred Heart of Jesus * went off to the chapel to strike up a Te Deum. No one in the seminary took the ex-master's speech seriously. 'He's very miffed at being dismissed,' was the comment in all quarters; not a single seminarist was simpleminded enough to believe that anyone could voluntarily renounce a post which offered so many contacts with big suppliers.
Father Pirard went and installed himself in the finest inn in Besançon; and purporting to have some (non-existent) business to attend to, he determined to spend two days there.
The bishop had invited him to dine; and to tease his vicargeneral de Frilair, he was trying to show him off to his best advantage. They were in the middle of the sweet course when
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the strange news arrived from Paris that Father Pirard had been appointed to the magnificent living at N-----, four leagues from the capital. The good prelate offered him his sincere congratulations. He detected in this whole affair a wellplayed trick which put him in excellent humour and gave him the highest opinion of the priest's talents. He gave him a magnificent certificate in Latin, and reduced the Abbé de Frilair to silence when he took the liberty of remonstrating with him.
In the evening, Monsignor went to impart his admiration to the Marquise de Rubempré's salon. It was tremendous news for Besançon high society; everyone was lost in conjecture about this extraordinary favour. They pictured Father Pirard as a bishop already. Those with most discernment thought M. de La Mole had become a minister, and they took the liberty that day of smiling at the imperious airs which the Abbé de Frilair gave himself in society.
On the following morning Father Pirard was almost followed about the streets, and shopkeepers came to their doorsteps when he went to canvass the magistrates instructed
with the marquis's case. For the first time ever he was given a civil reception. Outraged by everything he saw, the stern Jansenist worked a long stint with the barristers he had chosen for the Marquis de La Mole, and he then left for Paris. He was selfindulgent enough to tell two or three college friends who accompanied him to the barouche and much admired its coatof-arms that, having administered the seminary for fifteen years, he was leaving Besançon with five hundred and twenty francs in savings. These friends embraced him with tears, and said amongst themselves: 'Dear Father Pirard might have spared himself this lie, it makes him look just too ridiculous.'
Blinded by the love of money; the common herd was not capable of understanding that Father Pirard's sincerity was the source of the energy he had needed to battle on alone for six years against Marie Alacoque, * the Sacred Heart of Jesus, the Jesuits and his bishop.
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CHAPTER 30
A man of ambition
There is only one form of nobility: the title of duke; marquis is ridiculous, the word duke makes people look round.
EDINBURGH REVIEW
THE Marquis de La Mole welcomed Father Pirard without any of the mannerisms of a great lord--so polite and yet so insulting to anyone who sees them for what they are. It would have been a waste of time, and the marquis was sufficiently engrossed in important affairs to have no time to lose.
For the past six months he had been involved in an intrigue to get the king and the nation to accept the choice of a particular Cabinet, * which would, as a sign of gratitude, make him a duke.
The marquis had been asking his lawyer in Besançon in vain over the years for a clear and succinct statement about his lawsuits in the Franche-Comté. How could the famous barrister have explained them to him when he didn't understand them himself?
The little square of paper handed to him by the priest explained everything.
'My dear Father Pirard,' said the marquis when he had despatched in less than five minutes all the customary expressions of politeness and concern about personal matters, 'my dear Father Pirard, in the midst of all my supposed wealth, I have no time to pay serious attention to two small concerns that are actually pretty important; my family and my affairs. I take care of the fortune of my noble house on a broad front, and I am in a position to advance it considerably; I take care of my pleasures, and that's what comes before all else, at least in my eyes,' he added, on surprising a look of astonishment in those of Father Pirard. Although himself familiar with the ways of the world, the priest was filled with wonder at hearing an old man speak so frankly of his pleasures.
'You can of course get people to work for you in Paris,'
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continued the great lord, 'but you find them tucked away up on the fifth floor, and as soon as I approach a man, he sets himself up with a flat on the second floor and his wife sets herself up with a day to be "at home"; as a result, no more work, no more effort except what goes into being or seeming to be a man of high society. That's all they think about as soon as they get enough to eat.
'When it comes to my lawsuits specifically, and what's more--to each case taken separately--I have lawyers killing themselves; why, one of them died on me from a bad chest only the day before yesterday. But when it comes to my affairs in general, would you believe it, sir? for three years now I've given up all hope of finding a man who, while writing on my behalf, will deign to give any serious thought to what he's doing. But anyway, all this is merely by way of a preface.
'I respect you, and I would even make so bold as to add, although this is the first time I've set eyes on you, that I like you. Are you willing to be my secretary, with a salary of eight thousand francs a year, or even twice that much? I should still be the gainer out of it, take my word for it; and I'll make it my business to reserve your fine living for you, for the day when we no longer suit each other.'
The priest refused; but towards the end of the conversation, the genuine plight in which he saw the marquis suggested an idea to him.
'I've left behind in the depths of my seminary a poor young man who, if I'm not mistaken, is going to come in for some nasty persecution there. If he were just a simple monk, he would already be in pace * .
'Up until now, all that this young man has been acquainted with is Latin and the Holy Scriptures; but it's not impossible that one day he may manifest great talents either for preaching or for the care of souls. I do not know what he will do, but he has the sacred fire within him, and he's capable of going far. I was counting on handing him over to our bishop, if ever one had come our way who had something of your attitude towards men and their affairs.'
'What are your young man's origins?' asked the marquis.
'He is said to be the son of carpenter from the mountains
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round our way, but I'm more inclined to believe that he's the illegitimate son of some wealthy man. I observed that he received an anonymous or pseudonymous letter with a note of hand worth five hundred francs.'
'Ah! you mean Julien Sorel,' said the marquis.
'How do you come to know his name?' asked the priest in astonishment; and as he blushed at his question,
'That I shan't tell you,' replied the marquis.
'Well now!' went on the priest, 'you could try making him your secretary, he has energy and understanding; in short, it's worth a try.'
'Why not?' said the marquis; 'But would he be the sort to let the chief of police or anyone else slip him a bribe to spy on my household? That's my only reservation.'
Favourably reassured by Father Pirard, the marquis took a thousand-franc note:
'Send this to Julien Sorel for his journey; arrange for him to be brought to me.'
'It's obvious', said Father Pirard, 'that you live in Paris. You are unfamiliar with the tyranny which oppresses us poor provincials, especially priests who are no friends of the Jesuits. They won't let Julien Sorel leave, they'll manage to cover themselves with the cleverest of excuses, they'll say in their reply to me that he's ill, that the post must have lost the letters, etc., etc.'
'I shall convey a letter from the minister to the bishop one day soon,' said the marquis.
'There's a precaution I was forgetting,' said the priest: 'although of very lowly birth, this young man has a noble heart; he'll be of no use if his pride is ruffled; you would turn him into an idiot.'
'I like the sound of that,' said the marquis. 'I'll make him my son's companion, will that do?'
Some time after this, Julien received a letter in an unknown hand bearing a Chélons postmark; in it he found a warrant payable through a merchant in Besançon, and instructions to go to Paris without delay. The letter was signed with an invented name, but on opening it Julien had started: a leaf had
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fallen to the ground at his feet; this was the sign he had agreed on with Father Pirard.
Less than an hour later, Julien was summoned to the bishop's palace, where he was received with thoroughly paternal kindness. While quoting Horace, Monsignor complimented him very skilfully on the lofty destiny awaiting him in Paris, in such a way as to invite an explanation from him by way of thanks. Julien was unable to say anything, primarily because he knew nothing, and Monsignor conceived a great esteem for him. One of the minor palace priests wrote to the mayor who hastened to come in person with a signed passport which had the bearer's name left blank.
That evening before midnight Julien was at his friend Fouqué's house; the latter's prudence was more surprised than enchanted by the future that seemed to await his friend.
'What you'll end up with', said this liberal voter, 'is a governmental post that'll force you into some action which will be decried in the newspapers. Your shame will be the way I get news of you. Remember that even financially speaking, it's better to earn a hundred louis in a good timber-yard belonging to you than to receive four thousand francs from any government, even King Solomon's.'
Julien did not see anything in all this beyond the pettymindedness ch
aracteristic of the rural middle class. He was at last about to appear on the stage of great events. Delight at going to Paris, which he imagined stocked with clever people-adroit schemers and hypocrites, but as civil as the Bishop of Besançon and the Bishop of Agde--eclipsed everything else for him. He made out to his friend that Father Pirard's letter deprived him of his free will.
At about noon on the next day he arrived in Verrières, the happiest of men; he was counting on seeing Mme de Rênal again. He went first of all to call on his first patron, the kindly Father Chélan. He met with a stern reception.
'Do you feel under any obligation to me?' asked Father Chélan without replying to his greeting. 'You're going to have lunch with me, meanwhile someone will go and hire another horse for you, and you will leave Verrières without seeing anybody here.'
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'To hear is to obey,' replied Julien with his best seminary face; and the remainder of the time was spent on theology and fine Latin scholarship.
He mounted his horse, rode a league, after which, on spying a wood and no one to see him enter, he plunged into it. At sundown he sent the horse away. Later, he went into a peasant's dwelling, and the man agreed to sell him a ladder and to follow him with it as far as the Avenue de la Fidélité in Verrières.
'It's a poor draft evader I've been following . . . or a smuggler,' said the peasant as he took leave of him, 'but what of it! my ladder's fetched a good price, and it's not as though I hadn't had a few ups and downs in my life too.'
