by Stendhal
'That's my name,' said the fashionable young man, who was not induced to show much respect by the sight of Julien's black suit, worn at seven in the morning; 'but I don't understand, if I may make so bold...'
His way of uttering these last words brought back some of Julien's ill-temper.
'I've come to fight a duel with you, sir,' and he explained the whole affair straight out.
M. Charles de Beauvoisis, having given it due thought, was reasonably pleased with the cut of Julien's black suit. It comes from Staub's, * that's clear, he thought to himself as he listened to him speak; that waistcoat is in good taste, those boots are nice; but on the other hand, a black suit like that at this hour of the morning...! All the better to escape bullets with, that must be it, said the Chevalier de Beauvoisis to himself.
Once he had produced this explanation for himself he resumed his exquisite politeness, addressing Julien almost as an equal. Their exchange was quite lengthy, the affair was a delicate one; but in the end Julien could not refuse to accept the obvious. The young man of such high birth standing before him did not have anything in common with the vulgar character who had insulted him the day before.
Julien felt an overwhelming reluctance to leave, and spun out his explanations. He observed the complacency of the Chevalier de Beauvoisis--that was the title he had used when referring to himself, being shocked that Julien should merely call him 'Mr'.
He admired his gravity, combined with a touch of discreet foppishness that never left him for a single moment. He was astonished at his curious way of moving his tongue as he pronounced his words... But all the same, none of this gave the slightest justification for picking a quarrel with him.
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The young diplomat volunteered to fight with a very good grace, but the ex-lieutenant from the 96th who had been sitting there for an hour with his legs apart, his hands on his thighs and his elbows sticking out, decided that his friend M. Sorel was not the sort to pick a quarrel with a man for nothing, just because the man had had his visiting cards stolen.
Julien was in a very bad temper when they left. The Chevalier de Beauvoisis's carriage was waiting for him in the courtyard, in front of the porch; Julien chanced to look up and recognized in the coachman his man from the day before.
It was the matter of a moment for Julien to see him, grab him by his long coat, pull him off his seat and set about him with a horsewhip. Two footmen tried to defend their comrade; Julien was punched several times: at the very same moment he cocked one of his little pistols and fired at them; they took to their heels.
The Chevalier de Beauvoisis was coming downstairs with the most comic gravity, repeating in his upper-class accent: 'What's all this, what's all this?' He was clearly most curious, but diplomatic dignity did not allow him to show any more interest than that. When he learned what the matter was, haughtiness continued to do battle on his features with the slightly playful composure which must never leave a diplomat's face.
The lieutenant from the 96th realized that M. de Beauvoisis was game for a fight: he also wanted for reasons of diplomacy to make sure that his friend kept the advantage of taking the initiative. 'This time', he exclaimed, 'there's matter enough for a duel!''I should rather think so,' the diplomat replied.
'I'm dismissing that rogue,' he said to his footmen; 'someone else can take his seat.' The carriage door was opened: the chevalier insisted on doing Julien and his second the honours. They went and fetched one of M. de Beauvoisis's friends, who indicated a quiet spot to them. The conversation during the drive was really good. The only odd thing was the diplomat in his dressing gown.
These gentlemen, for all their wealth, thought Julien, aren't at all boring like the people who come to dinner with M. de La Mole; and I see why, he went on a moment later, they
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allow themselves to be improper. They were talking about the dancers that the public had acclaimed in a ballet performed the previous evening. These gentlemen alluded to some spicy anecdotes that Julien and his second the lieutenant from the 96th were totally ignorant of. Julien was not stupid enough to pretend he knew them; he admitted his ignorance with a good grace. His frankness appealed to the chevalier's friend; he related these anecdotes to him in the greatest of detail, and did it very well.
One thing astonished Julien beyond bounds. The carriage was held up for a moment by an altar of repose that was being put up in the middle of the road for the Corpus Christi day procession. These gentlemen took the liberty of cracking a number of jokes; the priest, according to them, was the son of an archbishop. * In the house of the Marquis de La Mole, who wanted to become a duke, no one would ever have dared utter such a thing.
The duel was over in an instant: Julien got a bullet in his arm; they bound it up for him with handkerchiefs; they moistened them with brandy and the Chevalier de Beauvoisis begged Julien very politely to allow him to accompany him home in the same carriage that had brought him. When Julien indicated the Hôtel de La Mole, the young diplomat and his friend exchanged glances. Julien's cab was there, but he found the conversation of these gentlemen infinitely more entertaining than that of the lieutenant from the 96th.
Goodness me! a duel--so that's all there is to it! Julien thought. How glad I am to have found that coachman again! What misery if I'd had to go on enduring that insult in a café! The entertaining conversation had hardly been interrupted. Julien realized then that diplomatic affectation does have its uses.
So boredom isn't inherent, he said to himself, in a conversation between people of high birth! These two make jokes about the Corpus Christi Day procession, they risk telling highly shocking anecdotes, and in picturesque detail too. The only thing totally lacking is any discussion of the political scene, and this lack is more than made up for by the elegance of their tone and the perfect appropriateness of their expressions.
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Julien felt a strong liking for them. How glad I would be to see a good deal of these two!
No sooner had they taken leave of one another than the Chevalier de Beauvoisis sped off to find out all he could: it was not inspiring.
He was most curious to know his man; could he decently pay him a visit? What little information he could gather was not of an encouraging sort.
'This is all just frightful!' he said to his second. 'It's impossible for me to admit that I fought a duel with a mere secretary of M. de La Mole's, and what's more, because my coachman stole my visiting cards.'
'It's certain there'd be a risk of ridicule in all this.'
That very evening the Chevalier de Beauvoisis and his friend broadcast it everywhere that this M. Sorel, in any event an irreproachable young man, was the illegitimate son of a close friend of the Marquis de La Mole's. This fact gained acceptance without any difficulty. Once it was established, the young diplomat and his friend deigned to visit Julien once or twice during the fortnight he spent confined to his room. Julien confessed to them that he had only once in his life been to the Opera.
'That is dreadful,' they said to him, 'it's the place to go; the first time you go out, it simply must be to see Count Ory.' *
At the Opera the Chevalier de Beauvoisis introduced him to the famous singer Geronimo, who was enjoying great success at the time.
Julien was virtually wooing the chevalier's friendship; he was captivated by the young man's mixture of self-respect, mysterious complacency and foppishness. For instance, the chevalier stammered a little, because he had the honour of being on frequent visiting terms with a great lord who suffered from this impediment. Never had Julien seen amusing ridiculousness allied in a single individual with the perfection of manners that a poor provincial must strive to imitate.
He was seen at the Opera with the Chevalier de Beauvoisis; this acquaintance brought his name to people's lips.
'Well now!' M. de La Mole said to him one day, 'so I see
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you're now the illegitimate son of a rich gentleman from the Franche-Comté, one of my inti
mate friends?'
The marquis cut Julien short as he tried to protest that he had not had any hand whatsoever in accrediting this rumour.
'M. de Beauvoisis didn't wish to have fought a duel with a carpenter's son.'
'I know, I know,' said M. de La Mole; 'it's up to me now to give substance to this tale, which suits my purposes. But I have a favour to ask of you, which will only take up half an hour of your time: on Opera days, * at eleven thirty, would you go and mingle with the people of fashion in the foyer as they come out? I observe that you sometimes still exhibit provincial mannerisms, and you need to get rid of them; besides, it's no bad thing to get to know--at least by sight--some of the important people I may one day send you to see on business. Call at the box-office and make yourself known; I've arranged for you to have the privilege of a free pass.'
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CHAPTER 7
An attack of gout
And I was given promotion, not for deserving it,
but because my master had gout.
BERTOLOTTI *
THE reader may perhaps be surprised at this open and almost friendly tone; we had forgotten to say that for the past six weeks the marquis had been kept at home by an attack of gout.
Mlle de La Mole and her mother were at Hyères, * staying with the marquise's mother. Count Norbert only saw his father for brief moments; they were on excellent terms, but had nothing to say to each other. M. de La Mole, reduced to Julien, was astonished to find ideas in his head. He had him read the newspapers out loud to him. Soon the young secretary was in a position to select the interesting passages. There was a new paper * that the marquis could not abide; he had sworn never to read it, and every day he talked about it. Julien laughed. In his irritation at modern times, the marquis had Livy read aloud to him; he was entertained by Julien's improvised translation of the Latin text.
One day the marquis said in the tones of excessive politeness that often irked Julien:
'Allow me, my dear Sorel, to make you a gift of a blue suit: when you see fit to don it and to call upon me, I shall regard you as the younger brother of the Comte de Chaulnes, that is to say the son of my friend the old duke.'
Julien did not really understand what was going on; that same evening he tried out a visit wearing a blue suit. The marquis treated him as an equal. Julien had a heart worthy to appreciate true politeness, but he had no idea of nuances. He would have sworn, before the marquis had this whim, that it was impossible to be received by him with greater courtesy. What admirable talent! Julien said to himself; when he rose to go, the marquis made his apologies for being unable to see him out on account of his gout.
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A strange idea preoccupied Julien: might he be making fun of me? he wondered. He went to seek advice from Father Pirard, who, being less polite than the marquis, merely whistled and changed the subject by way of reply. The following morning Julien presented himself to the marquis in a black suit, with his briefcase and his letters to be signed. He was received in the old manner. In the evening, with a blue suit, the tone was quite different, and every bit as polite as the day before.
'Since you aren't too bored during these visits you are kind enough to pay to a poor, sick old man,' the marquis said to him, 'what you should do is talk to him about all the little happenings in your life, but speak frankly, and without any other concern than to tell a clear and entertaining story. For it's vital to keep oneself entertained,' the marquis went on; 'that's the only real thing there is in life. It isn't every day that a man can save my life at the wars, or make me the gift of a million; but if I had Rivarol * here, next to my chaise-longue, every day he would spare me an hour of pain and boredom. I saw a lot of him in Hamburg during the Emigration.' *
And the marquis told Julien the anecdotes about Rivarol and the inhabitants of Hamburg; it took four of them together to understand one of his witticisms.
Reduced to the company of this little abbé, M. de La Mole tried to put some sparkle into him. He appealed to Julien's honour by tickling his pride. Since he was being asked for the truth, Julien resolved to tell all; but keeping two things back: his fanatical admiration for a name which put the marquis in an ill humour, and his total lack of faith, which hardly suited a future parish priest. His little affair with the Chevalier de Beauvoisis came at the right moment. The marquis laughed till he cried at the scene in the café in the Rue Saint-Honoré, with the coachman hurling foul abuse at him. It was a time of perfect openness in the relationship between master and protégé.
M. de La Mole became interested in Julien's strikingly unusual personality. To begin with, he flattered his ridiculous ways in order to enjoy them; he soon found it more interesting to correct, very gently, this young man's misguided ways of
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looking at things. Other provincials who come to Paris admire everything, thought the marquis; this fellow hates everything. They have too much affectation, he doesn't have enough, and fools take him for a fool.
The attack of gout was prolonged by the bitter cold of winter, and it lasted several months.
It's perfectly acceptable to become attached to a fine spaniel, the marquis reflected to himself; why am I so ashamed at becoming attached to this little abbé? He's original. I treat him like a son; all right! what's wrong with that? If it lasts, this caprice will cost me a diamond worth five hundred louis in my will.
Once the marquis had fathomed his proton's resolute character, he entrusted him with some new piece of business daily.
Julien was alarmed to notice that this great lord was capable of giving him contradictory decisions on the same matter.
This might seriously compromise him. From then on Julien never worked with the marquis without bringing a register in which he wrote down decisions, and the marquis initialled them. Julien had taken on a clerk who transcribed the decisions relating to each affair into a special register. This register also received a copy of every letter.
At first this idea seemed the height of ridicule and tedium. But in less than two months, the marquis appreciated its advantages. Julien suggested employing a clerk who had recently worked for a banker, to keep a record in duplicate of all the income and expenditure from the estates that Julien was in charge of administering.
These measures shed so much light for the marquis on his own affairs that he was able to treat himself to the pleasure of engaging in two or three new pieces of speculation without the help of his broker, who robbed him.
'Take three thousand francs for yourself,' he said one day to his young minister.
'Sir, my conduct may be slandered.'
'What do you want, then?' retorted the marquis in annoyance.
'Be so good as to make out a warrant and write it in the
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register in your own hand; this warrant will give me a sum of three thousand francs. Actually, it was the Reverend Father Pirard who thought up all this accounting.' The marquis, with the bored expression of the Marquis de Moncade listening to his steward M. Poisson's accounts, * wrote out the decision.
In the evening, when Julien appeared in his blue suit, there was never any talk of business. The marquis's displays of kindness were so flattering to our hero's pride, which was still rather touchy, that soon, in spite of himself, he felt a kind of attachment to this agreeable old gentleman. It was not that Julien was responsive, as this is understood in Paris; but nor was he a monster, and no one, since the death of the old army surgeon, had spoken to him with such kindness. He observed to his astonishment that out of politeness the marquis showed consideration for his pride in a way that the old army surgeon had never done. He realized in the end that the surgeon had more pride in his cross than the marquis did in his Blue Sash. The marquis's father was a great lord.
One day, at the end of one of his morning audiences, when he was dressed in his black suit and there for business, Julien happened to amuse the marquis, who kept him for a further two hours, and insisted on giving him some bank notes that his age
nt had just brought him from the Stock Exchange.
'I hope, your lordship, that I shall not fail to show the deep respect I owe you if I beseech you to let me say a word.'
'Speak, my dear fellow.'
'May his lordship deign to allow me to refuse this gift. The man in the black suit is not the one it is meant for, and it would utterly spoil the behaviour that his lordship is good enough to tolerate in the man in the blue suit.' He bowed with great respect and left the room without looking at the marquis.
This manifestation of Julien's character amused the marquis. He related it to Father Pirard that evening.
'I must finally confess something to you, my dear Father. I know whose son Julien is, and I authorize you not to keep secret what I confide in you.'
The behaviour he revealed this morning is noble, thought the marquis, and I am making him a nobleman.
Some time later, the marquis was at last able to go out.
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'Go and spend two months in London,' he said to Julien. 'The special and other postal services will bring you the letters I receive, together with my notes. You will prepare the replies and send them back to me, putting each letter in with the reply to it. I've calculated that the delay will only be five days.'
As he sped along the road to Calais, Julien was amazed at the triviality of the so-called business he was being sent on.
We shall not describe the feeling of hatred and almost horror with which he set foot on English soil. The reader knows of his mad passion for Bonaparte. He took every officer for a Sir Hudson Lowe, * every great lord for a Lord Bathurst, ordering the infamies on St Helena and being rewarded for it with ten years in the Cabinet.
In London he at last experienced the heights of foppery. He had become acquainted with some young Russian nobles who initiated him.
