The Red and the Black: A Chronicle of the Nineteenth Century

by Stendhal

Very early the next morning Julien left the house without being seen, but returned before eight o'clock.

  He was scarcely in the library before Mlle de La Mole appeared at the door. He handed her his answer. He thought it his duty to speak to her; nothing was easier, at any rate, but Mlle de La Mole did not want to listen and dashed off. Julien was enchanted; he did not know what to say to her.

  If all this isn't a game agreed on with Count Norbert, it's clear the cold look in my eyes is what has kindled the baroque love this girl of such high birth has taken it into her head to feel for me. I'd be rather more foolish than is appropriate if ever I allowed myself to be carried away to the point of feeling any liking for this tall, fair doll. This consideration left him more cold and calculating than ever before.

  In the impending battle, he added, her pride in her birth will be like a high hill forming a military position between her and me. That's where I'll have to manœuvre. I did quite the wrong thing by staying in Paris; postponing my departure like this is degrading, and exposes me if all this is only a game. What was the risk in going? I'd have been mocking them, if they're mocking me. If her interest in me is at all genuine, I'd have increased it a hundredfold.

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  Mlle de La Mole's letter had given such a boost to Julien's vanity that, in the midst of all his laughter at what was happening to him, he had forgotten to think seriously about the expediency of his departure.

  He was fated to have the kind of character that made him extremely sensitive about his mistakes. He was very put out by this one, and had almost given up thinking about the unbelievable victory that had preceded this little set-back, when, around nine o'clock, Mlle de La Mole appeared on the threshold of the library, threw him a letter and fled.

  It looks as if it's going to be a romance by letter, he said as he picked up this one. The enemy is making a false move, so I shall order up coldness and virtue.

  A definitive answer was being requested of him with a hauteur which increased his inner merriment. He gave himself the pleasure of mystifying, for two pages on end, any persons wishing to make fun of him, and he added a further joke, near the end of his reply, announcing that his departure was settled for the following morning.

  When the letter was finished: the garden will provide a way for me to hand it over, he thought, and out he went. He looked at the window of Mlle de La Mole's room.

  It was on the first floor, next to her mother's suite, but there was a large mezzanine floor separating it from the ground.

  The first floor was so high that as he walked along the path under the limes with his letter in his hand, Julien could not be seen from Mlle de La Mole's window. The arched canopy formed by the beautifully trimmed lime trees cut off the view. Oh no! Julien said to himself in annoyance, yet another rash move! If they're bent on making fun of me, to be seen with a letter in my hand only furthers the cause of my enemies.

  Norbert's room was exactly above his sister's, and if Julien stepped out from under the arch formed by the trimmed branches of the limes, the count and his friends could follow his every movement.

  Mlle de La Mole appeared behind the window-pane; he showed a corner of his letter; she lowered her head. Julien immediately ran back up to his room, and happened to meet

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  the fair Mathilde on the main staircase; she snatched his letter with perfect composure and laughter in her eyes.

  What passion there was in poor Mme de Rœnal's eyes, said Julien to himself, when she plucked up courage to take a letter from me, even after six months of intimacy. Not once, I think, did she she ever look at me with laughter in her eyes.

  The rest of his response he did not formulate to himself with the same clarity; was he ashamed at the triviality of his motives? But then what a difference, his thoughts ran on, in the elegance of her day dress, in the elegance of her bearing! On seeing Mlle de La Mole from thirty yards away, a man of taste would guess what rank of society she belongs to. That's what you could call overt worth.

  While he joked away, Julien was still not admitting to himself what was at the back of his mind: Mme de Rœnal didn't have a Marquis de Croisenois to sacrifice for him. His only rival was that wretched sub-prefect M. Charcot, who had himself called de Maugiron, because there are no de Maugirons left.

  At five o'clock Julien received a third letter; it was thrown to him from the door of the library. Mlle de La Mole again ran away. What an obsession with writing! he said to himself laughing, when it's so simple for us to talk! The enemy wants letters from me, it's obvious, and several of them! he was in no hurry to open this one. Yet more elegant phrases, he thought; but he grew pale when he read it. There were only eight lines.

  I need to talk to you: I must talk to you, this evening; when the first hour after midnight strikes, be in the garden. Take the gardener's big ladder from beside the well; lean it up against my window and climb up to my room. There's a moon: never mind.

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  CHAPTER 15

  Is it a plot?

  Ah! how cruel is the interim between the conceiving of a great plan and its execution! What idle terrors! What waverings! Life is at stake!-Much more is at stake: honour!

  SCHILLER *

  THIS is getting serious, thought Julien... and a little too obvious, he added on reflection. So! This lovely young lady can talk to me in the library with what amounts, thank heavens, to total freedom; the marquis, afraid that I may show him some of the accounts, never comes here. So! M. de La Mole and Count Norbert, the only people ever to set foot here, are out for most of the day; it's easy to observe the moment when they return to the house, and the sublime Mathilde, for whose hand a sovereign prince would not be too noble, is wanting me to commit an abominable act of imprudence!

  It's clear they want to bring about my downfall, or to make fun of me at the very least. To begin with, they tried to use my letters to destroy me; but these have proved circumspect. So then! they need an action that's clearer than daylight. These fine little gentlemen must just think me too stupid or too vain. Hell! To climb up a ladder like that to a first floor twenty-five foot from the ground on the brightest of moonlit nights! There'll be time for everyone to see me, even from the neighbouring houses. I'll be a fine sight on my ladder! Julien went up to his room and began to pack his trunk, whistling the while. He was resolved to leave without even answering.

  But this wise resolve did not give him any inner peace. What if by chance, he said to himself all of a sudden when his trunk was shut, Mathilde was in good faith! then I'd be acting like an utter coward in her eyes. I'm not a person of rank, am I? I need sterling qualities, cash down, without the benefit of the doubt, proved for sure by eloquent actions...

  He spent a quarter of an hour in reflection. What's the point in denying it? he said at last; I'll be a coward in her eyes. I'll

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  lose not only the most dazzling woman in high society, as they were all saying at the Duc de Retz's ball, but on top of that the divine pleasure of seeing the Marquis de Croisenois sacrificed for me--the son of a duke, and destined to become a duke himself. A charming young man with all the qualities I lack: a sense of appropriateness, birth, fortune...

  This remorse will dog me all my life, not on her account-there are so many sweethearts!

  ... But there is only one honour!

  as old Don Diego * says--and here I am clearly and distinctly retreating in the face of the first real danger that comes my way; for that duel with M. de Beauvoisis was something of a joke. This is quite different. I may be shot point-blank by a servant, but that's the lesser danger; I may be dishonoured.

  This is getting serious, my lad, he added with a Gascon * accent and twinkle in his eye. Knightly honour is at stake. Never will a poor devil who's been cast as low down as I have by fortune ever get such an opportunity again; I shall have my successes, but they'll be of an inferior kind...

  He reflected at length, walking up and down with brisk steps, stopping short from time to time. A ma
gnificent marble bust of Cardinal Richelieu had been parked in his room, and his eye was drawn to it in spite of himself. This bust seemed to be looking at him sternly, as if reproaching him for lacking the daring that should come naturally to the French character. In your day, great man, would I have hesitated?

  In the worst case, Julien said to himself at last, suppose all this is a trap, it's a pretty sinister one and pretty compromising for a young lady. They know I'm not the sort of man to keep quiet. So they'll have to kill me. That was all right in 1574, in Boniface de La Mole's day, but his present descendant would never dare. These people just aren't the same. Mlle de La Mole is so envied! Four hundred salons would reverberate with her shame tomorrow, and imagine the delight!

  The servants are gossiping among themselves about the obvious favour shown to me; I know they are, I've heard them...

  On the other hand, her letters....! They may believe I've got

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  them with me. They'll surprise me in her room and snatch them from me. I'll have to face two, three or four men, who knows? But where'll they get them from, these men? where in Paris can you find underlings who'll keep quiet? They're afraid of the law ... Damn it all! It'll be Messrs Caylus, Croisenois and de Luz themselves. The thought of this moment, and the ridiculous figure I'll cut in their midst, must be what has tempted them. Watch out for Abelard's fate, * Mister secretary! Well, damn it all, gentlemen! You shall bear my marks, I'll strike you in the face, like Caesar's soldiers did at Pharsala... As for the letters, I can put them in a safe place.

  Julien made copies of the latest two, hid them in a volume of the fine edition of Voltaire in the library, and took the originals off to the post himself.

  When he got back: What a mad enterprise I'm about to fling myself into! he said to himself in surprise and terror. He had spent a quarter of an hour without facing up to the act awaiting him that night.

  But if I refuse, I'll despise myself afterwards! For the rest of my life this act will be a major source of self-doubt, and for me, doubt of this kind is the most searing of afflictions. Didn't I suffer it on account of Amanda's lover! I think I'd find it easier to forgive myself for an outright crime; once it was confessed, I'd stop thinking about it.

  Just think! I shall have been the rival of a man bearing one of the finest names in France, and I shall myself, in all cheerfulness, have declared myself to be his inferior! When it comes down to it, it's cowardly not to go. That settles it, exclaimed Julien, getting to his feet... besides, she's terribly pretty.

  If this isn't some treachery or other, what an act of folly she's committing for me...! If it's just mystification, damn it all, gentlemen! it's up to me to make the joke serious, and that's what I'll do.

  But what if they tie up my arms the moment I enter the room; they may have set up some ingenious contraption!

  It's like a duel, he said to himself laughing, you can parry any blow, says my fencing master, but the good Lord, who wants an end to it, makes one of the two forget to parry.

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  Anyway, here's something to answer them with: he drew his pocket pistols; and although the priming was fresh and still explosive, he replaced it.

  There were still several hours to wait; to give himself something to do, Julien wrote to Fouqué:

  My good friend, don't open the enclosed letter except in case of accident, if you hear word that something unusual has happened to me. In that case, delete the proper names from the manuscript I am sending you, and make eight copies of it which you are to send to the newspapers in Marseille, Bordeaux, Lyon, Brussels etc.; ten days later, get this manuscript printed and send the first copy to the Marquis de La Mole; and a fortnight later, scatter the other copies during the night in the streets of Verrières.

  The little justificatory memorandum that Fouqué was only to open in case of accident was cast in the form of a story, and Julien drafted it so as to compromise Mlle de La Mole as little as possible, but ultimately he did give a very accurate picture of her involvement.

  Julien was just finishing off sealing up his packet when the bell rang for dinner; it made his heart pound. His imagination, absorbed in the tale he had just composed, was entirely given over to tragic forebodings. He had visualized himself seized by servants, bound, and led off to a cellar with a gag in his mouth. There a servant kept him in custody, and if the family honour of these nobles required the adventure to have a tragic end, it was easy to put an end to everything with the sort of poison that leaves no trace; at which point they said he had died of an illness and carried him back dead to his room.

  Moved like a playwright by his own story, Julien was genuinely afraid when he went into the dining-room. He looked at all the servants in full livery. He studied their countenances. Which are the ones that have been chosen for tonight's expedition? he wondered. In this family, memories of Henri III's Court are so pervasive, so often recalled, that if they believe they've been insulted, they'll act more decisively than other figures of their rank. He looked at Mlle de La Mole in order to read her family's plans in her eyes; she was pale, and her countenance came straight out of the Middle Ages. He

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  had never seen her looking so grand; she was truly beautiful and imposing. It almost made him fall in love. Pallida morte fiaura * he said to himself (her pallor portends her great designs).

  It was to no avail that he made a point after dinner of taking a long stroll in the garden: there was no sip of Mlle de La Mole. Talking to her at that moment would have taken a great weight off his mind.

  Why not admit it? he was afraid. As he was resolved to act, he unashamedly let this feeling take hold of him. Provided that when the time comes to act, I can summon up the necessary courage, he said to himself, does it matter what I may be feeling at this moment? He went off to reconnoitre the position, and test the weight of the ladder.

  This is an instrument, he said to himself, laughing, which it's my destiny to use! here as in Verrières. What a difference! On that occasion, he added with a sigh, I wasn't obliged to be wary of the person for whose sake I was taking risks. What a difference too in the danger itself!

  I could have been killed in M. de Rênal's garden without there being any dishonour in it for me. They could easily have made my death seem inexplicable. Here, just think of the abominable stories that'll be told in the salons of the Hôtel de Chaulnes, the Hôtel de Caylus, the Hôtel de Retz etc.-everywhere, in short. I shall be a monster for posterity.

  For two or three years, he went on with a laugh, making fun of himself. But this idea was more than he could take. And what about me, where will I find justification? Even supposing Fouqu6 publishes my posthumous pamphlet, it'll be just one more piece of infamy. Imagine! I'm taken into a household, and in return for the hospitality I receive and the favours showered upon me, I publish a pamphlet on the goings--on there! I attack the women's honour! Ah! I'd rather a thousand times be a dupe!

  That evening was excruciating.

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  CHAPTER 16

  One o'clock in the morning

  This garden was exceedingly large, and had been

  laid out in perfect taste only a few years back. But the

  trees were more than a century old. It had a rustic feel

  about it.

  MASSINGER *

  HE was about to countermand his instructions to Fouqué when eleven o'clock struck. He turned the key noisily in his bedroom door, as if he were shutting himself in. He crept off stealthily to observe what was happening in the rest of the house, especially on the fourth floor, which was inhabited by the servants. There was nothing out of the ordinary. One of Mme de La Mole's chambermaids was holding a party, and the servants were drinking punch in the best of spirits. The ones who are laughing like that, thought Julien, can't be taking part in the nocturnal expedition: they'd be more serious.

  Finally he went and posted himself in a dark corner of the garden. If their plan is to conceal their doings from the household servants,
they'll arrange for the men they've instructed to take me by surprise to come in over the garden wall.

  If M. de Croisenois is keeping a cool head throughout this business, he's bound to find it less compromising for the young woman he wishes to marry to have me taken by surprise before I've actually got into her room.

  He made a reconnaissance in military fashion, with great precision. My honour is at stake, he thought; if I commit any kind of blunder, it'll be no excuse in my own eyes to tell myself. I hadn't thought of that.

  The weather was heartrendingly clear. The moon had risen about eleven o'clock, and at half-past midnight it was shining full on the side of the house overlooking the garden.

  She's mad, Julien thought to himself; when one o'clock struck, there was still light in Count Norbert's windows. Never

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  in all his life had Julien been so afraid; he could only see the dangers in the enterprise, and had no enthusiasm for it.

  He fetched the enormous ladder, waited five minutes to allow time for a counter-order, and at five past one leaned the ladder against Mathilde's window. He climbed up quietly, pistol in hand, astonished not to be attacked. As he approached the window, it opened noiselessly:

  'So you've come, sir,' Mathilde said to him with great emotion; 'I've been following your movements for the past hour.'

  Julien was highly embarrassed; he did not know how to behave, he felt no love whatsoever. In his embarrassment, he thought he ought to be bold, and tried to kiss Mathilde.

  'How dare you!' she said, pushing him away.

  More than pleased to be given his cue to leave, he glanced hurriedly round about: the moon was so bright that it cast black shadows in Mlle de La Mole's room. There may very well be men hidden there that I can't see, he thought.