by Stendhal
'What have you got in the side pocket of your suit?' Mathilde asked him, delighted to find a subject of conversation. She was suffering strangely; all the feelings of restraint and nervousness so natural to a girl of high birth had regained their hold, and were causing her torture.
'I've got all kinds of arms and pistols,' Julien replied, no less pleased to have something to say.
'You must draw up the ladder,' said Mathilde.
'It's huge; it may break the windows of the drawing-room below, or the mezzanine floor.'
'You mustn't break the windows,' Mathilde rejoined, trying in vain to adopt an everyday conversational tone; 'you could, it seems to me, lower the ladder by means of a rope that could be fixed to the top rung. I always keep a supply of ropes in my room.'
And this is a woman in love! thought Julien; she dares to declare her love! So much composure, so much wisdom in these precautions are a clear enough indication to me that I'm not scoring a victory over M. de Croisenois as I foolishly thought; I'm merely following in his footsteps. When it comes down to it, what do I care! Am I in love with her? I am
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scoring a victory over the marquis in this sense, that he'll be most annoyed to have a successor, and even more annoyed that this successor should be me. How disdainfully he stared at me yesterday evening at the Café Tortoni, * while pretending not to recognize me! What a hostile look he had as he went on to greet me, when he could no longer avoid doing so!
Julien had fixed the rope to the top rung of the ladder, and was letting it down gently, leaning a long way out from the balcony to ensure that it did not touch the windows. Just the moment to kill me, he thought, if someone is hiding in Mathilde's room; but a profound silence continued to reign everywhere.
The ladder touched the ground, and Julien managed to lay it down flat in the bed of exotic flowers running the length of the wall.
'What will my mother say', said Mathilde, 'when she sees her lovely plants all flattened...! You must throw down the rope,' she went on with great composure. 'If someone saw it going up to the balcony, it would be difficult to explain away.'
'And me? How me go 'way?' said Julien in a jocular tone, imitating Creole speech. (One of the household chambermaids was born in San Domingo.)
'You, you go through door,' said Mathilde, delighted at this idea.
Ah! how worthy this man is of all my love! she thought.
Julien had just let the rope drop into the garden when Mathilde squeezed his arm. He thought he was being grabbed by an enemy, and wheeled round sharply, drawing a dagger. She had thought she heard a window being opened. They stood motionless, holding their breath. The moon shone full upon them. The noise was not repeated, and they felt no further anxiety.
Then their embarrassment resumed; it was considerable on both sides. Julien made sure the door was shut with all its bolts; he did consider looking under the bed but didn't dare; one or two footmen could have been posted there. Eventually, fearing lest his caution reproach him at some future date, he did look.
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Mathilde had succumbed to all the cruel anguish of acute nervousness. She loathed the situation she was in.
'What have you done with my letters?' she asked at last.
What a good opportunity to disconcert these gentlemen if they are eavesdropping, and to avoid the battle! thought Julien.
'The first one is hidden in a fat Protestant Bible being conveyed a good distance from here by yesterday evening's stage-coach.'
He spoke very clearly as he went into these details, in such a way as to be heard by the persons who might be hidden in the two large mahogany wardrobes that he hadn't dared to search.
'The other two are in the post, and bound for the same destination as the first.'
'Good God! why all these precautions?' asked Mathilde in astonishment.
Why on earth should I lie? thought Julien, and he confessed all his suspicions to her.
'So that explains why your letters were so cold, my love!' exclaimed Mathilde, sounding mad rather than tender.
Julien did not notice this nuance of tone. The familiarity of her words made him lose his head, or at any rate his suspicions vanished: he plucked up the courage to put his arms round this beautiful girl who inspired in him such respect. He was pushed away, but half-heartedly.
He appealed to his memory, just as he had done previously at Besançon with Amanda Binet, and recited several of the finest passages from La Nouvelle Héloöse.
'You have the heart of a man,' replied the lady, without paying much attention to his fine phrases; 'I wanted to put your bravery to the test, I must confess, my dearest. Your initial suspicions and your determination show you to be even more intrepid than I thought.'
It was costing Mathilde an effort to use terms of endearment, and she was clearly more preoccupied by this strange manner of speaking than with the meaning of what she was saying. The familiarity of her words, devoid of any tender tone, gave Julien no pleasure: he was astonished at the total absence of happiness; to induce it he eventually had recourse to his
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reason. He could see he was esteemed by this girl who had so much pride and never praised anyone unreservedly; this consideration enabled him to feel a form of happiness stemming from self-esteem.
It was not, admittedly, the sweet sensation enveloping his whole being that he had sometimes felt with Mme de Rênal. There was nothing tender about his feelings on this first occasion. It was the more intense happiness of ambition, and Julien was above all else ambitious. He talked again about the people he had suspected and the precautions he had devised. As he spoke, he was thinking about the means of taking advantage of his victory.
Mathilde, who was still highly embarrassed and seemed aghast at what she had done, appeared delighted to find a subject of conversation. They talked of ways of seeing each other again. Julien relished the resourcefulness and bravery he again demonstrated during the course of this discussion. They were dealing with people with great foresight; little Tanbeau was certainly a spy, but Mathilde and he weren't lacking in ingenuity either. What could be easier than meeting in the library to arrange everything?
'I can be seen in any part of the house without arousing suspicions,' Julien added, 'even to the point of going into Mme de La Mole's room.' This was the only way of reaching her daughter's room. If Mathilde thought it better for him to arrive by ladder every time, his heart would be wild with joy at exposing himself to this trivial danger.
Listening to him talk, Mathilde was shocked by his air of triumph. So he's my master! she said to herself. She was already racked by remorse. Her reason was appalled by the signal folly she had just committed. If she had been able to, she would have destroyed herself and Julien. When from time to time her will-power silenced her remorse, feelings of awkwardness and suffering modesty made her acutely unhappy. She had in no way foreseen the dreadful state she was in.
But I must say something to him, she told herself at length, it's part of the conventions; one speaks to one's lover. And then, to fulfil a duty, with a tenderness that was far more in the words she used than in the sound of her voice, she told
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him of the various resolutions she had taken concerning him over the past few days.
She had decided that if he was bold enough to reach her room with the help of the gardener's ladder, as instructed, she would be entirely his. But never had anyone adopted a colder or more polite tone of voice to say such tender things. Up until that point, the assignation had been chilly as ice. It was enough to put anyone right off love. What a moral lesson for a rash young girl! Is it worth sacrificing one's future for such a moment?
After much wavering, which might have struck a superficial observer as the effect of the most determined hatred, so difficult was it for a woman's feelings of self-respect to yield even to such strong determination on her part, in the end Mathilde gave herself to him as a compliant mistress.
To tell the truth, the e
xcitement she showed was somewhat contrived. Passionate love was still rather more of a model to be imitated than a reality.
Mlle de La Mole thought she had a duty to fulfil towards herself and her lover. The poor fellow, she said to herself, has shown consummate bravery; he's got to be happy, or else I'm the one lacking character. But she would willingly have paid the price of an eternity of unhappiness to be spared the cruel obligation that was upon her.
Despite the terrible extent to which she was forcing herself, she kept perfect control over what she said.
Not a single regret or reproach emerged to spoil that night, which struck Julien as strange rather than happy. What a contrast, great heavens! with the last twenty-four hours he had spent in Verrières! These fine Parisian ways have found the secret of spoiling everything, even love, he said to himself with extreme injustice.
He was indulging in these reflections standing upright in one of the large mahogany wardrobes where she had put him at the first signs of noise from the adjoining suite, which was Mme de La Mole's. Mathilde followed her mother to Mass, the maids soon left the rooms, and Julien escaped easily before they returned to finish their work.
He got on his horse and sought out the most remote spots in
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one of the forests near Paris. He was far more amazed than happy. The happiness which took hold of him from time to time was like that of a young sub-lieutenant who, at the outcome of some amazing action, has just been made a colonel on the spot by the commander in chief; he felt himself raised to a great height. Everything that had been above him the day before was at his side now, or else beneath him. The further away Julien rode, the more his happiness gradually increased.
If there was no tenderness in his heart, it was because, strange as this word may seem, in all her conduct towards him, Mathilde had been carrying out a duty. There had been nothing unexpected for her in any of the events of that night, apart from the unhappiness and the shame she had experienced, instead of the perfect bliss depicted in novels.
Could I have made a mistake? Could it be that I'm not in love with him after all? she wondered.
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CHAPTER 17
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, C. XIII
SHE did not appear at dinner. In the evening she came into the drawing-room for a moment, but did not look at Julien. This conduct struck him as strange; but, he thought, I don't know their customs: she'll give me some good reason for all this. Nevertheless, driven by the most extreme curiosity, he studied the expression on Mathilde's face; he could not conceal from himself that she had a hard, hostile look. She was manifestly not the same woman who on the previous night had felt or feigned moments of ecstasy that were too excessive to be genuine.
The next day and the day after she showed the same coldness; she did not look at him or notice his existence. Julien, consumed by the most acute anxiety, could not have been further from the feelings of triumph which were all he had experienced on the first day. Could this by any chance, he wondered, be a return to virtue? But this word was really rather bourgeois for the haughty Mathilde.
In everyday situations she scarcely believes in religion, thought Julien; she's attached to it as something beneficial to the interests of her caste.
But may she not out of mere delicacy be reproaching herself bitterly for the lapse she has committed? Julien believed himself to be her first lover.
But, he said to himself at the other moments, it has to be admitted that there's nothing innocent, uncomplicated or tender in her behaviour; I've never seen her act more haughtily. Could she despise me? It would be worthy of her to reproach herself with what she has done for me, merely on account of my lowly birth.
While Julien, filled with the prejudices he had drawn from
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books and from his memories of Verrières, was pursuing the fantasy of a tender mistress who no longer thinks of her own existence once she has given happiness to her lover, Mathilde's vanity was furious with him.
As she had ceased to be bored over the past two months, she no longer dreaded boredom; so with no possible means of suspecting this, Julien had lost his chief advantage.
I've got myself a master! said Mlle de La Mole to herself, in the throes of the blackest spite. He's a man of honour, granted; but if I push his vanity to the limits, he'll take his revenge by making known the nature of our relationship. Mathilde had never before had a lover, and at this moment in life which gives some tender illusions even to the most and of souls, she was at the mercy of the most bitter reflections.
He has a tremendous hold over me, since he reigns through terror and can inflict a dreadful punishment on me if I push him too far. The mere idea of this was enough to drive Mlle de La Mole to insult him. Courage was the foremost quality in her character. Nothing could be more certain to cause her some degree of agitation and cure her of a residual boredom that kept rearing its head than the idea that her whole existence was staked on the toss of a coin.
On the third day, since Mlle de La Mole persisted in not looking at him, Julien followed her after dinner into the billiard room, quite clearly against her will.
'Well, sir, so you think you've acquired some pretty strong rights over me,' she said to him with barely restrained anger, 'since in opposition to my quite plainly declared wishes, you presume to speak to me...? Do you know that no one in the world has ever dared as much?'
Nothing could have been more amusing than the dialogue between these two lovers; without realizing it they were impelled by feelings of the most dire hatred for each other. As neither of them was long-suffering by nature, and besides, they had the ways of polite society, they soon reached the point of declaring plainly to each other that they were breaking it off for good.
'I swear you eternal secrecy,' said Julien; 'I'd even add that I'll never address a word to you, if your reputation were not
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liable to suffer from so marked a change as that.' He bowed respectfully and left.
He did not find it too hard to carry out what he believed to be a duty; he was a long way from believing himself deeply in love with Mlle de La Mole. Doubtless he did not love her three days previously, when the lady had hidden him inside the large mahogany wardrobe. But everything soon changed inside him as soon as he saw himself estranged from her for ever.
His cruel memory began to go over the minutest details of that night which in real life had left him so cold.
During the very night after they had formally broken it off for ever Julien almost went mad on finding himself obliged to admit to himself that he loved Mlle de La Mole.
A terrible conflict followed this discovery: all his feelings were in turmoil.
Two days later, instead of lording it over M. de Croisenois, he was almost ready to fling his arms round him in tears.
Experience of misfortune gave him a glimmer of common sense; he decided to set off for the Languedoc, packed his trunk and went to the post-station.
He felt like collapsing when, on arrival at the mail-coach office, he was told that by some remarkable chance there was a seat the next day on the coach for Toulouse. He reserved it and went back to the Hôtel de La Mole to announce his departure to the marquis.
M. de La Mole had gone out. More dead than alive, Julien went into the library to wait for him. Imagine his reaction on finding Mlle de La Mole there!
On seeing him appear she assumed an unmistakable expression of cruelty.
Carried away by his unhappiness, thrown by surprise, Julien committed the weakness of saying to her, in the most tender and heartfelt of tones: 'So you don't love me any more?'
'I'm appalled at having given myself to the first man who came along,' said Mathilde, weeping with rage at herself.
'The first man who came along!' exclaimed Julien, and he rushed towards an old sword from the Mi
ddle Ages which was kept in the library as a curiosity.
His suffering, which he considered extreme at the instant he
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had addressed Mlle de La Mole, had just been increased a hundredfold by the tears of shame he saw her shed. He would have been the happiest of men to be able to kill her.
At the very instant when he had just drawn the sword with some difficulty from its ancient sheath, Mathilde, happy at such a novel sensation, advanced proudly towards him; her tears had dried up.
The image of the Marquis de La Mole his benefactor conjured itself up vividly before Julien's eyes. Me, kill his daughter! he said to himself, how appalling! He made as if to fling down the sword. It's quite certain, he thought, that she'll burst out laughing at the sight of this melodramatic gesture: the very idea served to restore all his composure to him. He gazed at the blade of the old sword curiously, as though looking for a rust mark, then he put it back in its sheath, and, with the utmost calm, replaced it on the gilded bronze nail which supported it.
This whole sequence, which was very slow towards the end, lasted a good minute; Mlle de La Mole watched him in amazement. So I've been on the verge of being killed by my lover! she was saying to herself.
This idea took her right back to the most heroic moments in the century of Charles IX * and Henri III.
She stood motionless in front of Julien, who had just put back the sword; she gazed at him with eyes which no longer held any hatred. It must be admitted that she was terribly attractive at that moment: certainly no woman had ever looked less like a Parisian doll (this expression summed up Julien's great objection to the women in this part of France).
I'm going to relapse into some form of weakness for him, thought Mathilde; this time round he would indeed believe himself my lord and master, after a relapse, and at the precise moment when I've just spoken so sternly to him. She fled.
