by Stendhal
It seemed to him that one thing would bring infinite relief to his suffering: to talk to Mathilde. Yet what would he dare say to her?
This was what he was musing deeply about at seven o'clock one morning when he suddenly saw her coming into the library.
'I know, sir, that you wish to speak to me.'
'Great heavens! Who told you so?'
'I just know, what does it matter to you? If you aren't a man of honour, you can ruin me, or at any rate try to; but this risk, which I don't believe to be real, certainly won't prevent me from being frank. I don't love you any more, sir, my mad imagination has been deceiving me...'
At this terrible blow, distracted with love and unhappiness, Julien tried to justify himself. Nothing could have been more absurd. Can one justify oneself for failing to be liked? But reason had no hold over his conduct any more. Some blind instinct drove him to delay the decision on his fate. It seemed
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to him that as long as he was talking, all was not over. Mathilde was not listening to his words, the sound of them irritated her, she couldn't see how he had the audacity to interrupt her.
Virtue and pride were both causing her remorse that made her equally wretched that morning. She was somehow devastated by the appalling idea of having given rights over herself to a little abbé, the son of a peasant. It's more or less, she said to herself at times when she was exaggerating her wretchedness, as if I had a lapse with one of the lackeys on my conscience.
With bold and proud characters, it is only a short step from anger at oneself to fury with others; fits of rage in such cases cause acute pleasure.
In a matter of moments, Mlle de La Mole reached the point of heaping upon Julien the most outrageous expressions of scorn. She was infinitely clever, and her cleverness excelled in the art of torturing the self-esteem of others, and inflicting cruel wounds upon it.
For the first time in his life Julien found himself subjected to the working of a superior mind fired by the most violent hatred of him. Far from having even the slightest thought of defending himself at that moment, he reached the stage of despising his own self. As he heard himself assailed with such cruel outbursts of scorn, so cleverly calculated to destroy any good opinion he might have of himself, it seemed to him that Mathilde was right and that her words did not go far enough.
As for her, she savoured to the full the pleasure her pride took in thus punishing herself and him for the adoration she had felt a few days before.
She had no need to improvise and think up from scratch the cruel things she said to him with such satisfaction. She was only repeating what the advocate for the party opposed to love had been saying in her heart for the past week.
Every word increased Julien's wretchedness a hundredfold. He tried to escape, but Mlle de La Mole held him back authoritatively by the arm.
'Be so good as to observe', he said to her, 'that you're talking very loud, you'll be overheard from the next room.'
'So what!' replied Mlle de La Mole arrogantly, 'who shall
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dare tell me I can be heard? I want to cure that petty pride of yours for ever of the ideas it may have got hold of concerning me.'
When Julien was able to leave the library, he was so astonished that it made him less aware of his misery. 'Oh well! she doesn't love me any more,' he repeated to himself out loud as if informing himself of his situation. She loved me for a week or ten days, so it seems, whereas I shall love her an my life.
Is this really possible, she meant nothing--nothing to me only a few days ago!
Mathilde's heart was awash with gloating pride; so she had been able to break it off irrevocably for ever! Triumphing so totally over such a powerful attraction would make her perfectly happy. As things are, this little gentleman will understand once and for all that he doesn't and never will have any hold over me. She was so happy that she genuinely felt no love any more at that moment.
After such an appalling and humiliating scene, love would have become impossible for anyone less passionate than Julien. Without deviating for a single instant from her duty to herself, Mlle de La Mole had made some nasty remarks to him, so well targeted as to appear true even when remembered in a calm frame of mind.
The conclusion Julien drew at first from such an astonishing scene was that Mathilde's pride knew no bounds. He firmly believed that everything was over between them for good and all, and yet at lunch the next day he was awkward and nervous in her presence. It was not a failing he could have been reproached with up until then. In small matters as in important ones, he knew precisely what it was his wish and desire to do, and he just carried it out.
That day, after lunch, when Mme de La Mole asked him for a seditious and at the same time rather rare pamphlet that her priest had brought her in secret that morning, Julien reached over to a side table for it and knocked over an old blue china vase, as hideous as they come.
Mme de La Mole sprang up with a cry of distress and came over to take a close look at the ruins of her beloved vase. 'It
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was antique Japanese porcelain,' she said, 'it came from my great-aunt the Abbess of Chelles; * it was a gift from the Dutch to the Duke of Orleans * while he was regent, and he gave it to his daughter...'
Mathilde had followed her mother over, delighted to find in smithereens this blue vase she thought horribly ugly. Julien was silent and not excessively disturbed; he found Mlle de La Mole right next to him.
'This vase', he said to her, 'is destroyed for ever, and the same goes for a sentiment which was once master of my heart; I beg you to accept my apologies for all the acts of folly it caused me to commit.' And he left the room.
'You'd really think', said Mme de La Mole as he walked off, 'that that M. Sorel is proud and pleased with what he's just done.'
These words went straight to Mathilde's heart. It's true, she said to herself, my mother has guessed right, that's just what he is feeling. Only then came an end to the joy caused by the scene she had had with him the day before. Oh well, it's all over, she told herself with apparent calm; it's taught me a great lesson; it was an appalling, humiliating mistake! It'll make me be good for the rest of my life.
Why wasn't I telling the truth? Julien thought; why does the love I felt for this mad creature go on tormenting me?
This love, far from dwindling to nothing as he hoped, grew in leaps and bounds. She's mad, it's true, he said to himself, but is she any the less adorable for it? Could anyone be prettier? Didn't everything the most elegant civilization can offer in the way of intense pleasures jostle, so to speak, to be represented in the person of Mlle de La Mole? These memories of past happiness swept Julian up and rapidly destroyed everything reason had accomplished.
Reason struggles in vain against memories of this kind; its stern attempts only increase their charm.
Twenty-four hours after shattering the old Japanese porcelain vase, Julien was decidedly one of the unhappiest of men.
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CHAPTER 21
The secret memorandum *
For everything I describe I have seen; and if I may
have been deceived when I saw it, I am most
certainly not deceiving you when telling you of it.
Letter to the Author
THE marquis summoned him; M. de La Mole looked years younger; there was a glint in his eye.
'Let's have a word about your memory,' he said to Julien, 'they say it's prodigious! Could you learn four pages off by heart and go and recite them in London? But without altering a single word . . .'
The marquis was crumpling up that day's copy of La Quotidienne * in annoyance, and trying in vain to conceal his deeply serious expression--one that Julien had never seen on his face before, even when the subject of his lawsuit with Frilair came up. Julien had sufficient experience of life by then to sense that he must appear to be completely taken in by the careless tone he was being treated to.
'This issue of La Quotidienne is perhaps not v
ery entertaining, but if his lordship is agreeable, tomorrow morning it will be my privilege to recite it to him in its entirety.'
'What! Even the announcements?'
'Precisely so, and without a single word missing.'
'Do you give me your word on it?' asked the marquis with sudden gravity.
'Yes, sir, fear of breaking it would be the only thing capable of interfering with my memory.'
'You see, I forgot to put this question to you yesterday: I shall not ask you to swear never to repeat what you are about to hear; I know you too well to insult you like that. I have already vouched for you; I'm going to take you along to a salon in which twelve people will be gathered; you will make a note of what each one says.
'Don't worry, it won't be a rambling conversation, each person will speak in turn--I don't mean in ordered speeches,'
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the marquis added, resuming the knowing and light-hearted look which came so naturally to him. 'While we are speaking, you will write twenty pages or so of notes; you will come back here with me and we'll reduce these twenty pages to four. These four pages will be what you'll recite to me tomorrow morning instead of that whole copy of La Quotidienne. You will leave immediately afterwards; you'll have to go post haste like a young man travelling for his own pleasure. Your aim will be to pass completely unnoticed. You will arrive in the entourage of an important personage. There you will need greater skill. It's a question of fooling his whole entourage; for among his secretaries and his servants there are people in the pay of our enemies, who are lying in wait for our agents to intercept them as they go about their business. You will have a letter of recommendation of no consequence.
'At the instant when his excellency looks at you, you will pull out my watch you see here, which I'll lend you for the journey. Take it on your person now, then that's dealt with, and give me yours.
'The duke himself will deign to write out at your dictation the four pages you'll have learned off by heart.
'Once that's done, but not before, please note, you will be at liberty, if his excellency questions you, to give him an account of the meeting you are about to take part in.
'What will keep you from getting bored during your journey is that between Paris and the minister's residence there are people who would like nothing better than to put a bullet into the Reverend Father Sorel. At which point his mission is over, and I foresee a long delay; for how, my dear fellow, are we to hear of your death? Your zeal cannot extend to sending us word of it.
'Run off at once and buy a complete set of clothes,' the marquis went on gravely. 'Adopt the fashion of two years ago. This evening you've got to look rather negligent in your dress. For the journey, on the other hand, you will be dressed as usual. Does this surprise you, are you canny enough to guess the reason? Yes, my good fellow, one of the venerable figures whose opinion you are going to hear is perfectly capable of passing on information, on the strength of which you may well
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find yourself one evening being given opium if not worse in some friendly inn where you have ordered supper.'
'It would be better', said Julien, 'to do an extra thirty leagues and not take the direct route. We're talking about Rome, I imagine . . .'
The marquis adopted an air of haughtiness and displeasure that Julien had not seen him wear in such an extreme form since that time at Bray-le-Haut.
'That, sir, you will find out when I see fit to tell you. I don't like questions.'
'It wasn't one,' Julien replied fervently; 'I swear it, sir, I was thinking out loud, I was running through my mind for the safest route.'
'Yes, it seems that your mind was quite elsewhere. Don't ever forget that an ambassador, even at your age, mustn't appear to be forcing confidences.'
Julien was very mortified: he was in the wrong. His selfesteem was looking for an excuse and failing to find one.
'You must realize', added M. de La Mole, 'that one invariably allows one's emotions to get involved when one has done something silly.'
An hour later Julien was in the marquis's antechamber, turned out in the manner of a subordinate, with out-of-date clothes, a cravat of dubious whiteness, and something ridiculously pompous about his whole appearance.
On seeing him the marquis burst out laughing, and only then was his faith in Julien completely vindicated. If this young man betrays me, M. de La Mole said to himself, who can I trust? And yet if you're involved in a lot of business, you have to trust someone. My son and his brilliant friends of the same ilk have enough courage and loyalty for a whole army; if it were a question of fighting, they would perish on the steps of the throne, they are competent in everything . . . except what's required at this juncture. Damned if I can imagine one of them being able to learn off four pages by heart and travel a hundred leagues without being discovered. Norbert would know how to get himself killed like his ancestors, but that's a conscript's privilege too . . .
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The marquis fell to musing deeply: If it comes to getting killed, he sighed, this Sorel might be just as good as Norbert . . .
'Let's get into the carriage,' said the marquis as if to banish an unwelcome thought.
'Sir,' said Julien, 'while I was having this suit fitted, I learned the first page of today's Quotidienne off by heart.' The marquis took the newspaper. Julien recited his piece without getting a single word wrong. 'Good,' said the marquis, at his most diplomatic that evening; all this time the young man isn't noticing the streets we're passing through.
Eventually they found themselves in a large drawing-room of rather dismal appearance, partly panelled and partly hung with green velvet. In the middle of the room a sullen footman was just finishing setting up a large dinner-table, which he later converted into a conference table by means of a huge sheet of green baize all covered in ink stains, salvaged from some ministry or other.
The host was an enormous man whose name was never uttered; Julien thought he looked and talked like someone who had just had a heavy meal.
At a sign from the marquis, Julien had remained at the far end of the table. To cover up his embarrassment, he set about trimming some pens. Out of the corner of his eye he counted seven speakers, but he only got a back view of them. It struck him that two of them were addressing M. de La Mole as an equal, while the others seemed more or less respectful.
A new figure came in unannounced. This is odd, thought Julien, they don't announce people in this salon. Could it be that this precaution is being taken in my honour? Everyone got up to greet the newcomer. He was wearing the same extremely distinguished decoration as three of the other people already in the room. They spoke in rather low voices. To judge the newcomer, Julien was reduced to what he could glean from his features and his general bearing. He was short and stocky, with high colour, a glint in his eye, and no expression other than the viciousness of a wild boar.
Julien's attention was sharply distracted by the almost immediate arrival of a quite different individual. He was a tall,
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very thin man wearing three or four waistcoats. His gaze spelled reassurance and his gestures civility.
He's the very image of the old Bishop of Besançon, thought Julien. He was clearly a man of the Church, and he did not look more than fifty or fifty-five; no one could have had a more unctuous expression.
The young Bishop of Agde appeared, and looked most astonished when, on casting a glance over the people present, his eye alighted on Julien. He had not spoken to him since the ceremony at Bray-le-Haut. His look of surprise embarrassed and annoyed Julien. For goodness' sake! thought the latter, will it always work to my disadvantage to know someone? All these great lords I've never set eyes on before don't intimidate me in the least, and this young bishop's stare freezes me to the spot! There's no denying I'm a most peculiar and most unlucky individual.
Soon a small, very dark man came into the room with a great clatter, and began talking as soon as he had stepped inside the door; he had a swarthy compl
exion and a rather mad look about him. As soon as this relentless talker arrived the others gathered into small groups, seemingly to escape the boredom of listening to him.
As they moved away from the fireplace, people drew closer to the far end of the table where Julien was sitting. His expression became more and more embarrassed; for after all, try as he might, he could not fail to hear, and inexperienced as he was, he understood the full significance of the things that were being openly discussed; and how dearly the high-ranking figures he appeared to be observing must have wished them to remain secret!
Julien had already, working as slowly as possible, trimmed himself some twenty pens; this resource was going to run out on him. He looked in vain for an order in M. de La Mole's eyes; the marquis had forgotten him.
What I'm doing is ridiculous, Julien said to himself as he trimmed his pens; but people with such insignificant faces, who have such important concerns entrusted to them by others or by themselves, must be extremely touchy. I have an unfortunate way of looking at people that is somehow questioning and
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disrespectful, and it would surely annoy them. If I keep my eyes resolutely lowered, I'll look as if I'm taking in their every word.
His embarrassment was acute: he was hearing some very strange things.
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CHAPTER 22
The discussion
The republic: for each individual today who would sacrifice everything for the public good, there are thousands and millions whose only experience is of their own enjoyment and their vanity. A man is respected in Paris for his carriage, not his virtue.
NAPOLEON, Chronicle
THE footman rushed in calling: 'His grace the Duke of -----'
'Be quiet, you are a fool,' said the duke as he came in. He said it so well, and with so much majesty, that in spite of himself Julien decided that knowing how to get angry with a footman summed up all the wisdom of this important personage. Julien raised his eyes, then lowered them again at once. He had surmised the newcomer's significance so well that he trembled lest his glance be considered an indiscretion.
