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

by Stendhal

  Who could have foreseen it? he said to himself. A daughter with such an arrogant character, with such a superior cast of mind, more proud than I am of the name she bears! Whose hand had been requested of me in advance by all the most illustrious nobles in France!

  You have to throw caution to the winds. This century is destined to cast everything into confusion! We're heading for chaos.

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  CHAPTER 34

  A man of intelligence

  The prefect riding along on his horse said to himself: Why shouldn't I be a minister, or head of the Cabinet, or a duke? This is how I shall wage ...In this way I'd have innovators put in chains...

  LE GLOBE

  No argument is strong enough to break the hold of ten years of enjoyable dreaming. The marquis did not think it reasonable to be angry, but could not bring himself to forgive. If only this Julien could die by accident, he said to himself at times... His grieving imagination thus found some solace in pursuing the most absurd fantasies. They counteracted the effect of Father Pirard's sensible reasoning. A month went by in this fashion without any step forward in the settlement.

  In this family matter, as in politics, the marquis had brilliant insights which filled him with enthusiasm for three days on end. At such times some course of action would fail to appeal to him because it was backed by sound arguments; but then arguments only found favour with him in so far as they supported his preferred plan. For three days running he worked with all the ardour and enthusiasm of a poet to bring things to a certain point; the next day he had forgotten all about it.

  At first Julien was disconcerted by the marquis's delays; but after a few weeks he began to surmise that in this matter M. de La Mole did not have any firm plans.

  Mme de La Mole and the rest of the household believed that Julien was off travelling in the provinces, seeing to the administration of the estates; he was hiding in Father Pirard's presbytery, and seeing Mathilde almost every day. She went to see her father for an hour every morning, but sometimes they let whole weeks go by without discussing the matter that was constantly on their minds.

  'I don't want to know that man's whereabouts,' the marquis said to her one day. 'Send him this letter.' Mathilde read:

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  The Languedoc estates bring in 20,600 francs. I make over 10,600 francs to my daughter and 10,000 francs to M. Julien Sorel. I am of course donating the estates themselves. Instruct the solicitor to draw up two separate deeds of gift, and to bring them to me tomorrow; after which, no further dealings between us. Ah! sir, was I to expect all this?

  La Mole.

  'Thank you very much indeed,' said Mathilde brightly. 'We shall settle in the Château d'Aiguillon, * between Agen and Marmande. They say the region is as beautiful as Italy.'

  This gift came as a great surprise to Julien. He was no longer the stern and cold man we knew earlier. The fate of his son took up all his thoughts in anticipation. This fortune, unexpected and pretty substantial for someone so poor, gave him ambitions. He saw himself and his wife enjoying an income of 36,000 pounds between them. As for Mathilde, all her emotion was absorbed in adoration of her husband, for that was how her pride always referred to Julien. Her great, her sole ambition was to have her marriage recognized. She spent her days exaggerating to herself the great prudence she had shown in throwing in her lot with that of a superior man. In her mind, personal distinction was all the fashion.

  The effect of almost continuous absence, multifarious business, and scant time available for talking of love, was to complete the good work of the wise strategy Julien had devised earlier.

  Mathilde finally grew impatient at seeing so little of the she had reached the point of genuinely loving.

  In a moment of bad temper she wrote to her father, and began her letter like Othello. *

  That I have preferred Julien to the delights society offered the daughter of Monsieur le Marquis de La Mole is amply proved by my choice. These pleasures of esteem and petty vanity mean nothing to me. I have been living apart from my husband for almost six weeks now. That is a sufficient demonstration of my respect for you. I shall leave my family home by next Thursday. Your generous gifts have made us rich. No one knows my secret apart from the respectable Abbé Pirard. I shall go to his house, he will marry us, and an hour after the ceremony we shall be on our way to the Languedoc, and we

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  shall never set foot in Paris again except on your orders. But what pierces me to the heart is the thought that all this will make a stinging anecdote to tell against me, and against you. May not the epigrams of a foolish public force our splendid Norbert to pick a quarrel with Julien? If that happened, I know him, I should have no influence over him. We should find in him shades of the rebellious plebeian. Dear father, I beseech you on my knees: come and witness the celebration of our marriage in Father Pirard's church next Thursday. The sting will be taken out of this malicious anecdote, and the threat to the lives of your only son and my husband will be removed, etc., etc.

  The marquis was thrown by this letter into a state of curious embarrassment. So the time had come at last for him to make up his mind. All his little habits, all his ordinary friends had lost their influence.

  In this strange situation, the broad traits of his character, imprinted by the events of his youth, resumed all their hold over him. The misfortunes of the Emigration had turned him into a man of imagination. Having spent two years enjoying an immense fortune and all the honours of the Court, he had been cast by the events of 1790 into the appalling hardships of the Emigration. Learning the hard way had radically altered the character of the twenty-two-year-old marquis. Basically, he stood assertively in the midst of his present wealth, rather than being dominated by it. But this very imagination which had saved his soul from being consumed by the gangrene of gold, had made him fall prey to a mad desire to see his daughter adorned with a fine title.

  During the six weeks which had just elapsed, there had been moments when the marquis, on an impulse, had decided to make Julien rich; Julien's poverty struck him as unworthy, as dishonourable for him, M. de La Mole, and out of the question for the husband of his daughter; he flung his money away. The following day, his imagination took another turn, and it seemed to him that Julien would heed the silent message of this financial generosity, would change his name, exile himself to America, and write to tell Mathilde that as far as she was concerned he was dead. M. de La Mole imagined this letter already written, and pictured its effect on his daughter's character...

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  On the day he was awakened from these youthful fantasies by the real letter from Mathilde, he had considered at length killing Julien or having him removed, and then began dreaming of setting up a brilliant fortune for him. He would bestow on him the name of one of his estates; and why shouldn't he pass on his peerage to him? The Duc de Chaulnes, his fatherin-law, had spoken to him several times, ever since his only son had been killed in Spain, of his desire to hand on his title to Norbert...

  One can't deny that Julien has an unusual gift for business, he's adventurous, perhaps even brilliant, the marquis said to himself... But in the depths of his character I detect something that alarms me. This is the impression he gives everyone, so there must genuinely be something there (the more difficult it was to pin down what was genuinely there, the more it alarmed the imaginative faculties of the old marquis).

  As my daughter put it to me so shrewdly the other day (in a letter we have suppressed): 'Julien has not given his allegiance to any salon or any coterie.' He's got no one lined up to side with him against me, or any resource whatsoever if I abandon him... But is this a sign of ignorance of the present state of society...? On two or three occasions I have said to him: 'No one has any realistic expectations of making his way without the backing of the salons...'

  No, he doesn't have the shrewd and cunning genius of an attorney who never loses a minute or an opportunity... He doesn't have anything of Louis XI's * character. On the other
hand, I hear him him uttering maxims that are the opposite of generous... I'm at sea... Might he be repeating these maxims for his own benefit to serve as a dike against his passions?

  At any rate, one thing stands out: he can't abide scorn, that's my hold over him.

  He doesn't worship high birth, it's true, he doesn't respect us out of instinct... He's at fault there; but anyway, the only thing that the soul of a seminarist should find it hard to abide is the lack of creature comforts and money. He's quite different, he can't bear scorn at any price.

  Put on the spot by his daughter's letter, M. de La Mole recognized the need to come to a decision: Well, this is the big

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  question: did Julien's audacity go so far as embarking on courtship of my daughter because he knows I love her more than anything, and I have an income of a hundred thousand crowns?

  Mathilde protests to the contrary... No, Mister Julien, this is a point on which I don't wish to be deluded.

  Was it a case of genuine, unexpected love? Or was it a vulgar desire to rise to a high position in society? Mathilde is perspicacious, she sensed right away that this suspicion could damn him in my eyes, hence her avowal: she was the one who took it into her head to fall in love first...

  Could a girl with such a proud spirit forget herself to the point of making physical advances...! Squeezing his arm in the garden one evening--how dreadful! As if she hadn't had hundreds of less improper ways of letting him know that he was someone special.

  Making excuses is an admission of guilt; I mistrust Mathilde... That day, the marquis's reasoning was more conclusive than usual. However, habit got the better of him and he resolved to gain time by writing to his daughter. For communication took place by letter from one side of the house to the other. M. de La Mole did not dare discuss matters with Mathilde face to face and stand up to her. He was afraid of ending everything by a sudden concession.

  LETTER

  Make sure you do not commit any fresh acts of folly; here is a lieutenant's commission in the Hussars for M. le Chevalier Julien Sorel de La Vernaye. You see what I am doing for him. Do not stand in my way, do not ask me any questions. He must leave in the next twenty-four hours, to present himself in Strasburg where his regiment is stationed. Here is a warrant from my banker; I wish to be obeyed.

  Mathilde's love and joy knew no bounds; she determined to take advantage of victory, and replied forthwith:

  M. de La Vernaye would be at your feet, overcome with gratitude, if he knew all the things you are deigning to do for him. But in the midst of all this generosity, my father has forgotten me; your daughter's honour is in danger. An indiscreet word can cause an eternal blot--one that an income of twenty thousand crowns would

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  not expunge. I shall not send the commission to M. de La Vernaye unless you give me your word that some time in the next month my marriage will be celebrated in public, at Villequier. I beg you not to delay any longer, because shortly thereafter your daughter will only be able to appear in public under the name of Mme de La Vernaye. How much I think you, dear Papa, for sparing me the name of Sorel, etc., etc.

  The reply was unexpected.

  Obey, or I retract everything. Tremble, rash girl. I do not yet know what sort of person your Julien is, and you yourself know even less than I do. He must leave for Strasburg, and take care not to put a foot wrong. I shall make known my wishes in the next fortnight.

  So stern a reply astonished Mathilde. I do not know Julien; this phrase plunged her into a reverie which soon offered her the most bewitching of hypotheses; but she took them for the truth. My Julien hasn't cloaked his mind in the mean, petty uniform of the salons, and my father doesn't believe in his superiority, precisely because of what proves it...

  All the same, if I don't give in to this passing display of toughness, I foresee the possibility of a public scene; a scandal will lower my standing in society, and may make me less attractive in Julien's eyes. After the scandal... poverty for ten years; and the folly of choosing a husband for his personal qualities can only escape ridicule by the most dazzling opulence. If I live a long way away from my father, at his age he may forget me... Norbert will marry a charming and clever woman: Louis XIV was captivated in his old age by the Duchess of Burgundy... *

  She had made up her mind to obey, but was careful not to impart her father's letter to Julien; his unruly character might have driven him to some act of folly.

  That evening, when she informed Julien that he was a lieutenant in the Hussars, his joy knew no bounds. To picture it, just consider his lifelong ambition and the passion he now felt for his son. The change of name filled him with astonishment.

  When you come to think about it, he reflected, my story's

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  ended, and all the credit goes to me alone. I've succeeded in making this monster of pride fall in love with me, he added, glancing at Mathilde; her father can't live without her, nor she without me.

  -463-

  CHAPTER 35

  A storm

  O God, give me mediocrity!

  MIRABEAU

  HIS mind was elsewhere; he responded only half-heartedly to her displays of great tenderness. He remained silent and morose. Mathilde had never looked up to him so much, never found him so lovable. She feared some subtle quirk of his pride that would go and upset the whole situation.

  Almost every morning she saw Father Pirard coming to the house. Mightn't Julien through him have gained some insight into her father's intentions! Mightn't the marquis himself have written to him on the whim of a moment? After a stroke of good fortune like this, how was Julien's stern expression to be explained? She did not dare question him.

  She did not dare! she, Mathilde! From that moment on there entered into her feelings for Julien something ill-defined, something unexpected, almost like terror. This and soul experienced passion as fully as is possible in someone brought up in the midst of the surfeit of civilization that Paris worships.

  Early the next morning Julien was at Father Pirard's presbytery. Post horses were making their way into the courtyard with a dilapidated chaise hired from the nearest station.

  'An equipage like this is no longer appropriate,' said the stern priest with a scowl. 'Here are twenty thousand francs as a gift from M. de La Mole; he invites you to spend them within a year, endeavouring, however, to avoid making a fool of yourself in so far as possible.' (Such a considerable sum of money lavished on a young man was viewed by the priest as nothing less than an invitation to sin.)

  'The marquis adds: " M. Julien de La Vernaye will be assumed to have received this money from his father, to whom there is no need to refer otherwise. M. de La Vernaye will perhaps see fit to give a present to M. Sorel, a carpenter in Verrières, who cared for him as a child..." I can see to this

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  part of the instructions,' the priest added. 'I have at last persuaded M. de La Mole to reach a settlement with the Abbé de Frilair, who is such a Jesuit. His influence is decidely too much of a match for us. Implicit recognition of your noble birth by this man who rules Besançon will be one of the tacit conditions of the settlement.'

  Julien could no longer control his feelings, and embraced the priest: he saw himself recognized.

  'Come, come!' said M. Pirard, rebuffing him; 'what is the meaning of this worldly vanity?... As for Sorel and his sons, I shall offer them, in my own name, an annuity of five hundred francs, to be paid to each one of them for as long as I am satisfied with them.'

  Julien had already become cold and aloof. He expressed his thanks, but in very vague terms that made no commitment. Could it really be possible, he wondered, that I might be the natural son of some great lord driven into exile in our mountains by the terrible Napoleon? This idea seemed less improbable to him with every passing moment... My hatred for my father would be proof of it... I shouldn't be a monster any more!

  Only a few days after this monologue, the fifteenth regiment of Hussars, * one of the most brillian
t in the army, was lined up in battle formation on the parade ground in Strasburg. M. le Chevalier de La Vernaye was mounted on the finest horse in Alsace, which had cost him six thousand francs. He was being presented as a lieutenant without ever having been a sublieutenant except on the books of a regiment he had never heard of.

  His impassive expression, the stern, almost fierce look in his eyes, his pallor and his imperturbable composure launched his reputation right from the very first day. A little while later, his perfect, restrained civility, his skill with pistols and swords, which he displayed without too much affectation, banished any thought of joking out loud at his expense. After five or six days of wavering, public opinion in the regiment declared itself in his favour. 'This young man has everything,' said the old officers mockingly, 'except youth'.

  From Strasburg Julien wrote to M. Chélan, the former priest of Verrières, who was now verging on extreme old age:

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  You will have learned with joy, I do not doubt, of the events which moved my family to make me rich. Here is a sum of five hundred francs which I beg you to distribute without fuss, or any mention whatsoever of my name, to the unfortunate souls who are poor now as I once was, and whom you no doubt help just as you once helped me.

  Julien was intoxicated with ambition, not with vanity; he nevertheless devoted a good deal of his attention to external appearances. His horses, his uniforms, his servants' livery were punctiliously maintained in a way which would have been a credit to the fastidiousness of a great English lord. He was hardly a lieutenant, promoted through favouritism a mere two days ago, and he was already calculating that to be a commander-in-chief at thirty at the very latest, like all great generals, it was essential at twenty-three to be more than a lieutenant. He thought of nothing but glory, and his son.