by Stendhal
He spent these final days walking about on the narrow terrace at the top of the tower, smoking some excellent cigars that Mathilde had had brought over from Holland by courier, and quite unaware that his appearance was awaited every day by all the telescopes in town. His thoughts were in Vergy. He never spoke of Mme de Rênal to Fouqué, but on two or three occasions his friend told him that she was making a rapid recovery, and this comment reverberated in his heart.
While Julien's spirit was almost always wholly in the realm of ideas, Mathilde, concerned with reality as befits an aristocratic temperament, had succeeded in bringing about such a degree of intimacy in the direct correspondence between Mme
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de Fervaques and M. de Frilair that by this time the great word bishopric had already been uttered.
The venerable prelate in charge of the list of benefices added as a postscript to one of his niece's letters: This poor fellow Sorel is just a scatterbrain, I hope he will be restored to us.
At the sight of these lines M. de Frilair went almost wild with delight. He did not doubt he could save Julien.
'Were it not for this Jacobin law * which stipulates that an interminable list of jurors be drawn up, and has no other real purpose than to remove all influence from people of good birth,' he said to Mathilde the day before the thirty-six jurors were to be drawn by lot for the assizes, 'I should have answered for the verdict. Didn't I get Father N acquired...'
It was a pleasure the next day for M. de Frilair to discover among the names that had come out of the urn five Congregationists from Besançon, and among the strangers to the town the names of M. Valenod, M. de Moirod and M. de Cholin. 'I can answer first of all for these eight jurors here,' he told Mathilde. The first five are machines. Valenod is my agent, Moirod owes everything to me, and de Cholin is an idiot who's afraid of everything.'
The newspaper broadcast the names of the jurors throughout the département, and Mme de Rênal, to the unutterable horror of her husband, determined to go to Besançon. The most that M. de Rênal could obtain was that she would not leave her bed, so as to avoid the unpleasantness of being called as a witness.
'You do not understand my position,' said the former mayor of Verrrières, 'I am now a liberal by defection, * as they say; there's no doubting that that rascal Valenod and M, de Frilair will easily obtain from the public prosecutor and the judges everything that can possibly be disagreeable for me.'
Mme de Rênal gave in readily to her husband's orders. If I made an appearance at the assize court, she said to herself, I'd look as if I were seeking vengeance.
Despite all the promises of caution which she had given her confessor and her husband, no sooner had she set foot in Besançon that she wrote in her own hand to each one of the thirty-six jurors:
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I shall not appear on the day of the trial, sir, because my presence might be prejudicial to M. Sorel's case. My one desire in the world, and it is passionately held, is that he should be saved. Be in no doubt about it, the appalling idea that on my account an innocent man had been put to death would poison the rest of my life and probably shorten it. How could you condemn him to death while I am alive? No, society probably does not have the right to take life, especially not the life of a person like Julien Sorel. Everyone in Verrières has witnessed his moments of derangement. This poor young man has powerful enemies; but, even among his enemies (and how numerous they are!), who would cast any doubt on his admirable talents and his profound learning? This is no ordinary citizen that you are about to judge, sir. For almost eighteen months we all knew him as pious, dutiful and conscientious; but two or three times a year he was seized by fits of melancholy which bordered on derangement. The entire town of Verrivres, all our neighbours at Vergy where we spend the summer season, my whole family, and the esteemed sub-prefect himself will bear witness to his exemplary piety; he knows the entire Holy Bible by heart. Would an ungodly person have applied himself for years to learning the holy book? My sons will have the honour of handing you this letter: they are children. Deign to question them, sir; they will supply you in regard to this poor young man with all the details that might still be necessary to convince you of how barbarous it would be to condemn him. Far indeed from avenging me, you would deal me a death blow.
What will his enemies be able to say to counter this fact? The wound that resulted from one of those moments of folly that even my children observed in their tutor is so minor that after less than two months it has allowed me to travel by post horses from Verrières to Besançon. If I learn, sir, that you have even the slightest hesitation about rescuing from the barbarity of the law a person who is so little guilty, I shall rise from my bed, where I am confined solely by my husband's orders, and I shall go and fling myself at your feet.
Declare, sir, that the premeditation is not established, and you will not have to reproach yourself with the blood of an innocent man, etc., etc.
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CHAPTER 41
The trial
The country will remember this famous case for a long time to come. Concern for the accused reached an extraordinary level: the reason being that his crime was astonishing and yet not appalling. Even had it been, this young man was so handsome! His great destiny, so soon ended, heightened the sympathy. Will they condemn him? The women asked the men of their acquaintance, and they were seen to turn pale as they waited for the reply.
SAINTE-BEUVE
AT last came the day so dreaded by Mme de Rênal and Mathilde.
The unaccustomed appearance of the town increased their terror, and did not fail to shake even Fouqué's stalwart nerves. The whole province had flocked to Besançon to see this romantic case tried.
For several days there had been no more room in the inns. The presiding judge was overwhelmed with requests for tickets for the assizes; all the ladies of the town wanted to watch the trial; Julien's portrait was hawked in the streets, etc. etc.
Mathilde was holding in reserve for this supreme moment a letter written from start to finish in the hand of Monsignor the Bishop of -----. This prelate, who was the head of the Church in France and appointed bishops, deigned to ask for Julien's acquittal. On the eve of the trial, Mathilde took this letter to the all-powerful vicar-general.
At the end of the meeting, as she broke into tears on taking her leave: 'I shall answer for the jury's verdict,' M. de Frilair told her, finally abandoning his diplomatic reserve, and close to being moved himself. 'Among the twelve individuals instructed to examine whether your protégé's crime is established, and above all whether there was any premeditation, I can count on six friends who have my personal interests at
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heart, and I have given them to understand that my promotion to a bishopric depends on them. Baron Valenod, whom I have made mayor of Verrières, can answer fully for two of his subordinates, M. de Moirod and M. Cholin. In all truth Fate has given us two most unsound jurors to try this case; but although ultra-liberals, they are faithful to my orders on important occasions, and they have been asked on my behalf to vote with M. Valenod. I have discovered that a sixth juror, an immensely rich manufacturer and a liberal prattler, is secretly after a contract from the Ministry of War, and no doubt he would not wish to displease me. I have had him informed that M. de Valenod has my final word.'
'And what sort of man is this M. Valenod?' asked Mathilde uneasily.
'If you knew him you could have no doubts about a successful outcome. He's a bold, impudent and vulgar talker, made to be a leader of fools. The events of 1814 * wrested him from destitution, and I shall make a prefect of him. He's capable of thrashing the other jurors if they won't vote his way.'
Mathilde was somewhat reassured.
Another discussion awaited her in the course of the evening. To avoid prolonging a disagreeable scene which in his view could only have one outcome, Julien was determined not to make a speech.
'My counsel will speak, that's quite sufficient,' he said to Mathilde. 'I'll be
held up as a spectacle to all my enemies for long enough as it is. These provincials have been scandalized by the rapid rise to fortune I owe to you, and believe you me, there isn't a single one of them who doesn't wish to see me sentenced, but will feel free to blub like a baby when I'm led off to execution.'
'They wish to see you humiliated, that's only too true,' replied Mathilde, 'but I don't believe them to be cruel. My presence in Besançon and the sight of my grief has aroused the interest of all the women; your handsome face will do the rest. If you say a word in the presence of your judges, the whole of the public gallery will be on your side,' etc. etc.
At nine o'clock the next day, when Julien came down from
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his prison to go to the great hall in the law courts, the police had considerable difficulty in pushing aside the enormous crowd thronging the courtyard. Julien had slept well, he was extremely calm, and his only feeling was one of philosophical pity for this crowd of envious souls who, without any cruelty, were going to applaud his death sentence. He was very surprised when, after spending over a quarter of an hour trapped in the midst of the throng, he was obliged to recognize that his presence inspired a feeling of tender pity in the crowd. He did not hear a single unpleasant remark. These provincials are less nasty than I thought, he said to himself.
On entering the courtroom he was struck by the elegance of the architecture. It was in pure gothic style, with a host of pretty little columns carved into the stone with the utmost skill. He imagined himself in England.
But soon his whole attention was taken up by a dozen or even fifteen pretty women filling the three galleries above the judges and the jury, right opposite the dock. On turning round to face the public, he saw that the circular gallery overlooking the amphitheatre was filled with women: most of them were young, and struck him as very pretty; their glistening eyes were full of concern. The crowd in the rest of the courtroom was immense; people were fighting at the doors, and the sentries were unable to impose silence.
When all the eyes that were looking for Julien noticed his presence as he took up his place on the slightly raised bench reserved for the accused, he was greeted by a murmur of astonishment and tender concern.
You wouldn't have thought him more than twenty that day; he was dressed very simply but with perfect elegance; the arrangement of his hair round his forehead was most fetching; Mathilde had insisted on seeing to his appearance herself. Julien's pallor was extreme. He had hardly sat down in the dock before he heard people saying all around him: 'Goodness! how young he is!... But he's only a boy... He looks far nicer than his portrait.'
'Accused,' said the officer sitting on his right, 'can you see those six ladies sitting up in that gallery?' He pointed to a little gallery projecting over the part of the amphitheatre where the
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jury sit. 'That's the prefect's wife,' the officer went on, 'next to her is the Marquise de M-----, she's a good friend to you, I heard her talking to the examining magistrate. Next along is Mme Derville...'
'Mme Derville!' exclaimed Julien, and his brow flushed deeply. On leaving here, he thought, she'll write to Mme de Rênal. He was unaware of Mme de Rênal's arrival in Besançon.
The witnesses were very soon heard. At the first word of the charge read out by the assistant public prosecutor, two of the ladies sitting in the small gallery right opposite Julien burst into tears. You don't find Mme Derville getting emotional like that, Julien thought. He noticed however that her face was very red.
The assistant public prosecutor was indulging in pathos in bad French * on the barbarity of the crime that had been committed; Julien observed that Mme Derville's neighbours looked strongly disapproving. Several members of the jury, apparently known to these ladies, were speaking to them and seemed to be reassuring them. This must be a good sign, Julien thought.
Up until then he had felt himself imbued with unmitigated scorn for all the men present at the trial. The assistant public prosecutor's insipid rhetoric heightened this feeling of disgust. But gradually Julien's emotional coldness vanished in the face of the obvious signs of interest which he aroused.
He was pleased with his counsel's resolute expression. 'No fine words,' he said to him under his breath as he was about to begin speaking.
'All the bombast stolen from Bossuet that was wheeled out to attack you has worked in your favour,' said the barrister. Indeed, he had hardly been speaking for five minutes before almost all the women had their handkerchiefs in their hands. Encouraged by this, the counsel directed some extremely powerful words to the jury. Julien trembled; he felt himself on the verge of tears. Good God! what will my enemies say?
He was about to give in to the emotion overwhelming him, when fortunately for him he caught an insolent glance from Baron de Valenod.
That pompous underling has a glint in his eye, he said to
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himself; what a triumph for a base mind like his! If my crime had only had this one result, I ought to curse it. God knows what he'll say about me to Mme de Rênal!
This idea dispelled all others. Shortly afterwards Julien was called back to reality by signs of assent from the public. His counsel had just finished his speech. Julien remembered that it was the done thing to shake him by the hand. Time had flown by.
Refreshments were brought to the barrister and the accused. Only then was Julien struck by something: no woman had left the courtroom to go to dinner.
'I must say, I'm absolutely starving,' said the barrister, 'what about you?'
'I am too,' Julien replied.
'Do you see, there's the prefect's wife getting her dinner too,' the barrister said to him, pointing out the little gallery. 'Keep up your spirits, everything's going well.' The hearing resumed.
As the judge was summing up, midnight struck. He was obliged to break off his speech; in the midst of the silence fraught with tension everywhere, the resounding chime of the clock filled the courtroom.
This is my last day starting now, Julien thought. Soon he felt himself fired by the idea of duty. He had controlled his emotion up until then, and kept his resolve not to speak; but when the presiding judge asked him if he had anything to add, he rose to his feet. He could see straight across into Mme Derville's eyes, and under the lights they seemed to him to be glistening. Could she be crying, by any chance? he wondered.
'Gentlemen of the jury,
My horror of scorn, which I thought I could face at the moment of death, compels me to speak. Gentlemen, I do not have the honour of belonging to your class, you see in me a peasant who has rebelled against his lowly lot.
'I am not asking you for any mercy,' Julien went on in a firmer voice. 'I have no illusions, death awaits me: it will be a just death. I was capable of attempting to kill the woman most worthy of everyone's respect and everyone's esteem. Mme de Rênal had been like a mother to me. My crime is appalling,
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and it was premeditated. I therefore deserve to die, gentlemen of the jury. But if I were less guilty, I see around me men who have no time for any pity that my youth might deserve, and who will wish to punish in me and for ever discourage this generation of young men who, being born into an inferior class and in some sense ground down by poverty, have the good fortune to get themselves a decent education, and the audacity to mingle in what the rich in their arrogance call society.
'That is my crime, gentlemen, and it will be punished all the more severely as I am not being tried by my peers. I do not see on the jury's benches any peasant who has grown rich, but only outraged members of the bourgeoisie...'
For twenty minutes Julien spoke in this vein, he unburdened himself of everything he had bottled up; the assistant public prosecutor, who was aspiring to favours from the aristocracy, was fuming on his bench; but in spite of the rather abstract terms in which Julien had couched his arguments, all the women were giving way to tears. Mme Derville herself had her handkerchief over her eyes. Before winding up, Julien turned once more to preme
ditation, to his repentance, and to the respect and boundless filial devotion that in happier times he had felt for Mme de Rênal... Mme Derville uttered a cry and fainted.
One o'clock was striking as the jury withdrew into their room. No woman had forsaken her seat; a number of men had tears in their eyes. Talk was very animated to start with, but gradually, as the jury's decision was long in coming, universal fatigue began to bring calm to the assembly. It was a solemn moment; the lamps cast a dimmer fight. Julien, who was very tired, heard people near him discussing whether this delay was a good or a bad sign. He saw with pleasure that everyone was on his side; there was no sign of the jury returning, and still no woman left the courtroom.
As two o'clock finished striking, a great stir was heard. The little door of the jury's room opened. Baron de Valenod came forward with a grave, theatrical step followed by all the members of the jury. He coughed, then declared that upon his soul and conscience the unanimous verdict of the jury was that Julien Sorel was guilty of murder, and of murder with pre-
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meditation: this verdict carried the death penalty; the sentence was read out a moment later. Julien looked at his watch and remembered M. de Lavalette: * it was a quarter past two. Today is Friday, he thought.
Yes, but it's a happy day for our Valenod, who has sentenced me... I'm too closely guarded for Mathilde to be able to rescue me as Mme de Lavalette did... So, three days from now, at this same time, I shall know what there is to know about the great question-mark.
At that moment he heard a cry and was brought back to the affairs of this world. The women around him were sobbing; he saw that all faces were turned towards a little balcony carved into the top of a gothic pilaster. He learned later that Mathilde had concealed herself there. As the cry was not repeated, everyone turned back to look at Julien again, whom the officers were trying to get out through the crowd.
