The Red and the Black: A Chronicle of 1830
two at least, were models of piety. M. de Valenod, who reckoned on
lending his carriage to the prettiest women in the town, and on showing
off his fine Norman steeds, consented to let Julien (the being he hated
most in the whole world) have one of his horses. But all the guards of
honour, either possessed or had borrowed, one of those pretty sky-blue
uniforms, with two silver colonel epaulettes, which had shone seven
years ago. Madame de Rênal wanted a new uniform, and she only had four
days in which to send to Besançon and get from there the uniform, the
arms, the hat, etc., everything necessary for a Guard of Honour. The
most delightful part of it was that she thought it imprudent to get
Julien's uniform made at Verrières. She wanted to surprise both him and
the town.
Having settled the questions of the guards of honour, and of the public
welcome finished, the mayor had now to organise a great religious
ceremony. The King of ---- did not wish to pass through Verrières
without visiting the famous relic of St. Clement, which is kept at
Bray-le-Haut barely a league from the town. The authorities wanted
to have a numerous attendance of the clergy, but this matter was the
most difficult to arrange. M. Maslon, the new curé, wanted to avoid at
any price the presence of M. Chélan. It was in vain that M. de Rênal
tried to represent to him that it would be imprudent to do so. M. the
Marquis de La Mole whose ancestors had been governors of the province
for so many generations, had been chosen to accompany the King of ----.
He had known the abbé Chélan for thirty years. He would certainly ask
news of him when he arrived at Verrières, and if he found him disgraced
he was the very man to go and route him out in the little house to
which he had retired, accompanied by all the escort that he had at his
disposition. What a rebuff that would be?
"I shall be disgraced both here and at Besançon," answered the abbé
Maslon, "if he appears among my clergy. A Jansenist, by the Lord."
"Whatever you can say, my dear abbé," replied M. de Rênal, "I'll never
expose the administration of Verrières to receiving such an affront
from M. de la Mole. You do not know him. He is orthodox enough at
Court, but here in the provinces, he is a satirical wit and cynic,
whose only object is to make people uncomfortable. He is capable of
covering us with ridicule in the eyes of the Liberals, simply in order
to amuse himself."
It was only on the night between the Saturday and the Sunday, after
three whole days of negotiations that the pride of the abbé Maslon bent
before the fear of the mayor, which was now changing into courage. It
was necessary to write a honeyed letter to the abbé Chélan, begging
him to be present at the ceremony in connection with the relic of
Bray-le-Haut, if of course, his great age and his infirmity allowed him
to do so. M. Chélan asked for and obtained a letter of invitation for
Julien, who was to accompany him as his sub-deacon.
From the beginning of the Sunday morning, thousands of peasants began
to arrive from the neighbouring mountains, and to inundate the streets
of Verrières. It was the finest sunshine. Finally, about three o'clock,
a thrill swept through all this crowd. A great fire had been perceived
on a rock two leagues from Verrières. This signal announced that the
king had just entered the territory of the department. At the same
time, the sound of all the bells and the repeated volleys from an old
Spanish cannon which belonged to the town, testified to its joy at
this great event. Half the population climbed on to the roofs. All the
women were on the balconies. The guard of honour started to march, The
brilliant uniforms were universally admired; everybody recognised a
relative or a friend. They made fun of the timidity of M. de Moirod,
whose prudent hand was ready every single minute to catch hold of his
saddle-bow. But one remark resulted in all the others being forgotten;
the first cavalier in the ninth line was a very pretty, slim boy, who
was not recognised at first. He soon created a general sensation, as
some uttered a cry of indignation, and others were dumbfounded with
astonishment. They recognised in this young man, who was sitting one
of the Norman horses of M. Valenod, little Sorel, the carpenter's son.
There was a unanimous out-cry against the mayor, above all on the part
of the Liberals. What, because this little labourer, who masqueraded as
an abbé, was tutor to his brats, he had the audacity to nominate him
guard of honour to the prejudice of rich manufacturers like so-and-so
and so-and-so! "Those gentlemen," said a banker's wife, "ought to put
that insolent gutter-boy in his proper place."
"He is cunning and carries a sabre," answered her neighbour. "He would
be dastardly enough to slash them in the face."
The conversation of aristocratic society was more dangerous. The ladies
began to ask each other if the mayor alone was responsible for this
grave impropriety. Speaking generally, they did justice to his contempt
for lack of birth.
Julien was the happiest of men, while he was the subject of so much
conversation. Bold by nature, he sat a horse better than the majority
of the young men of this mountain town. He saw that, in the eyes of the
women, he was the topic of interest.
His epaulettes were more brilliant than those of the others, because
they were new. His horse pranced at every moment. He reached the zenith
of joy.
His happiness was unbounded when, as they passed by the old rampart,
the noise of the little cannon made his horse prance outside the line.
By a great piece of luck he did not fall; from that moment he felt
himself a hero. He was one of Napoleon's officers of artillery, and was
charging a battery.
One person was happier than he. She had first seen him pass from one
of the folding windows in the Hôtel de Ville. Then taking her carriage
and rapidly making a long detour, she arrived in time to shudder when
his horse took him outside the line. Finally she put her carriage to
the gallop, left by another gate of the town, succeeded in rejoining
the route by which the King was to pass, and was able to follow the
Guard of Honour at twenty paces distance in the midst of a noble dust.
Six thousand peasants cried "Long live the King," when the mayor had
the honour to harangue his Majesty. An hour afterwards, when all the
speeches had been listened to, and the King was going to enter the
town, the little cannon began again to discharge its spasmodic volleys.
But an accident ensued, the victim being, not one of the cannoneers who
had proved their mettle at Leipsic and at Montreuil, but the future
deputy-mayor, M. de Moirod. His horse gently laid him in the one heap
of mud on the high road, a somewhat scandalous circumstance, inasmuch
as it was necessary to extricate him to allow the King to pass. His
Majesty alighted at the fine new church, which was decked out to-day
with all its crimson curtains. The King was due to dine, and then
afterwards take his carriage again and go and pay his respects to the
celebrated relic of Saint Clement. Scarcely was the King in the church
than Julien galloped towards the house of M. de Rênal. Once there
he doffed with a sigh his fine sky-blue uniform, his sabre and his
epaulettes, to put on again his shabby little black suit. He mounted
his horse again, and in a few moments was at Bray-le-Haut, which was
on the summit of a very pretty hill. "Enthusiasm is responsible for
these numbers of peasants," thought Julien. It was impossible to move
a step at Verrières, and here there were more than ten thousand round
this ancient abbey. Half ruined by the vandalism of the Revolution,
it had been magnificently restored since the Restoration, and people
were already beginning to talk of miracles. Julien rejoined the abbé
Chélan, who scolded him roundly and gave him a cassock and a surplice.
He dressed quickly and followed M. Chélan, who was going to pay a call
on the young bishop of Agde. He was a nephew of M. de la Mole, who had
been recently nominated, and had been charged with the duty of showing
the relic to the King. But the bishop was not to be found.
The clergy began to get impatient. It was awaiting its chief in the
sombre Gothic cloister of the ancient abbey. Twenty-four curés had
been brought together so as to represent the ancient chapter of
Bray-le-Haut, which before 1789 consisted of twenty-four canons. The
curés, having deplored the bishop's youth for three-quarters of an
hour, thought it fitting for their senior to visit Monseigneur to
apprise him that the King was on the point of arriving, and that it was
time to betake himself to the choir. The great age of M. Chélan gave
him the seniority. In spite of the bad temper which he was manifesting
to Julien, he signed him to follow. Julien was wearing his surplice
with distinction. By means of some trick or other of ecclesiastical
dress, he had made his fine curling hair very flat, but by a
forgetfulness, which redoubled the anger of M. Chélan, the spurs of the
Guard of Honour could be seen below the long folds of his cassock.
When they arrived at the bishop's apartment, the tall lackeys with
their lace-frills scarcely deigned to answer the old curé to the effect
that Monseigneur was not receiving. They made fun of him when he tried
to explain that in his capacity of senior member of the chapter of
Bray-le-Haut, he had the privilege of being admitted at any time to the
officiating bishop.
Julien's haughty temper was shocked by the lackeys' insolence. He
started to traverse the corridors of the ancient abbey, and to shake
all the doors which he found. A very small one yielded to his efforts,
and he found himself in a cell in the midst of Monseigneur's valets,
who were dressed in black suits with chains on their necks. His hurried
manner made these gentlemen think that he had been sent by the bishop,
and they let him pass. He went some steps further on, and found himself
in an immense Gothic hall, which was extremely dark, and completely
wainscotted in black oak. The ogive windows had all been walled in
with brick except one. There was nothing to disguise the coarseness
of this masonry, which offered a melancholy contrast to the ancient
magnificence of the woodwork. The two great sides of this hall, so
celebrated among Burgundian antiquaries, and built by the Duke, Charles
the Bold, about 1470 in expiation of some sin, were adorned with richly
sculptured wooden stalls. All the mysteries of the Apocalypse were to
be seen portrayed in wood of different colours.
This melancholy magnificence, debased as it was by the sight of the
bare bricks and the plaster (which was still quite white) affected
Julien. He stopped in silence. He saw at the other extremity of the
hall, near the one window which let in the daylight, a movable mahogany
mirror. A young man in a violet robe and a lace surplice, but with his
head bare, was standing still three paces from the glass. This piece
of furniture seemed strange in a place like this, and had doubtless
been only brought there on the previous day. Julien thought that the
young man had the appearance of being irritated. He was solemnly giving
benedictions with his right hand close to the mirror.
"What can this mean," he thought. "Is this young priest performing some
preliminary ceremony? Perhaps he is the bishop's secretary. He will be
as insolent as the lackeys. Never mind though! Let us try." He advanced
and traversed somewhat slowly the length of the hall, with his gaze
fixed all the time on the one window, and looking at the young man who
continued without any intermission bestowing slowly an infinite number
of blessings.
The nearer he approached the better he could distinguish his angry