The Red and the Black: A Chronicle of 1830
The abbé Pirard motioned to Julien from some distance off; M. de la
Mole had just said something to him. But when Julien, who was listening
at the moment with downcast eyes to the lamentations of the bishop,
had at length got free and was able to get near his friend, he found
him monopolised by the abominable little Tanbeau. The little beast
hated him as the cause of Julien's favour with the marquis, and was now
making up to him.
"_When will death deliver us from that aged rottenness_," it was in
these words of a biblical energy that the little man of letters was
now talking of the venerable Lord Holland. His merit consisted in an
excellent knowledge of the biography of living men, and he had just
made a rapid review of all the men who could aspire to some influence
under the reign of the new King of England.
The abbé Pirard passed in to an adjacent salon. Julien followed him.
"I warn you the marquis does not like scribblers, it is his only
prejudice. Know Latin and Greek if you can manage it, the history of
the Egyptians, Persians, etc., he will honour and protect you as a
learned man. But don't write a page of French, especially on serious
matters which are above your position in society, or he will call you
a scribbler and take you for a scoundrel. How is it that living as you
do in the hotel of a great lord you don't know the Duke de Castries'
epigram on Alembert and Rousseau: 'the fellow wants to reason about
everything and hasn't got an income of a thousand crowns'!"
"Everything leaks out here," thought Julien, "just like the seminary."
He had written eight or six fairly drastic pages. It was a kind of
historical eulogy of the old surgeon-major who had, he said, made a man
of him. "The little note book," said Julien to himself, "has always
been locked." He went up to his room, burnt his manuscript and returned
to the salon. The brilliant scoundrels had left it, only the men with
the stars were left.
Seven or eight very aristocratic ladies, very devout, very affected,
and of from thirty to thirty-five years of age, were grouped round
the table that the servants had just brought in ready served. The
brilliant maréchale de Fervaques came in apologising for the lateness
of the hour. It was more than midnight: she went and sat down near
the marquise. Julien was deeply touched, she had the eyes and the
expression of madame de Rênal.
Mademoiselle de la Mole's circle was still full of people. She was
engaged with her friends in making fun of the unfortunate comte de
Thaler. He was the only son of that celebrated Jew who was famous for
the riches that he had won by lending money to kings to make war on the
peoples.
The Jew had just died leaving his son an income of one hundred thousand
crowns a month, and a name that was only too well known. This strange
position required either a simple character or force of will power.
Unfortunately the comte was simply a fellow who was inflated by all
kinds of pretensions which had been suggested to him by all his toadies.
M. de Caylus asserted that they had induced him to make up his mind to
ask for the hand of mademoiselle de la Mole, to whom the marquis de
Croisenois, who would be a duke with a hundred thousand francs a year,
was paying his attentions.
"Oh, do not accuse him of having a mind," said Norbert pitifully.
Will-power was what the poor comte de Thaler lacked most of all. So
far as this side of his character went he was worthy of being a king.
He would take council from everybody, but he never had the courage to
follow any advice to the bitter end.
"His physiognomy would be sufficient in itself," mademoiselle de la
Mole was fond of saying, "to have inspired her with a holy joy." It
was a singular mixture of anxiety and disappointment, but from time to
time one could distinguish gusts of self-importance, and above all that
trenchant tone suited to the richest man in France, especially when he
had nothing to be ashamed of in his personal appearance and was not yet
thirty-six. "He is timidly insolent," M. de Croisenois would say. The
comte de Caylus, Norbert, and two or three moustachioed young people
made fun of him to their heart's content without him suspecting it, and
finally packed him off as one o'clock struck.
"Are those your famous Arab horses waiting for you at the door in this
awful weather?" said Norbert to him.
"No, it is a new pair which are much cheaper," said M. de Thaler. "The
horse on the left cost me five thousand francs, while the one on the
right is only worth one hundred louis, but I would ask you to believe
me when I say that I only have him out at night. His trot you see is
exactly like the other ones."
Norbert's remark made the comte think it was good form for a man like
him to make a hobby of his horses, and that he must not let them get
wet. He went away, and the other gentleman left a minute afterwards
making fun of him all the time. "So," thought Julien as he heard them
laugh on the staircase, "I have the privilege of seeing the exact
opposite of my own situation. I have not got twenty louis a year and I
found myself side by side with a man who has twenty louis an hour and
they made fun of him. Seeing a sight like that cures one of envy."
[1] celebrated conjuror.
CHAPTER XXXV
SENSIBILITY AND A GREAT PIOUS LADY
An idea which has any life in it seems like a crudity,
so accustomed are they to colourless expression. Woe to
him who introduces new ideas into his conversation!
--_Faublas_.
This was the stage Julien had reached, when after several months of
probation the steward of the household handed him the third quarter of
his wages. M. de la Mole had entrusted him with the administration of
his estates in Brittany and Normandy. Julien made frequent journeys
there. He had chief control of the correspondence relating to the
famous lawsuit with the abbé de Frilair. M. Pirard had instructed him.
On the data of the short notes which the marquis would scribble on the
margin of all the various paper which were addressed to him, Julien
would compose answers which were nearly all signed.
At the Theology School his professors complained of his lack of
industry, but they did not fail to regard him as one of their most
distinguished pupils. This varied work, tackled as it was with all
the ardour of suffering ambition, soon robbed Julien of that fresh
complexion which he had brought from the provinces. His pallor
constituted one of his merits in the eyes of his comrades, the young
seminarist; he found them much less malicious, much less ready to bow
down to a silver crown than those of Besançon; they thought he was
consumptive. The marquis had given him a horse.
Julien fearing that he might meet people during his rides on horseback,
had given out that this exercise had been prescribed by the doctors.
The abbé Pirard had taken him into several Jansenist Societies. Julien
was astonished; the idea of religion was indissolubly connected in his
mind with the ideas of hypocrisy and covetousness. He admired those
austere pious men who never gave a thought to their income. Several
Jansenists became friendly with him and would give him advice. A new
world opened before him. At the Jansenists he got to know a comte
Altamira, who was nearly six feet high, was a Liberal, a believer, and
had been condemned to death in his own country. He was struck by the
strange contrast of devoutness and love of liberty.
Julien's relations with the young comte had become cool. Norbert
had thought that he answered the jokes of his friends with too much
sharpness. Julien had committed one or two breaches of social etiquette
and vowed to himself that he would never speak to mademoiselle
Mathilde. They were always perfectly polite to him in the Hôtel de
la Mole but he felt himself quite lost. His provincial common sense
explained this result by the vulgar proverb _Tout beau tout nouveau_.
He gradually came to have a little more penetration than during his
first days, or it may have been that the first glamour of Parisian
urbanity had passed off. As soon as he left off working, he fell a prey
to a mortal boredom. He was experiencing the withering effects of that
admirable politeness so typical of good society, which is so perfectly
modulated to every degree of the social hierarchy.
No doubt the provinces can be reproached with a commonness and lack of
polish in their tone; but they show a certain amount of passion, when
they answer you. Julien's self-respect was never wounded at the Hôtel
de la Mole, but he often felt at the end of the day as though he would
like to cry. A café-waiter in the provinces will take an interest in
you if you happen to have some accident as you enter his café, but if
this accident has everything about it which is disagreeable to your
vanity, he will repeat ten times in succession the very word which
tortures you, as he tells you how sorry he is. At Paris they make a
point of laughing in secret, but you always remain a stranger.
We pass in silence over a number of little episodes which would have
made Julien ridiculous, if he had not been to some extent above
ridicule. A foolish sensibility resulted in his committing innumerable
acts of bad taste. All his pleasures were precautions; he practiced
pistol shooting every day, he was one of the promising pupils of the
most famous maîtres d'armes. As soon as he had an instant to himself,
instead of employing it in reading as he did before, he would rush
off to the riding school and ask for the most vicious horses. When he
went out with the master of the riding school he was almost invariably
thrown.
The marquis found him convenient by reason of his persistent industry,
his silence and his intelligence, and gradually took him into his
confidence with regard to all his affairs, which were in any way
difficult to unravel. The marquis was a sagacious business man on all
those occasions when his lofty ambition gave him some respite; having
special information within his reach, he would speculate successfully
on the Exchange. He would buy mansions and forests; but he would easily
lose his temper. He would give away hundreds of louis, and would go
to law for a few hundred francs. Rich men with a lofty spirit have
recourse to business not so much for results as for distraction. The
marquis needed a chief of staff who would put all his money affairs
into clear and lucid order. Madame de la Mole, although of so even a
character, sometimes made fun of Julien. Great ladies have a horror
of those unexpected incidents which are produced by a sensitive
character; they constitute the opposite pole of etiquette. On two or
three occasions the marquis took his part. "If he is ridiculous in your
salon, he triumphs in his office." Julien on his side thought he had
caught the marquise's secret. She deigned to manifest an interest in
everything the minute the Baron de la Joumate was announced. He was a
cold individual with an expressionless physiognomy. He was tall, thin,
ugly, very well dressed, passed his life in his château, and generally
speaking said nothing about anything. Such was his outlook on life.
Madame de la Mole would have been happy for the first time in her life
if she could have made him her daughter's husband.
CHAPTER XXXVI
PRONUNCIATION
If fatuity is pardonable it is in one's first youth,
for it is then the exaggeration of an amiable thing. It
needs an air of love, gaiety, nonchalance. But fatuity
coupled with self-importance; fatuity with a solemn and
self-sufficient manner! This extravagance of stupidity
was reserved for the XIXth century. Such are the persons