The Red and the Black: A Chronicle of 1830
to ask him for alms. When at two yards' distance from the great
personage he pulled out the Marquis de la Mole's watch and exhibited
it ostentatiously. "_Follow me at a distance_," said the man without
looking at him.
At a quarter of a league's distance the duke suddenly entered a little
_coffee-house_. It was in a room of this low class inn that Julien had
the honour of reciting his four pages to the duke. When he had finished
he was told to "_start again and go more slowly_."
The prince took notes. "Reach the next posting station on foot. Leave
your luggage and your carriage here. Get to Strasbourg as best you can
and at half-past twelve on the twenty-second of the month (it was at
present the tenth) come to this same coffee-house. Do not leave for
half-an-hour. Silence!"
These were the only words which Julien heard. They sufficed to inspire
him with the highest admiration. "That is the way," he thought, "that
real business is done; what would this great statesman say if he were
to listen to the impassioned ranters heard three days ago?"
Julien took two days to reach Strasbourg. He thought he would have
nothing to do there. He made a great detour. "If that devil of an abbé
Castanède has recognised me he is not the kind of man to loose track
of me easily.... And how he would revel in making a fool of me, and
causing my mission to fail."
Fortunately the abbé Castanède, who was chief of the congregational
police on all the northern frontier had not recognised him. And the
Strasbourg Jesuits, although very zealous, never gave a thought to
observing Julien, who with his cross and his blue tail-coat looked
like a young military man, very much engrossed in his own personal
appearance.
CHAPTER LIV
STRASBOURG
Fascination! Love gives thee all his love, energy and
all his power of suffering unhappiness. It is only
his enchanting pleasures, his sweet delights, which
are outside thy sphere. When I saw her sleep I was
made to say "With all her angelic beauty and her sweet
weaknesses she is absolutely mine! There she is, quite
in my power, such as Heaven made her in its pity in
order to ravish a man's heart."--_Ode of Schiller_.
Julien was compelled to spend eight days in Strasbourg and tried to
distract himself by thoughts of military glory and patriotic devotion.
Was he in love then? he could not tell, he only felt in his tortured
soul that Mathilde was the absolute mistress both of his happiness
and of his imagination. He needed all the energy of his character
to keep himself from sinking into despair. It was out of his power
to think of anything unconnected with mademoiselle de la Mole. His
ambition and his simple personal successes had formerly distracted him
from the sentiments which madame de Rênal had inspired. Mathilde was
all-absorbing; she loomed large over his whole future.
Julien saw failure in every phase of that future. This same individual
whom we remember to have been so presumptuous and haughty at Verrières,
had fallen into an excess of grotesque modesty.
Three days ago he would only have been too pleased to have killed the
abbé Castanède, and now, at Strasbourg, if a child had picked a quarrel
with him he would have thought the child was in the right. In thinking
again about the adversaries and enemies whom he had met in his life he
always thought that he, Julien, had been in the wrong. The fact was
that the same powerful imagination which had formerly been continuously
employed in painting a successful future in the most brilliant colours
had now been transformed into his implacable enemy.
The absolute solicitude of a traveller's life increased the ascendancy
of this sinister imagination. What a boon a friend would have been!
But Julien said to himself, "Is there a single heart which beats with
affection for me? And even if I did have a friend, would not honour
enjoin me to eternal silence?"
He was riding gloomily in the outskirts of Kehl; it is a market town
on the banks of the Rhine and immortalised by Desaix and Gouvion
Saint-Cyr. A German peasant showed him the little brooks, roads and
islands of the Rhine, which have acquired a name through the courage of
these great generals. Julien was guiding his horse with his left hand,
while he held unfolded in his right the superb map which adorns the
_Memoirs of the Marshal Saint Cyr_. A merry exclamation made him lift
his head.
It was the Prince Korasoff, that London friend of his, who had
initiated him some months before into the elementary rules of high
fatuity. Faithful to his great art, Korasoff, who had just arrived at
Strasbourg, had been one hour in Kehl and had never read a single line
in his whole life about the siege of 1796, began to explain it all to
Julien. The German peasant looked at him in astonishment; for he knew
enough French to appreciate the enormous blunders which the prince was
making. Julien was a thousand leagues away from the peasant's thoughts.
He was looking in astonishment at the handsome young man and admiring
his grace in sitting a horse.
"What a lucky temperament," he said to himself, "and how his trousers
suit him and how elegantly his hair is cut! Alas, if I had been like
him, it might have been that she would not have come to dislike me
after loving me for three days."
When the prince had finished his siege of Kehl, he said to Julien,
"You look like a Trappist, you are carrying to excess that principle
of gravity which I enjoined upon you in London. A melancholy manner
cannot be good form. What is wanted is an air of boredom. If you are
melancholy, it is because you lack something, because you have failed
in something."
"That means showing one's own inferiority; if, on the other hand you
are bored, it is only what has made an unsuccessful attempt to please
you, which is inferior. So realise, my dear friend, the enormity of
your mistake."
Julien tossed a crown to the gaping peasant who was listening to them.
"Good," said the prince, "that shows grace and a noble disdain, very
good!" And he put his horse to the gallop. Full of a stupid admiration,
Julien followed him.
"Ah! if I have been like that, she would not have preferred Croisenois
to me!" The more his reason was offended by the grotesque affectations
of the prince the more he despised himself for not having them. It was
impossible for self-disgust to be carried further.
The prince still finding him distinctly melancholy, said to him as they
re-entered Strasbourg, "Come, my dear fellow, have you lost all your
money, or perhaps you are in love with some little actress.
"The Russians copy French manners, but always at an interval of fifty
years. They have now reached the age of Louis XV."
These jests about love brought the tears to Julien's eyes. "Why should
I not consult this charming man," he suddenly said to himself.
"Well, yes, my dear friend," he said to the prince, "you see in me a
man who is very much in love and jilted into the bargain. A charming
woman who lives in a neighbouring town has left me stranded here after
three passionate days, and the change kills me."
Using fictitious names, he described to the prince Mathilde's conduct
and character.
"You need not finish," said Korasoff. "In order to give you confidence
in your doctor, I will finish the story you have confided to me. This
young woman's husband enjoys an enormous income, or even more probably,
she belongs herself to the high nobility of the district. She must be
proud about something."
Julien nodded his head, he had no longer the courage to speak. "Very
good," said the prince, "here are three fairly bitter pills that you
will take without delay.
"1. See madame ----. What is her name, any way?"
"Madame de Dubois."
"What a name!" said the prince bursting into laughter. "But forgive me,
you find it sublime. Your tactics must be to see Madame de Dubois every
day; above all do not appear to be cold and piqued. Remember the great
principle of your century: be the opposite of what is expected. Be
exactly as you were the week before you were honoured by her favours."
"Ah! I was calm enough then," exclaimed Julien in despair, "I thought I
was taking pity on her...."
"The moth is burning itself at the candle," continued the prince using
a metaphor as old as the world.
"1. You will see her every day.
"2. You will pay court to a woman in her own set, but without
manifesting a passion, do you understand? I do not disguise from
you that your rôle is difficult; you are playing a part, and if she
realises you are playing it you are lost."
"She has so much intelligence and I have so little, I shall be lost,"
said Julien sadly.
"No, you are only more in love than I thought. Madame de Dubois is
preoccupied with herself as are all women who have been favoured
by heaven either with too much pedigree or too much money. She
contemplates herself instead of contemplating you, consequently she
does not know you. During the two or three fits of love into which she
managed to work herself for your especial benefit, she saw in you the
hero of her dreams, and not the man you really are.
"But, deuce take it, this is elementary, my dear Sorel, are you an
absolute novice?
"Oddslife! Let us go into this shop. Look at that charming black
cravat, one would say it was made by John Anderson of Burlington
Street. Be kind enough to take it and throw far away that awful black
cord which you are wearing round your neck."
"And now," continued the prince as they came out of the shop of the
first hosier of Strasbourg, "what is the society in which madame de
Dubois lives? Great God, what a name, don't be angry, my dear Sorel, I
can't help it.... Now, whom are you going to pay court to?"
"To an absolute prude, the daughter of an immensely rich
stocking-merchant. She has the finest eyes in the world and they please
me infinitely; she doubtless holds the highest place in the society
of the district, but in the midst of all her greatness she blushes
and becomes positively confused if anyone starts talking about trade
or shops. And, unfortunately, her father was one of the best known
merchants in Strasbourg."
"So," said the prince with a laugh, "you are sure that when one talks
about trade your fair lady thinks about herself and not about you. This
silly weakness is divine and extremely useful, it will prevent you
from yielding to a single moment's folly when near her sparkling eyes.
Success is assured."
Julien was thinking of madame the maréchale de Fervaques who often
came to the Hôtel de la Mole. She was a beautiful foreigner who had
married the maréchal a year before his death. The one object of her
whole life seemed to be to make people forget that she was the daughter
of a manufacturer. In order to cut some figure in Paris she had placed
herself at the head of the party of piety.
Julien sincerely admired the prince; what would he not have given to
have possessed his affectations! The conversation between the two
friends was interminable. Korasoff was delighted: No Frenchman had ever
listened to him for so long. "So I have succeeded at last," said the
prince to himself complacently, "in getting a proper hearing and that
too through giving lessons to my master."
"So we are quite agreed," he repeated to Julien for the tenth time.
"When you talk to the young beauty, I mean the daughter of the
Strasbourg stocking merchant in the presence of madame de Dubois, not
a trace of passion. But on the other hand be ardently passionate when
you write. Reading a well-written love-letter is a prude's supremest
pleasure. It is a moment of relaxation. She leaves off posing and dares
to listen to her own heart; consequently two letters a day."