The Red and the Black: A Chronicle of 1830
"Never, never," said Julien despondently, "I would rather be ground in
a mortar than make up three phrases. I am a corpse, my dear fellow,
hope nothing from me. Let me die by the road side."
"And who is talking about making up phrases? I have got six volumes
of copied-out love-letters in my bag. I have letters to suit every
variation of feminine character, including the most highly virtuous.
Did not Kalisky pay court at Richmond-on-the-Thames at three leagues
from London, you know, to the prettiest Quakeress in the whole of
England?"
Julien was less unhappy when he left his friend at two o'clock in the
morning.
The prince summoned a copyist on the following day, and two days
afterwards Julien was the possessor of fifty-three carefully numbered
love-letters intended for the most sublime and the most melancholy
virtue.
"The reason why there is not fifty-four," said the prince "is because
Kalisky allowed himself to be dismissed. But what does it matter to
you, if you are badly treated by the stocking-merchant's daughter since
you only wish to produce an impression upon madame de Dubois' heart."
They went out riding every day, the prince was mad on Julien. Not
knowing how else to manifest his sudden friendship, he finished up by
offering him the hand of one of his cousins, a rich Moscow heiress;
"and once married," he added, "my influence and that cross of yours
will get you made a Colonel within two years."
"But that cross was not given me by Napoleon, far from it."
"What does it matter?" said the prince, "didn't he invent it. It is
still the first in Europe by a long way."
Julien was on the point of accepting; but his duty called him back to
the great personage. When he left Korasoff he promised to write. He
received the answer to the secret note which he had brought, and posted
towards Paris; but he had scarcely been alone for two successive days
before leaving France, and Mathilde seemed a worse punishment than
death. "I will not marry the millions Korasoff offers me," he said to
himself, "and I will follow his advice.
"After all the art of seduction is his speciality. He has thought about
nothing else except that alone for more than fifteen years, for he is
now thirty.
"One can't say that he lacks intelligence; he is subtle and cunning;
enthusiasm and poetry are impossible in such a character. He is an
attorney: an additional reason for his not making a mistake.
"I must do it, I will pay court to madame de Fervaques.
"It is very likely she will bore me a little, but I will look at her
beautiful eyes which are so like those other eyes which have loved me
more than anyone in the world.
"She is a foreigner; she is a new character to observe.
"I feel mad, and as though I were going to the devil. I must follow the
advice of a friend and not trust myself."
CHAPTER LV
THE MINISTRY OF VIRTUE
But if I take this pleasure with so much prudence
and circumspection I shall no longer find it a
pleasure.--_Lope de Vega_.
As soon as our hero had returned to Paris and had come out of the
study of the marquis de La Mole, who seemed very displeased with the
despatches that were given him, he rushed off for the comte Altamira.
This noble foreigner combined with the advantage of having once been
condemned to death a very grave demeanour together with the good
fortune of a devout temperament; these two qualities, and more than
anything, the comte's high birth, made an especial appeal to madame de
Fervaques who saw a lot of him.
Julien solemnly confessed to him that he was very much in love with her.
"Her virtue is the purest and the highest," answered Altamira, "only it
is a little Jesuitical and dogmatic.
"There are days when, though I understand each of the expressions which
she makes use of, I never understand the whole sentence. She often
makes me think that I do not know French as well as I am said to. But
your acquaintance with her will get you talked about; it will give you
weight in the world. But let us go to Bustos," said Count Altamira
who had a methodical turn of mind; "he once paid court to madame la
maréchale."
Don Diego Bustos had the matter explained to him at length, while he
said nothing, like a barrister in his chambers. He had a big monk-like
face with black moustaches and an inimitable gravity; he was, however,
a good carbonaro.
"I understand," he said to Julien at last. "Has the maréchale de
Fervaques had lovers, or has she not? Have you consequently any hope
of success? That is the question. I don't mind telling you, for my own
part, that I have failed. Now that I am no more piqued I reason it out
to myself in this way; she is often bad tempered, and as I will tell
you in a minute, she is quite vindictive.
"I fail to detect in her that bilious temperament which is the sign of
genius, and shows as it were a veneer of passion over all its actions.
On the contrary, she owes her rare beauty and her fresh complexion to
the phlegmatic, tranquil character of the Dutch."
Julien began to lose patience with the phlegmatic slowness of the
imperturbable Spaniard; he could not help giving vent to some
monosyllables from time to time.
"Will you listen to me?" Don Diego Bustos gravely said to him.
"Forgive the _furia franchese_; I am all ears," said Julien.
"The maréchale de Fervaques then is a great hater; she persecutes
ruthlessly people she has never seen--advocates, poor devils of men of
letters who have composed songs like Collé, you know?
"J'ai la marotte
D'aimer Marote, etc."
And Julien had to put up with the whole quotation.
The Spaniard was very pleased to get a chance of singing in French.
That divine song was never listened to more impatiently. When it was
finished Don Diego said--"The maréchale procured the dismissal of the
author of the song:
"Un jour l'amour au cabaret."
Julien shuddered lest he should want to sing it. He contented himself
with analysing it. As a matter of fact, it was blasphemous and somewhat
indecent.
"When the maréchale become enraged against that song," said Don Diego,
"I remarked to her that a woman of her rank ought not to read all the
stupid things that are published. Whatever progress piety and gravity
may make France will always have a cabaret literature.
"'Be careful,' I said to madame de Fervaques when she had succeeded
in depriving the author, a poor devil on half-pay, of a place worth
eighteen hundred francs a year, 'you have attacked this rhymster with
your own arms, he may answer you with his rhymes; he will make a song
about virtue. The gilded salons will be on your side; but people who
like to laugh will repeat his epigrams.' Do you know, monsieur, what
the maréchale answered? 'Let all Paris come and see me walking to my
martyrdom for the sake of the Lord. It will be a new spectacle for
France. The people will learn to respect the quality. It will be the
finest day of my life.' Her eyes never looked finer."
"And she has superb ones," exclaimed Julien.
"I see that you are in love. Further," went on Don Diego Bustos
gravely, "she has not the bilious constitution which causes
vindictiveness. If, however, she likes to do harm, it is because she is
unhappy, I suspect some secret misfortune. May it not be quite well a
case of prude tired of her rôle?"
The Spaniard looked at him in silence for a good minute.
"That's the whole point," he added gravely, "and that's what may give
you ground for some hope. I have often reflected about it during the
two years that I was her very humble servant. All your future, my
amorous sir, depends on this great problem. Is she a prude tired of her
rôle and only malicious because she is unhappy?"
"Or," said Altamira emerging at last from his deep silence, "can it be
as I have said twenty times before, simply a case of French vanity; the
memory of her father, the celebrated cloth merchant, constitutes the
unhappiness of this frigid melancholy nature. The only happiness she
could find would be to live in Toledo and to be tortured by a confessor
who would show her hell wide open every day."
"Altamira informs me you are one of us," said Don Diego, whose
demeanour was growing graver and graver to Julien as he went out. "You
will help us one day in re-winning our liberty, so I would like to help
you in this little amusement. It is right that you should know the
maréchale's style; here are four letters in her hand-writing."
"I will copy them out," exclaimed Julien, "and bring them back to you."
"And you will never let anyone know a word of what we have been
saying."
"Never, on my honour," cried Julien.
"Well, God help you," added the Spaniard, and he silently escorted
Altamira and Julien as far as the staircase.
This somewhat amused our hero; he was on the point of smiling. "So
we have the devout Altamira," he said to himself, "aiding me in an
adulterous enterprise."
During Don Diego's solemn conversation Julien had been attentive to the
hours struck by the clock of the Hôtel d'Aligre.
The dinner hour was drawing near, he was going to see Mathilde again.
He went in and dressed with much care.
"Mistake No. 1," he said to himself as he descended the staircase: "I
must follow the prince's instructions to the letter."
He went up to his room again and put on a travelling suit which was as
simple as it could be. "All I have to do now," he thought, "is to keep
control of my expression." It was only half-past five and they dined at
six. He thought of going down to the salon which he found deserted. He
was moved to the point of tears at the sight of the blue sofa. "I must
make an end of this foolish sensitiveness," he said angrily, "it will
betray me." He took up a paper in order to keep himself in countenance
and passed three or four times from the salon into the garden.
It was only when he was well concealed by a large oak and was trembling
all over, that he ventured to raise his eyes at mademoiselle de la
Mole's window. It was hermetically sealed; he was on the point of
fainting and remained for a long time leaning against the oak; then
with a staggering step he went to have another look at the gardener's
ladder.
The chain which he had once forced asunder--in, alas, such different
circumstances--had not yet been repaired. Carried away by a moment of
madness, Julien pressed it to his lips.
After having wandered about for a long time between the salon and the
garden, Julien felt horribly tired; he was now feeling acutely the
effects of a first success. My eyes will be expressionless and will not
betray me! The guests gradually arrived in the salon; the door never
opened without instilling anxiety into Julien's heart.
They sat down at table. Mademoiselle de la Mole, always faithful to her
habit of keeping people waiting, eventually appeared. She blushed a
great deal on seeing Julien, she had not been told of his arrival. In
accordance with Prince Korasoff's recommendation, Julien looked at his
hands. They were trembling. Troubled though he was beyond words by this
discovery, he was sufficiently happy to look merely tired.
M. de la Mole sang his praises. The marquise spoke to him a minute
afterwards and complimented him on his tired appearance. Julien said to
himself at every minute, "I ought not to look too much at mademoiselle
de la Mole, I ought not to avoid looking at her too much either. I must
appear as I was eight days before my unhappiness----" He had occasion
to be satisfied with his success and remained in the salon. Paying
attention for the first time to the mistress of the house, he made
every effort to make the visitors speak and to keep the conversation
alive.
His politeness was rewarded; madame la maréchale de Fervaques was