The Red and the Black: A Chronicle of 1830
His only thought is to make you a duchess, I am sure of it. Think of
his unhappiness."
"You mean, think of his vengeance?"
"It may be that I pity my benefactor, and am grieved at injuring him,
but I do not fear, and shall never fear anyone."
Mathilde yielded. This was the first occasion, since she had informed
Julien of her condition, that he had spoken to her authoritatively.
She had never loved him so much. The tender part of his soul had
found happiness in seizing on Mathilde's condition as an excuse
for refraining from his cruel remarks to her. The question of the
confession to M. de la Mole deeply moved him. Was he going to be
separated from Mathilde? And, however grieved she would be to see him
go, would she have a thought for him after his departure?
He was almost equally horrified by the thought of the justified
reproaches which the marquis might address to him.
In the evening he confessed to Mathilde the second reason for his
anxiety, and then led away by his love, confessed the first as well.
She changed colour. "Would it really make you unhappy," she said to
him, "to pass six months far away from me?"
"Infinitely so. It is the only thing in the world which terrifies me."
Mathilde was very happy. Julien had played his part so assiduously that
he had succeeded in making her think that she was the one of the two
who loved the more.
The fatal Tuesday arrived. When the marquis came in at midnight he
found a letter addressed to him, which was only to be opened himself
when no one was there:--
"My father,
"All social ties have been broken between us, only those
of nature remain. Next to my husband, you are and always
will be the being I shall always hold most dear. My
eyes are full of tears, I am thinking of the pain that
I am causing you, but if my shame was to be prevented
from becoming public, and you were to be given time to
reflect and act, I could not postpone any longer the
confession that I owe you. If your affection for me,
which I know is extremely deep, is good enough to grant
me a small allowance, I will go and settle with my
husband anywhere you like, in Switzerland, for instance.
His name is so obscure that no one would recognize
in Madame Sorel, the daughter-in-law of a Verrières
carpenter, your daughter. That is the name which I have
so much difficulty in writing. I fear your wrath against
Julien, it seems so justified. I shall not be a duchess,
my father; but I knew it when I loved him; for I was
the one who loved him first, it was I who seduced him.
I have inherited from you too lofty a soul to fix my
attention on what either is or appears to be vulgar. It
is in vain that I thought of M. Croisenois with a view
to pleasing you. Why did you place real merit under my
eyes? You told me yourself on my return from Hyères,
'that young Sorel is the one person who amuses me,' the
poor boy is as grieved as I am if it is possible, at the
pain this letter will give you. I cannot prevent you
being irritated as a father, but love me as a friend.
"Julien respected me. If he sometimes spoke to me,
it was only by reason of his deep gratitude towards
yourself, for the natural dignity of his character
induces him to keep to his official capacity in any
answers he may make to anyone who is so much above
him. He has a keen and instinctive appreciation of the
difference of social rank. It was I (I confess it with a
blush to my best friend, and I shall never make such a
confession to anyone else) who clasped his arm one day
in the garden.
"Why need you be irritated with him, after twenty-four
hours have elapsed? My own lapse is irreparable. If you
insist on it, the assurance of his profound respect and
of his desperate grief at having displeased you, can
be conveyed to you through me. You need not see him at
all, but I shall go and join him wherever he wishes.
It is his right and it is my duty. He is the father of
my child. If your kindness will go so far as to grant
us six thousand francs to live on, I will receive it
with gratitude; if not, Julien reckons on establishing
himself at Besançon, where he will set up as a Latin and
literature master. However low may have been the station
from which he springs, I am certain he will raise
himself. With him I do not fear obscurity. If there is
a revolution, I am sure that he will play a prime part.
Can you say as much for any of those who have asked
for my hand? They have fine estates, you say. I cannot
consider that circumstance a reason for admiring them.
My Julien would attain a high position, even under the
present régime, if he had a million and my father's
protection...."
Mathilde, who knew that the marquis was a man who always abandoned
himself to his first impulse, had written eight pages.
"What am I to do?" said Julien to himself while M. de la Mole was
reading this letter. "Where is (first) my duty; (second) my interest?
My debt to him is immense. Without him I should have been a menial
scoundrel, and not even enough of a scoundrel to be hated and
persecuted by the others. He has made me a man of the world. The
villainous acts which I now have to do are (first) less frequent;
(second) less mean. That is more than as if he had given me a million.
I am indebted to him for this cross and the reputation of having
rendered those alleged diplomatic services, which have lifted me out of
the ruck.
"If he himself were writing instructions for my conduct, what would he
prescribe?"
Julien was sharply interrupted by M. de la Mole's old valet. "The
marquis wants to see you at once, dressed or not dressed." The valet
added in a low voice, as he walked by Julien's side, "He is beside
himself: look out!"
CHAPTER LXIII
THE HELL OF WEAKNESS
A clumsy lapidary, in cutting this diamond, deprived
it of some of its most brilliant facets. In the middle
ages, nay, even under Richelieu, the Frenchman had
_force of will_.--_Mirabeau_.
Julien found the marquis furious. For perhaps the first time in his
life this nobleman showed bad form. He loaded Julien with all the
insults that came to his lips. Our hero was astonished, and his
patience was tried, but his gratitude remained unshaken.
"The poor man now sees the annihilation, in a single minute, of all
the fine plans which he has long cherished in his heart. But I owe it
to him to answer. My silence tends to increase his anger." The part of
Tartuffe supplied the answer;
"I am not an angel.... I served you well; you paid me generously.... I
was grateful, but I am twenty-two.... Only you and that charming person
understood my thoughts in this household."
"Monster," exclaimed the marquis. "Charming! Charming, to be sure! The
day when you found her charming you ought to have fled."
"I tried to. It was then that I asked permission to leave for
Languedoc."
Tired of stampeding about and overcome by his grief, the marquis threw
himself into an arm-chair. Julien heard him whispering to himself, "No,
no, he is not a wicked man."
"No, I am not, towards you," exclaimed Julien, falling on his knees.
But he felt extremely ashamed of this manifestation, and very quickly
got up again.
The marquis was really transported. When he saw this movement, he
began again to load him with abominable insults, which were worthy of
the driver of a fiacre. The novelty of these oaths perhaps acted as a
distraction.
"What! is my daughter to go by the name of madame Sorel? What! is my
daughter not to be a duchess?" Each time that these two ideas presented
themselves in all their clearness M. de la Mole was a prey to torture,
and lost all power over the movements of his mind.
Julien was afraid of being beaten.
In his lucid intervals, when he was beginning to get accustomed to his
unhappiness, the marquis addressed to Julien reproaches which were
reasonable enough. "You should have fled, sir," he said to him. "Your
duty was to flee. You are the lowest of men."
Julien approached the table and wrote:
"I have found my life unbearable for a long time; I am
putting an end to it. I request monsieur the marquis to
accept my apologies (together with the expression of my
infinite gratitude) for any embarrassment that may be
occasioned by my death in his hôtel."
"Kindly run your eye over this paper, M. the marquis," said Julien.
"Kill me, or have me killed by your valet. It is one o'clock in the
morning. I will go and walk in the garden in the direction of the wall
at the bottom."
"Go to the devil," cried the marquis, as he went away.
"I understand," thought Julien. "He would not be sorry if I were to
spare his valet the trouble of killing me....
"Let him kill me, if he likes; it is a satisfaction which I offer
him.... But, by heaven, I love life. I owe it to my son."
This idea, which had not previously presented itself with so much
definiteness to his imagination, completely engrossed him during his
walk after the first few minutes which he had spent thinking about his
danger.
This novel interest turned him into a prudent man. "I need advice as to
how to behave towards this infuriated man.... He is devoid of reason;
he is capable of everything. Fouqué is too far away; besides, he would
not understand the emotions of a heart like the marquis's."
"Count Altamira ... am I certain of eternal silence? My request
for advice must not be a fresh step which will raise still further
complications. Alas! I have no one left but the gloomy abbé Pirard. His
mind is crabbed by Jansenism.... A damned Jesuit would know the world,
and would be more in my line. M. Pirard is capable of beating me at the
very mention of my crime."
The genius of Tartuffe came to Julien's help. "Well, I will go and
confess to him." This was his final resolution after having walked
about in the garden for two good hours. He no longer thought about
being surprised by a gun shot. He was feeling sleepy.
Very early the next day, Julien was several leagues away from Paris
and knocked at the door of the severe Jansenist. He found to his great
astonishment that he was not unduly surprised at his confidence.
"I ought perhaps to reproach myself," said the abbé, who seemed more
anxious than irritated. "I thought I guessed that love. My affection
for you, my unhappy boy, prevented me from warning the father."
"What will he do?" said Julien keenly.
At that moment he loved the abbé, and would have found a scene between
them very painful.
"I see three alternatives," continued Julien.
"M. de la Mole can have me put to death," and he mentioned the suicide
letter which he had left with the Marquis; (2) "He can get Count
Norbert to challenge me to a duel, and shoot at me point blank."
"You would accept?" said the abbé furiously as he got up.
"You do not let me finish. I should certainly never fire upon my
benefactor's son. (3) He can send me away. If he says go to Edinburgh
or New York, I will obey him. They can then conceal mademoiselle de la
Mole's condition, but I will never allow them to suppress my son."
"Have no doubt about it, that will be the first thought of that
depraved man."
At Paris, Mathilde was in despair. She had seen her father about seven
o'clock. He had shown her Julien's letter. She feared that he might