The Red and the Black: A Chronicle of 1830
he began to calculate that if he was to become commander-in-chief
at thirty, like all the great generals, then he must be more than a
lieutenant at twenty-three at the latest. He thought about nothing
except fame and his son.
It was in the midst of the ecstasies of the most reinless ambition that
he was surprised by the arrival of a young valet from the Hôtel de la
Mole, who had come with a letter.
"All is lost," wrote Mathilde to him: "Rush here as quickly as
possible, sacrifice everything, desert if necessary. As soon as you
have arrived, wait for me in a fiacre near the little garden door,
near No. ---- of the street ---- I will come and speak to you: I shall
perhaps be able to introduce you into the garden. All is lost, and I am
afraid there is no way out; count on me; you will find me staunch and
firm in adversity. I love you."
A few minutes afterwards, Julien obtained a furlough from the colonel,
and left Strasbourg at full gallop. But the awful anxiety which
devoured him did not allow him to continue this method of travel beyond
Metz. He flung himself into a post-chaise, and arrived with an almost
incredible rapidity at the indicated spot, near the little garden door
of the Hôtel de la Mole. The door opened, and Mathilde, oblivious of
all human conventions, rushed into his arms. Fortunately, it was only
five o'clock in the morning, and the street was still deserted.
"All is lost. My father, fearing my tears, left Thursday night. Nobody
knows where for? But here is his letter: read it." She climbed into the
fiacre with Julien.
"I could forgive everything except the plan of seducing you because
you are rich. That, unhappy girl, is the awful truth. I give you my
word of honour that I will never consent to a marriage with that man.
I will guarantee him an income of 10,000 francs if he will live far
away beyond the French frontiers, or better still, in America. Read the
letter which I have just received in answer to the enquiries which I
have made. The impudent scoundrel had himself requested me to write to
madame de Rênal. I will never read a single line you write concerning
that man. I feel a horror for both Paris and yourself. I urge you to
cover what is bound to happen with the utmost secrecy. Be frank, have
nothing more to do with the vile man, and you will find again the
father you have lost."
"Where is Madame de Rênal's letter?" said Julien coldly.
"Here it is. I did not want to shew it to you before you were prepared
for it."
LETTER
"My duties to the sacred cause of religion and morality,
oblige me, monsieur, to take the painful course which I
have just done with regard to yourself: an infallible
principle orders me to do harm to my neighbour at the
present moment, but only in order to avoid an even
greater scandal. My sentiment of duty must overcome
the pain which I experience. It is only too true,
monsieur, that the conduct of the person about whom you
ask me to tell you the whole truth may seem incredible
or even honest. It may possibly be considered proper
to hide or to disguise part of the truth: that would
be in accordance with both prudence and religion. But
the conduct about which you desire information has
been in fact reprehensible to the last degree, and
more than I can say. Poor and greedy as the man is, it
is only by the aid of the most consummate hypocrisy,
and by seducing a weak and unhappy woman, that he has
endeavoured to make a career for himself and become
someone in the world. It is part of my painful duty to
add that I am obliged to believe that M. Julien has no
religious principles. I am driven conscientiously to
think that one of his methods of obtaining success in
any household is to try to seduce the woman who commands
the principal influence. His one great object, in spite
of his show of disinterestedness, and his stock-in-trade
of phrases out of novels, is to succeed in doing what he
likes with the master of the household and his fortune.
He leaves behind him unhappiness and eternal remorse,
etc., etc., etc."
This extremely long letter, which was almost blotted out by tears, was
certainly in madame de Rênal's handwriting; it was even written with
more than ordinary care.
"I cannot blame M. de la Mole," said Julien, "after he had finished it.
He is just and prudent. What father would give his beloved daughter to
such a man? Adieu!" Julien jumped out of the fiacre and rushed to his
post-chaise, which had stopped at the end of the street. Mathilde, whom
he had apparently forgotten, took a few steps as though to follow him,
but the looks she received from the tradesmen, who were coming out on
the thresholds of their shops, and who knew who she was, forced her to
return precipitately to the garden.
Julien had left for Verrières. During that rapid journey he was unable
to write to Mathilde as he had intended. His hand could only form
illegible characters on the paper.
He arrived at Verrières on a Sunday morning. He entered the shop of the
local gunsmith, who overwhelmed him with congratulations on his recent
good fortune. It constituted the news of the locality.
Julien had much difficulty in making him understand that he wanted a
pair of pistols. At his request the gunsmith loaded the pistols.
The three peals sounded; it is a well-known signal in the villages of
France, and after the various ringings in the morning announces the
immediate commencement of Mass.
Julien entered the new church of Verrières. All the lofty windows of
the building were veiled with crimson curtains. Julien found himself
some spaces behind the pew of madame de Rênal. It seemed to him that
she was praying fervently The sight of the woman whom he had loved so
much made Julien's arm tremble so violently that he was at first unable
to execute his project. "I cannot," he said to himself. "It is a
physical impossibility."
At that moment the young priest, who was officiating at the Mass, rang
the bell for the elevation of the host. Madame de Rênal lowered her
head, which, for a moment became entirely hidden by the folds of her
shawl. Julien did not see her features so distinctly: he aimed a pistol
shot at her, and missed her: he aimed a second shot, she fell.
CHAPTER LXVI
SAD DETAILS
Do not expect any weakness on my part. I have avenged
myself. I have deserved death, and here I am. Pray for
my soul.--_Schiller_
Julien remained motionless. He saw nothing more. When he recovered
himself a little he noticed all the faithful rushing from the church.
The priest had left the altar. Julien started fairly slowly to follow
some women who were going away with loud screams. A woman who was
trying to get away more quickly than the others, pushed him roughly. He
fell. His feet got entangled with a chair, knocked over by the crowd;
when he got up, he felt his neck gripped. A gendarme, in full uniform,
was arresting him. Julien tried mechanically to have recourse to his
little pistol; but a second gendarme pinioned his arms.
He was taken to the prison. They went into a room where irons were put
on his hands. He was left alone. The door was doubly locked on him. All
this was done very quickly, and he scarcely appreciated it at all.
"Yes, upon my word, all is over," he said aloud as he recovered
himself. "Yes, the guillotine in a fortnight ... or killing myself
here."
His reasoning did not go any further. His head felt as though it had
been seized in some violent grip. He looked round to see if anyone was
holding him. After some moments he fell into a deep sleep.
Madame de Rênal was not mortally wounded. The first bullet had pierced
her hat. The second had been fired as she was turning round. The
bullet had struck her on the shoulder, and, astonishing to relate,
had ricocheted from off the shoulder bone (which it had, however,
broken) against a gothic pillar, from which it had loosened an enormous
splinter of stone.
When, after a long and painful bandaging, the solemn surgeon said to
madame de Rênal, "I answer for your life as I would for my own," she
was profoundly grieved.
She had been sincerely desirous of death for a long time. The letter
which she had written to M. de la Mole in accordance with the
injunctions of her present confessor, had proved the final blow to a
creature already weakened by an only too permanent unhappiness. This
unhappiness was caused by Julien's absence; but she, for her own part,
called it remorse. Her director, a young ecclesiastic, who was both
virtuous and enthusiastic, and had recently come to Dijon, made no
mistake as to its nature.
"Dying in this way, though not by my own hand, is very far from being
a sin," thought madame de Rênal. "God will perhaps forgive me for
rejoicing over my death." She did not dare to add, "and dying by
Julien's hand puts the last touch on my happiness."
She had scarcely been rid of the presence of the surgeon and of all the
crowd of friends that had rushed to see her, than she called her maid,
Elisa. "The gaoler," she said to her with a violent blush, "is a cruel
man. He will doubtless ill-treat him, thinking to please me by doing
so.... I cannot bear that idea. Could you not go, as though on your own
account, and give the gaoler this little packet which contains some
louis. You will tell him that religion forbids him to treat him badly,
above all, he must not go and speak about the sending of this money."
It was this circumstance, which we have just mentioned, that Julien had
to thank for the humanity of the gaoler of Verrières. It was still the
same M. Noiraud, that ideal official, whom he remembered as being so
finely alarmed by M. Appert's presence.
A judge appeared in the prison. "I occasioned death by premeditation,"
said Julien to him. "I bought the pistols and had them loaded at
so-and-so's, a gunsmith. Article 1342 of the penal code is clear. I
deserve death, and I expect it." Astonished at this kind of answer, the
judge started to multiply his questions, with a view of the accused
contradicting himself in his answers.
"Don't you see," said Julien to him with a smile, "that I am making
myself out as guilty as you can possibly desire? Go away, monsieur, you
will not fail to catch the quarry you are pursuing. You will have the
pleasure to condemn me. Spare me your presence."
"I have an irksome duty to perform," thought Julien. "I must write to
mademoiselle de la Mole:--"
"I have avenged myself," he said to her. "Unfortunately,
my name will appear in the papers, and I shall not be
able to escape from the world incognito. I shall die
in two months' time. My revenge was ghastly, like the
pain of being separated from you. From this moment I
forbid myself to write or pronounce your name. Never
speak of me even to my son; silence is the only way of
honouring me. To the ordinary commonplace man, I shall
represent a common assassin. Allow me the luxury of the
truth at this supreme moment; you will forget me. This
great catastrophe of which I advise you not to say a
single word to a single living person, will exhaust,
for several years to come, all that romantic and unduly
adventurous element which I have detected in your
character. You were intended by nature to live among the
heroes of the middle ages; exhibit their firm character.
Let what has to happen take place in secret and without
your being compromised. You will assume a false name,