The Red and the Black (20 page)

The king had no sooner reached the church than Julien galloped off in
the direction of M. de Rênal's house. There, with much regret, he
exchanged his lovely sky-blue outfit, his sabre and his epaulettes for
the familiar shabby black suit. He climbed on to his horse again and a
short while later he was at Bray-le-Haut, which crowns the top of a
very fine hill. Enthusiasm makes these peasants proliferate, thought
Julien. You can't move for them in Verrières, and there are more than
ten thousand of them here around this ancient abbey. Halfruined by
vandalism under the Revolution,
^*
it had been magnificently restored since the Restoration,
^*
and there was beginning to be talk of miracles. Julien joined Father
Chélan, who scolded him roundly and handed him a cassock and a
surplice. He dressed in haste, and followed Father Chélan who was off
to find the young Bishop of Agde
^*
--a nephew of M. de La Mole who had been recently appointed, and had
been entrusted with showing the relic to the king. But the bishop
was nowhere to be found.

The clergy
were getting impatient. They were waiting for their spiritual head in
the gloomy gothic cloisters of the ancient abbey. Twenty-four priests
had been gathered together to represent the original chapter of
Bray-le-Haut, composed before 1789 of twenty-four canons. After
spending threequarters of an hour deploring the bishop's youth, the
priests thought it fitting that the Reverend Dean should withdraw to
warn Monsignor that the king was about to arrive, and that it was
exceedingly urgent to take their places in the chancel. Father Chélan
had been made dean in virtue of his great age; despite his annoyance
at him, he beckoned Julien to follow him. Julien looked very good in
his surplice. By some mysterious trick of ecclesiastical toilette he had
smoothed his lovely curly hair down flat; but by an oversight which
increased Father Chélan's rage, beneath the long folds of his cassock
could be seen his guard of honour's spurs.

When they arrived at the bishop's lodgings, tall, richly dressed
footmen scarcely deigned to reply to the old priest that Monsignor was
not at home to visitors. They scoffed at him when he tried to explain
that in his capacity as dean of the

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noble chapter of Bray-le-Haut he was privileged to be received at any time by the officiating bishop.

Julien's haughty temperament was shocked by the footmen's insolence.
He set off at a run through the dormitories of the ancient abbey,
rattling all the doors he passed. A very small one yielded to his
efforts, and he found himself in a cell in the midst of Monsignor's
valets, dressed in black with chains round their necks. His hurried
look made these gentlemen believe that he had been summoned by the
bishop, and they let him pass. He went on a few steps and found
himself in an immense and extremely dark gothic hall, panelled
throughout in dark oak; all but one of the ogive windows had been
bricked up. The crudeness of this masonry was not disguised in any
way, and contrasted sadly with the ancient magnificence of the
woodwork. Richly carved wooden stalls adorned the two long sides of
this haft so renowned among Burgundian antiquaries, which Charles the
Bold had built in about 1470 in expiation for some sin or other. On
these stalls you could see all the mysteries of the Apocalypse worked
in wood of different colours.

Julien was touched by this melancholy magnificence spoilt by the sight
of the bare bricks and fresh white plaster. He stood still in
silence. At the far end of the hall, near the only window which let in
the light, he saw a hinged mirror on a mahogany stand. A young man in
a purple robe and a lace surplice, but with nothing on his head, was
standing three paces from the mirror. It seemed a strange piece of
furniture to have in such a place, and it had probably been brought
from the town. Julien thought the young man looked exasperated; his
right hand was solemnly giving blessings in the direction of the
mirror.

What can this mean? he
wondered. Is this young priest carrying out some preparatory ceremony?
Perhaps he's the bishop's secretary... he'll be insolent just like
the footmen... oh well, never mind, let's have a try.

He moved forward and walked fairly slowly down the length of the
hall, his gaze firmly directed towards the solitary window and fixed
on the young man, who continued to give blessings

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which were slowly executed but indefinitely repeated, without a moment's respite.

As he approached, Julien was better able to make out his look of
annoyance. The richness of the surplice adorned with lace caused him
to stop involuntarily a few paces from the magnificent mirror.

It's my duty to speak, he told himself at length; but the beauty of
the hall had stirred his emotions, and he was ruffled in advance by
the harsh words that were going to be spoken to him.

The young man saw him in the glass, turned round, and suddenly
dropping his angry look said to him in the gentlest of tones:

'Well, sir! Has it been fixed at last?'

Julien was flabbergasted. As the young man turned towards him Julien
saw the pectoral cross on his chest: he was the Bishop of Agde. So
young, thought Julien; seven or eight years older than me at the very
most!...

And he felt ashamed of his spurs.

'Monsignor,' he replied timidly, 'I've been sent by the dean of the chapter, Father Chélan.'

'Ah! He's been most warmly recommended to me,' said the bishop in
polite tones which added to Julien's delight. 'But I do beg your
pardon, sir, I mistook you for the person who is supposed to be
bringing me back my mitre. It was carelessly packed in Paris; the
silver brocade is horribly damaged at the top. It'll look really most
dreadful,' added the young bishop with a sorrowful expression, 'and to
crown it all they're making me wait.'

'Monsignor, I'll go and fetch the mitre, if your lordship allows.'

Julien's lovely eyes did the trick.

'Please do, sir,' the bishop replied with engaging politeness. 'I
need it right away. I'm terribly sorry to keep the Reverend Fathers of
the chapter waiting.'

When Julien
reached the middle of the hall he turned back to look at the bishop
and saw that he had started giving blessings again. What on earth is
all this? Julien wondered. It's no doubt some necessary ecclesiastical
preparation for the

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ceremony about to take place. On reaching the cell where the valets
were, he saw the mitre in their hands. These gentlemen yielded in
spite of themselves to Julien's imperious look, and handed him
Monsignor's mitre.

He felt proud to
be carrying it: his pace as he walked across the hall was slow, and he
held it with respect. He found the bishop seated in front of the
mirror; but from time to time his right hand would still give another
blessing in spite of its fatigue. Julien helped him put on his mitre.
The bishop shook his head from side to side.

'Ah! It'll stay put,' he said to Julien with an air of satisfaction. 'Would you mind stepping back a bit?'

The bishop then went quickly to the middle of the hall and, as he
walked back with slow steps towards the mirror, he resumed his
expression of annoyance, and solemnly gave out blessings.

Julien was rooted to the spot with astonishment; he was tempted to
draw conclusions, but didn't dare. The bishop stopped and, looking at
him with an air which rapidly lost some of its solemnity, said:

'What do you think of my mitre, sir? Does it look good?'

'Very good, Monsignor.'

'It isn't too far back? That would look a bit silly; but nor must it
be worn pulled down over the eyes like an officer's shako.'

'It looks very good to me.'

'The King of ----- is accustomed to clergy who are venerable and no
doubt extremely solemn. I shouldn't wish, particularly in view of my
age, to look insufficiently serious.'

And the bishop began to pace up and down again giving out blessings.

It's clear, said Julien, at last daring to draw the right conclusion; he's practising giving the blessing.

A few moments later:

'I'm ready,' said the bishop. 'Kindly go, sir, and inform the Reverend Dean and Fathers of the chapter.

Soon Father Chélan, followed by the two most senior priests, entered
by a very large, magnificently carved door that Julien had not
noticed. But this time he remained in his place, right

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at the back, and could only see the bishop over the shoulders of the clergy who were crowding round the door.

The bishop made his way slowly across the hall; when he reached the
threshold the priests lined up in procession. After a brief moment of
confusion the procession set off, striking up a psalm. The bishop
walked last, between Father Chélan and another very old priest. Julien
slipped in right next to Monsignor as Father Chélan's attendant. They
went down the long corridors of Bray-le-Haut abbey, gloomy and damp in
spite of the brilliant sunshine. At length they reached the portico
of the cloisters. Julien was struck dumb with admiration at such a
beautiful ceremony. The ambition reawakened in him by the bishop's
extreme youth and the sensitivity and exquisite politeness of this
prelate were all warring to win his heart. This politeness was quite
another matter from M. de Rênal's, even on his good days. The higher
you rise towards the first rank in society, Julien thought, the more
examples you find of these delightful manners.

As the procession entered the church by a side door, a fearful din
suddenly shook the ancient vaulting: Julien thought it was collapsing.
It was the little cannon again; it had just arrived, pulled by eight
galloping horses, and it had hardly arrived and been lined up by the
cannoneers who had fought at Leipzig before it was firing five shots a
minute as if it were pointing at the Prussians.

But this splendid noise had no more effect on Julien; he had no
thoughts for Napoleon and military glory. So young, he thought, and
bishop of Agde! Where is Agde anyway? And how much is the income?
Maybe two or three hundred thousand francs.

Monsignor's footmen appeared with a magnificent canopy; Father Chélan
took one of the poles, but in fact it was Julien who carried it. The
bishop took up his station beneath it. He really had managed to make
himself look old; our hero's admiration knew no bounds, Anything can
be done with a bit of skill! he thought.

The king entered. Julien had the good fortune to see him from very close up. The bishop addressed him with unction,

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adding just a shade of emotion that was very flattering to his majesty.

We shall not repeat the description of the ceremonies at
Bray-le-Haut; they filled the columns of all the newspapers in the
département for a fortnight afterwards. Julien heard from the bishop's
address that the king was descended from Charles the Bold.

Later it was one of Julien's duties to check all the accounts
relating to expenditure on the ceremony. M. de La Mole, who had
obtained a bishopric for his nephew, had determined to pay him the
compliment of taking care of all the expenses. The ceremony at
Bray-le-Haut alone cost three thousand eight hundred francs.

After the bishop's address and the king's reply, his majesty
stationed himself under the canopy and then knelt very piously on a
hassock near the altar. The chancel was lined with stalls, and these
stalls were raised two steps above the stone floor. The last of these
steps provided a seat for Julien at Father Chélan's feet, rather like a
trainbearer next to his cardinal in the Sistine Chapel in Rome. There
was a
Te Deum
, clouds of incense, and endless volleys of
musket and artillery fire; the peasants were intoxicated with
happiness and piety. A day like that undoes the work of a hundred
issues of the Jacobin press.

Julien
was six paces away from the king, who was praying with real fervour.
He noticed for the first time a short man with a lively expression
wearing a suit that was virtually unadorned. But he had a sky-blue
sash
^*
over this very plain garb. He was closer to the king than many other
nobles whose costumes were so heavily embroidered with gold that, as
Julien put it, you couldn't see the cloth. He learned a few moments
later that this was M. de La Mole. He thought he looked haughty and
even insolent.

This marquis wouldn't
be polite like my handsome bishop, he thought. Ah! the priesthood
makes a man gentle and wise. But the king has come to venerate the
relic, and I see no relic. Where has St Clement got to?

A little cleric next to him informed him that the venerable relic was in the upper part of the building in an ardent chapel
^*
permanently lit by candles.

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What's
an ardent
chapel? wondered Julien.

But he was unwilling to ask for an explanation of the expression. His attention increased.

On the occasion of a visit by a sovereign prince, etiquette has it
that the canons do not accompany the bishop. But as he set off for the
chapel of rest the Bishop of Agde summoned Father Chélan; Julien was
bold enough to follow him.

After
climbing a long flight of stairs, they reached a door which although
very small had magnificent gilding all round its gothic frame. The
work looked as if it had been carried out the previous day.

In front of the door knelt a group of twenty-four girls belonging to
the most distinguished families in Verrières. Before opening the door,
the bishop knelt down in the midst of these very pretty young girls.
While he prayed out loud, they seemed overwhelmed with admiration for
his fine lace, his gracious manner and his young and gentle
countenance. This spectacle caused our hero to lose the last vestiges
of his reason. At that moment he would have fought for the
Inquisition, and in all sincerity too. Suddenly the door opened. The
little chapel was revealed, ablaze with light. On the altar you could
see more than a thousand candies, divided into eight rows separated
from one another by sprays of flowers. The sweet smell of the purest
incense billowed out of the sanctuary door. The freshly gilded chapel
was very small but extremely high. Julien noticed that on the altar
there were candles more than fifteen foot tall. The girls could not
restrain their cries of admiration. The only people to be let into the
little vestibule of the chapel were the twenty-four girls, the two
priests and Julien.

Soon the king
arrived, followed only by M. de La Mole and his grand chamberlain. The
guards themselves remained outside on their knees, presenting arms.

His majesty positively hurled rather than flung himself on to the
prie-dieu. Only then did Julien, who was wedged against the gilded
door, catch a glimpse--from under the bare arm of one of the girls--of
the charming statue of St Clement.
^*
He was hidden beneath the altar, in the garb of a young Roman soldier. He had a gaping wound in his neck which seemed to

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