The Red and the Black (54 page)

the fair Mathilde on the main staircase; she snatched his letter with perfect composure and laughter in her eyes.

What passion there was in poor M
^me
de Rœnal's eyes, said Julien to himself, when she plucked up courage
to take a letter from me, even after six months of intimacy. Not once,
I think, did she she ever look at me with laughter in her eyes.

The rest of his response he did not formulate to himself with the
same clarity; was he ashamed at the triviality of his motives? But
then what a difference, his thoughts ran on, in the elegance of her
day dress, in the elegance of her bearing! On seeing Mlle de La Mole
from thirty yards away, a man of taste would guess what rank of
society she belongs to. That's what you could call overt worth.

While he joked away, Julien was still not admitting to himself what was at the back of his mind: M
^me
de Rœnal didn't have a Marquis de Croisenois to sacrifice for him.
His only rival was that wretched sub-prefect M. Charcot, who had
himself called de Maugiron, because there are no de Maugirons left.

At five o'clock Julien received a third letter; it was thrown to him from the door of the library. M
^lle
de La Mole again ran away. What an obsession with writing! he said to
himself laughing, when it's so simple for us to talk! The enemy wants
letters from me, it's obvious, and several of them! he was in no
hurry to open this one. Yet more elegant phrases, he thought; but he
grew pale when he read it. There were only eight lines.

I need to talk to you: I must talk to you, this evening; when the
first hour after midnight strikes, be in the garden. Take the gardener's
big ladder from beside the well; lean it up against my window and
climb up to my room. There's a moon: never mind.

-344-

Ah! how cruel is the interim between the conceiving of a great plan
and its execution! What idle terrors! What waverings! Life is at
stake!-Much more is at stake: honour!

SCHILLER
^*

THIS is getting serious, thought Julien... and a little too obvious,
he added on reflection. So! This lovely young lady can talk to me in
the library with what amounts, thank heavens, to total freedom; the
marquis, afraid that I may show him some of the accounts, never comes
here. So! M. de La Mole and Count Norbert, the only people ever to set
foot here, are out for most of the day; it's easy to observe the
moment when they return to the house, and the sublime Mathilde, for
whose hand a sovereign prince would not be too noble, is wanting me to
commit an abominable act of imprudence!

It's clear they want to bring about my downfall, or to make fun of me
at the very least. To begin with, they tried to use my letters to
destroy me; but these have proved circumspect. So then! they need an
action that's clearer than daylight. These fine little gentlemen must
just think me too stupid or too vain. Hell! To climb up a ladder like
that to a first floor twenty-five foot from the ground on the
brightest of moonlit nights! There'll be time for everyone to see me,
even from the neighbouring houses. I'll be a fine sight on my ladder!
Julien went up to his room and began to pack his trunk, whistling
the while. He was resolved to leave without even answering.

But this wise resolve did not give him any inner peace. What if by
chance, he said to himself all of a sudden when his trunk was shut,
Mathilde was in good faith! then I'd be acting like an utter coward in
her eyes. I'm not a person of rank, am I? I need sterling qualities,
cash down, without the benefit of the doubt, proved for sure by
eloquent actions...

He spent a
quarter of an hour in reflection. What's the point in denying it? he
said at last; I'll be a coward in her eyes. I'll

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lose not only the most dazzling woman in high society, as they were
all saying at the Duc de Retz's ball, but on top of that the divine
pleasure of seeing the Marquis de Croisenois sacrificed for me--the
son of a duke, and destined to become a duke himself. A charming young
man with all the qualities I lack: a sense of appropriateness, birth,
fortune...

This remorse will dog me all my life, not on her account-there are so many sweethearts!

... But there is only one honour!

as old Don Diego
^*
says--and here I am clearly and distinctly retreating in the face of
the first real danger that comes my way; for that duel with M. de
Beauvoisis was something of a joke. This is quite different. I may be
shot point-blank by a servant, but that's the lesser danger; I may be
dishonoured.

This is getting serious, my lad, he added with a Gascon
^*
accent and twinkle in his eye.
Knightly honour
is at stake. Never will a poor devil who's been cast as low down as I
have by fortune ever get such an opportunity again; I shall have my
successes, but they'll be of an inferior kind...

He reflected at length, walking up and down with brisk steps,
stopping short from time to time. A magnificent marble bust of
Cardinal Richelieu had been parked in his room, and his eye was drawn
to it in spite of himself. This bust seemed to be looking at him
sternly, as if reproaching him for lacking the daring that should come
naturally to the French character. In your day, great man, would I
have hesitated?

In the worst case,
Julien said to himself at last, suppose all this is a trap, it's a
pretty sinister one and pretty compromising for a young lady. They
know I'm not the sort of man to keep quiet. So they'll have to kill
me. That was all right in 1574, in Boniface de La Mole's day, but his
present descendant would never dare. These people just aren't the
same. M
^lle
de La Mole is so envied! Four hundred salons would reverberate with her shame tomorrow, and imagine the delight!

The servants are gossiping among themselves about the obvious favour shown to me; I know they are, I've heard them...

On the other hand, her letters....! They may believe I've got

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them with me. They'll surprise me in her room and snatch them from
me. I'll have to face two, three or four men, who knows? But where'll
they get them from, these men? where in Paris can you find underlings
who'll keep quiet? They're afraid of the law ... Damn it all! It'll be
Messrs Caylus, Croisenois and de Luz themselves. The thought of this
moment, and the ridiculous figure I'll cut in their midst, must be
what has tempted them. Watch out for Abelard's fate,
^*
Mister secretary! Well, damn it all, gentlemen! You shall bear my
marks, I'll strike you in the face, like Caesar's soldiers did at
Pharsala... As for the letters, I can put them in a safe place.

Julien made copies of the latest two, hid them in a volume of the
fine edition of Voltaire in the library, and took the originals off to
the post himself.

When he got back:
What a mad enterprise I'm about to fling myself into! he said to
himself in surprise and terror. He had spent a quarter of an hour
without facing up to the act awaiting him that night.

But if I refuse, I'll despise myself afterwards! For the rest of my
life this act will be a major source of self-doubt, and for me, doubt
of this kind is the most searing of afflictions. Didn't I suffer it on
account of Amanda's lover! I think I'd find it easier to forgive
myself for an outright crime; once it was confessed, I'd stop thinking
about it.

Just think! I shall have
been the rival of a man bearing one of the finest names in France, and
I shall myself, in all cheerfulness, have declared myself to be his
inferior! When it comes down to it, it's cowardly not to go. That
settles it, exclaimed Julien, getting to his feet... besides, she's
terribly pretty.

If this isn't some
treachery or other, what an act of folly she's committing for me...!
If it's just mystification, damn it all, gentlemen! it's up to me to
make the joke serious, and that's what I'll do.

But what if they tie up my arms the moment I enter the room; they may have set up some ingenious contraption!

It's like a duel, he said to himself laughing, you can parry any
blow, says my fencing master, but the good Lord, who wants an end to
it, makes one of the two forget to parry.

-347-

Anyway, here's something to answer them with: he drew his pocket
pistols; and although the priming was fresh and still explosive, he
replaced it.

There were still several hours to wait; to give himself something to do, Julien wrote to Fouqué:

My good friend, don't open the enclosed letter except in case of
accident, if you hear word that something unusual has happened to me.
In that case, delete the proper names from the manuscript I am sending
you, and make eight copies of it which you are to send to the
newspapers in Marseille, Bordeaux, Lyon, Brussels etc.; ten days
later, get this manuscript printed and send the first copy to the
Marquis de La Mole; and a fortnight later, scatter the other copies
during the night in the streets of Verrières.

The little justificatory memorandum that Fouqué was only to open in
case of accident was cast in the form of a story, and Julien drafted
it so as to compromise M
^lle
de La Mole as little as possible, but ultimately he did give a very accurate picture of her involvement.

Julien was just finishing off sealing up his packet when the bell
rang for dinner; it made his heart pound. His imagination, absorbed in
the tale he had just composed, was entirely given over to tragic
forebodings. He had visualized himself seized by servants, bound, and
led off to a cellar with a gag in his mouth. There a servant kept him
in custody, and if the family honour of these nobles required the
adventure to have a tragic end, it was easy to put an end to
everything with the sort of poison that leaves no trace; at which
point they said he had died of an illness and carried him back dead to
his room.

Moved like a playwright by
his own story, Julien was genuinely afraid when he went into the
dining-room. He looked at all the servants in full livery. He studied
their countenances. Which are the ones that have been chosen for
tonight's expedition? he wondered. In this family, memories of Henri
III's Court are so pervasive, so often recalled, that if they believe
they've been insulted, they'll act more decisively than other figures
of their rank. He looked at M
^lle
de La Mole in order to
read her family's plans in her eyes; she was pale, and her countenance
came straight out of the Middle Ages. He

-348-

had never seen her looking so grand; she was truly beautiful and imposing. It almost made him fall in love.
Pallida morte fiaura
^*
he said to himself (her pallor portends her great designs).

It was to no avail that he made a point after dinner of taking a long stroll in the garden: there was no sip of M
^lle
de La Mole. Talking to her at that moment would have taken a great weight off his mind.

Why not admit it? he was afraid. As he was resolved to act, he
unashamedly let this feeling take hold of him. Provided that when the
time comes to act, I can summon up the necessary courage, he said to
himself, does it matter what I may be feeling at this moment? He went
off to reconnoitre the position, and test the weight of the ladder.

This is an instrument, he said to himself, laughing, which it's my
destiny to use! here as in Verrières. What a difference! On that
occasion, he added with a sigh, I wasn't obliged to be wary of the
person for whose sake I was taking risks. What a difference too in the
danger itself!

I could have been
killed in M. de Rênal's garden without there being any dishonour in it
for me. They could easily have made my death seem inexplicable. Here,
just think of the abominable stories that'll be told in the salons of
the Hôtel de Chaulnes, the Hôtel de Caylus, the Hôtel de Retz
etc.-everywhere, in short. I shall be a monster for posterity.

For two or three years, he went on with a laugh, making fun of
himself. But this idea was more than he could take. And what about me,
where will I find justification? Even supposing Fouqu6 publishes my
posthumous pamphlet, it'll be just one more piece of infamy. Imagine!
I'm taken into a household, and in return for the hospitality I
receive and the favours showered upon me, I publish a pamphlet on the
goings--on there! I attack the women's honour! Ah! I'd rather a
thousand times be a dupe!

That evening was excruciating.

-349-

This garden was exceedingly large, and had been
laid out in perfect taste only a few years back. But the
trees were more than a century old. It had a rustic feel
about it.

MASSINGER
*

HE was about to countermand his instructions to Fouqué when eleven
o'clock struck. He turned the key noisily in his bedroom door, as if
he were shutting himself in. He crept off stealthily to observe what
was happening in the rest of the house, especially on the fourth
floor, which was inhabited by the servants. There was nothing out of
the ordinary. One of Mme de La Mole's chambermaids was holding a
party, and the servants were drinking punch in the best of spirits.
The ones who are laughing like that, thought Julien, can't be taking
part in the nocturnal expedition: they'd be more serious.

Finally he went and posted himself in a dark corner of the garden. If
their plan is to conceal their doings from the household servants,
they'll arrange for the men they've instructed to take me by surprise
to come in over the garden wall.

If
M. de Croisenois is keeping a cool head throughout this business,
he's bound to find it less compromising for the young woman he wishes
to marry to have me taken by surprise before I've actually got into
her room.

He made a reconnaissance in
military fashion, with great precision. My honour is at stake, he
thought; if I commit any kind of blunder, it'll be no excuse in my own
eyes to tell myself. I hadn't thought of that.

The weather was heartrendingly clear. The moon had risen about eleven
o'clock, and at half-past midnight it was shining full on the side of
the house overlooking the garden.

She's mad, Julien thought to himself; when one o'clock struck, there was still light in Count Norbert's windows. Never

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