The Red and the Black (68 page)

into a moment's daydreaming', Julien went on, 'my loathsome memory,
which I curse at this very moment, offers me its resources, and I
misuse them.'

'So I've unwittingly just done something that must have displeased you?' Mathilde said with charming simplicity.

'One day, I remember, as you passed by these honeysuckle bushes, you
picked a flower: M. de Luz took it from you, and you let him have it. I
was right there.'

' M. de Luz?
That's impossible,' Mathilde replied, with the peremptoriness that
came so naturally to her: 'I don't behave like that.'

'I'm sure you did,' Julien retorted sharply.

'Oh well! it's true, my dearest,' said Mathilde, sadly lowering her
eyes. She knew for certain that for some months now she hadn't allowed
M. de Luz to do any such thing.

Julien looked at her with indescribable tenderness: No, he said to himself, she doesn't love me
any the less
.

That evening, she reproached him jokingly with his fondness for M
^me
de Fervaques: 'a bourgeois loving a social climber! Hearts of that
sort are maybe the only ones that my Julien can't drive mad. She had
turned you into a real dandy,' she said, fondling his hair.

During the time he thought Mathilde despised him, Julien had become
one of the most elegantly dressed men in Paris. But he had an
additional advantage over people of that sort: once he was ready
attired, he did not give his appearance another thought.

One thing vexed Mathilde: Julien continued to copy out the Russian letters and send them to the maréchale.

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Alas! why then things and not others?

BEAUMARCHAIS
^*

AN English traveller tells of living at close quarters with a tiger;
he had reared it and used to stroke it, but he always kept a loaded
pistol on his table.

Julien only
abandoned himself to the intensity of his happiness at moments when
Mathilde could not see it reflected in his eyes. He was punctilious in
his duty of addressing a harsh word to her from time to time.

When Mathilde's gentleness, which he observed with astonishment, and
her excessive devotion were on the point of robbing him of all control
over himself, he had the strength of purpose to leave her company
forthwith.

For the first time ever, Mathilde felt what it was to love.

Life, which for her had always plodded along like a tortoise, was now on the wing.

Since, however, it was necessary for pride to surface in some way or
another, she was anxious to expose herself with temerity to all the
dangers her love might put in her way. Julien was the one to show
caution; and it was only when there was some question of danger that
she did not yield to his will; but while submissive and almost humble
with him, she behaved that much more arrogantly towards all those
members of the household who had dealings with her, whether family or
servants.

In the evening in the
drawing-room, in a gathering of sixty people, she would call Julien
over in order to talk to him personally and at length.

When little Tanbeau settled down beside them one day, she begged him
to go to the library to fetch her the volume of Smollett containing
the revolution of 1688; and as he hesitated: 'And don't be in any
hurry over it,' she added with an

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expression of insulting arrogance which was balm to Julien's soul.

'Did you notice the little monster's look?' he asked her.

'His uncle has put in ten or twelve years' service in this salon, otherwise I'd have him booted out on the spot.'

Her behaviour towards Messrs de Croisenois, de Luz, etc., while
perfectly polite in a formal sense, was hardly less provocative in
substance. Mathilde bitterly regretted confiding so much in Julien
early on, all the more so since she did not dare confess to him that
she had exaggerated the almost totally innocent displays of interest
with which these gentlemen had been favoured.

Despite all her fine resolve, her woman's pride would daily prevent
her from saying to Julien: 'It was because I was talking to you that I
took pleasure in describing my weakness in not withdrawing my hand
when M. de Croisenois, as he rested his on a marble table, happened to
brush gently against mine.'

Today,
one of these gentlemen had hardly to speak to her for a few moments
before she found she had a question to ask Julien, and this was a
pretext for keeping him by her side.

She discovered she was pregnant and announced it delightedly to Julien.

'Will you still have doubts about me now? Isn't this a guarantee? I'm your wife for ever.'

This announcement filled Julien with deep astonishment. He was on the
verge of forgetting the principle governing his behaviour. How can I
be deliberately cold and offensive towards this poor girl who's
ruining herself for me? If she looked at all unwell, even on days when
the terrible voice of wisdom made itself heard, he found he did not
have the heart any more to utter one of those cruel remarks to her
that were so essential, in his experience, to make their love last.

'I want to write to my father,' Mathilde said to him one day; 'he's
more than a father to me; he's a friend, and as such, I should find it
unworthy of you and me to try to deceive him, even for a moment.'

'My God! What are you about to do? said Julien in alarm.

'My duty,' she replied, her eyes shining with joy.

She was more magnanimous, it appeared, than her lover.

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'But he'll turn me out of the house in ignominy!'

'He has every right to, and we must accept this. I shall give you my
arm and we'll leave by the carriage door, in broad daylight.'

The astonished Julien begged her to postpone this step for a week.

'That I cannot do,' she replied, 'honour calls; I've seen where my duty lies, and I must follow it, right away, too.'

'All right then! I order to you to postpone it,' Julien said at
length. 'Your honour is safe, I'm your husband. Both of our situations
are going to be changed by this crucial step. I too am acting within
my rights. Today is Tuesday; next Tuesday is the Duc de Retz's day; in
the evening, when M. de La Mole comes home, the porter will hand him
the fateful letter . . . All he thinks about is making you a duchess,
I'm sure of it; just imagine his grief!'

'Do you mean: "just imagine his thirst for revenge"?'

'I am entitled to pity my benefactor, to be upset about hurting him; but I do not and never will fear anyone.'

Mathilde gave in. This was the first time since she had announced her
new situation to Julien that he had spoken authoritatively to her;
never had he loved her so much. It was a source of happiness for the
tender side of his nature to seize upon Mathilde's state to excuse him
from the need to say cruel things to her. The thought of confessing
to M. de La Mole disturbed him deeply. Was he going to be separated
from Mathilde? And however painful it might be for her to see him
go, when a month had passed by would she still be thinking about him?

He was in almost equal dread of the just reproaches he was liable to incur from the marquis.

That evening, he imparted this second source of grief to Mathilde,
and then led astray by his love, he also confessed the first.

She changed colour.

'Do you really mean', she said 'that spending six months apart from me would cause you misery?'

'Tremendous misery, it's the only misfortune in the world I contemplate with terror.'

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Mathilde was happy indeed. Julien had played his part so assiduously
that he had succeeded in making her think that of the tow of them, she
was the one who loved the most.

The
fateful Tuesday came round. At midnight, on returning home, the
marquis found a letter addressed in such a way as to make him open it
himself, and only when no witnesses were present.

Dear Papa,

All social ties are broken off between us, all that remains are ties of
nature. After my husband, you are and always will be the person who
is dearest to me. Tears are welling up in my eyes as I think of the
suffering I am causing you, but to avoid my shame becoming public, to
give you time to take thought and to act, I could not any longer
postpone the confession I owe you. If your friendship towards me,
which I know to be deep, is willing to grant me a small allowance, I
shall go and settle wherever you wish, in Switzerland, for instance,
with my husband. His name is so obscure that no one will recognize
your daughter in M
^me
Sorel, the daughter-in-law of a
carpenter from Verrières. This is the name it has cost me so much to
put in writing. I fear for Julien the consequences of your anger,
which is justified at first sight. I shall not be a duchess, papa; but
I knew this when I fell in love with him; for I was the first to
love--I did the seducing. I have inherited from you too lofty a
character to waste my attention on anything that is or strikes me as
vulgar. To please you, I tried to entertain thought of M. de
Croisenois, but it was no use. Why had you put true worth before my
eyes? You said as much to me yourself on my return from Hyères: 'young
Sorel is the only person I find amusing.' The poor fellow is as
wretched as I am, if that is possible, at the suffering this letter is
causing you. I cannot prevent you from feeling angered as father; but
please continue to love me as a friend.

Julien respected me. If he spoke to me from time to time, it was
exclusively on account of his deep gratitude towards you: for the
dignity inherent in his character inclines him only ever to respond
officially to anything that is so far above him. He has an acute, innate
sense of differences in social status. I was the one--I confess it
with a blush to my closet friend, and never will such a confession be
made to anyone else--I was the one who squeezed his arm one day in the
garden.

In twenty-four hours'
time, why should you be angry with him? My lapse is irreparable. If
you insist on it, I shall be the intermediary for his assurances of
profound respect and despair at incurring your

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displeasure. You will see no more of him; but I shall go and join him
wherever he wishes. That is his right, and my duty; he is the father of
my child. If your kindness is willing to grant us six thousand francs
to live on, I shall accept them gratefully: if not, Julien intends to
settle in Besançon, where he will embark on a career as teacher of
Latin and literature. However low his starting-point, I am convinced
that he will rise high. With him, I have no fear of remaining in
obscurity. If there is a revolution, I am sure that his will be a
leading role. Could you say as much for any of the men who have asked
for my hand? They have fine estates! I cannot see this circumstance
alone as a reason for admiration. My Julien would rise to a high
position even under the present regime, if he had a million and my
father's protection . . .

Mathilde, knowing the marquis to be a man who acted on first impulse, had written eight pages.

What's to be done? Julien wondered while the Marquis de La Mole was
reading this letter; where lies 1) my duty, 2) My interest? My debt to
him is enormous: but for him, I'd have been a subordinate rogue, and
not enough of a rogue to escape being hated and persecuted by others.
He's given me a place in high society. My
necessary
acts of
roguery will be 1) more infrequent, 2) less infamous. That counts for
more than if he'd given me a million. I owe him this cross and the
reputation for diplomatic services that put me above other people.

If he had his pen in his hand to lay down my conduct, what would he write . . .?

Julien was brusquely interrupted by M. de La Mole's old manservant.

'The marquis wants to see you at once, dressed or undressed.'

The manservant added in a low voice as he walked along beside Julien:

'He's beside himself with rage, watch out.'

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In cutting this diamond, a careless jeweller removed some of its
brightest glints. In the Middle Ages--what am I saying?--even under
Richelieu, a Frenchman had
strength of will
.

MIRABEAU

JULIEN found the marquis in a fury: for the first time in his life,
perhaps, this nobleman was vulgar; he assailed Julien with all the
insults that came to his lips. Our hero was astonished and irritated,
but his gratitude was not shaken. Just think how many wonderful plans
which the poor man has been cherishing in his inmost thoughts are
falling in ruins at a stroke before his very eyes! But I owe it to him
to reply; my silence would increase his anger. Tartuffe's part
supplied the reply.

'
I am no angel
^*
... I have served you well, you have rewarded me generously... I was
grateful, but I'm twenty-two... In this household, my thoughts were
only understood by you and this delightful person...'

'You monster!!' exclaimed the marquis. 'Delightful! Delightful! The
day you first found her delightful you ought to have fled.'

'I tried to; that was the time I asked you to let me leave for the Languedoc.'

Weary of striding up and down in fury, the marquis flung himself into
an armchair, overcome with sorrow; Julien heard him mutter to
himself: 'Really he isn't a wicked man.'

'No, I'm not, where you are concerned,' Julien exclaimed, falling
down at the marquis's knees. But he was excessively ashamed of this
gesture and very soon got up again.

The marquis was genuinely out of his mind. At the sight of this
gesture, he again began to assail Julien with dreadful insults worthy
of a cab-driver. The novelty of these swearwords was perhaps a
distraction.

'What! my daughter's to be called M
^me
Sorel! What! my daughter's not going to be a duchess!' Every time these ideas

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