finished_summaries/sparknotes/The Red and the Black/section_8_part_0.txt
The Red and the Black.part 2.chapters 35-41
book 2, chapters 35-41
{"name": "", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210301223854/https://www.sparknotes.com/lit/redblack/section9/", "summary": "Julien feels like he has won the battle but not the war. He quickly impresses the other soldiers with his skill and professionalism. He is more ambitious than ever, hoping to become commander-in- chief of the French army by the time he is thirty. Julien also begins planning for the future of his child, who he is sure will be a boy. But all of his dreams are shattered when the Marquis de la Mole receives a letter from Mme. de Renal, denouncing Julien as a womanizer ambitious to make his fortune by seducing rich aristocrats. The Marquis withdraws all of his support for Julien, condemns his proposed marriage to Mathilde and asks Julien to move to America. Julien is stunned and, without a second thought, races back home to Verrieres where he finds Mme. de Renal kneeling in prayer at Church. Shaking violently, he shoots her from behind. Julien is immediately arrested and taken to Besancon to await trial. There he writes to Mathilde, ordering her to forget about him and to marry one of her many suitors. The idea of death no longer frightens Julien and he demands to be executed. However, Mme. de Renal was only slightly wounded from the one bullet that struck her and makes a quick recovery. Julien is overjoyed that she is not dead and for the first time in his life begins to believe in God. Mathilde and Fouque soon arrive to help him escape but Julien refuses, deciding that he wants to die. Mathilde goes to great lengths in her efforts to save Julien, hiring lawyers and attempting to bribe the priests in charge of Julien's court case. Despite her devotion to him, Julien soon loses interest in Mathilde and begins to think of Mme. de Renal instead. He decides that he only knew true happiness with Mme. de Renal, not Mathilde. Mme. de Renal decides not to appear at Julien's trial and writes a letter to the jury demanding his acquittal. She is still in love with Julien and feels so guilty that she secretly wishes he had killed her. Despite Julien's plea for death, Mathilde thinks that she has bribed the right people to assure Julien's innocence. However, M. Valenod is the foreman of the jury and is still jealous of Julien's affair with Mme. de Renal. He and one of Julien's enemies from the seminary pronounce Julien guilty and vote for his execution. Julien contemplates suicide until Mme. de Renal visits him in jail. They both still love each other, and vow not to commit suicide. Mme. de Renal confesses that she was forced by her confessor to write the letter to the Marquis, and Julien forgives her. When he is left alone, Julien finally begins to understand himself. He renounces hypocrisy as the malaise of his century and finds solace in his love for Mme. de Renal. He wishes that he had not been so ambitious and could have just concentrated on loving her. Julien rejects all final offers of clemency and is guillotined. With a bitter sense of historical irony, Mathilde buries his severed head herself, while Mme. de Renal dies of despair three days later.", "analysis": "Commentary Stendhal finishes the novel with a bitter denunciation of the political corruption of the clergy. He continues to acknowledge the existence of good men like M. Chelan and M. Pirard, but he portrays the majority of the clergy as conniving politicians. A jealous priest forces Mme. de Renal to write her letter to the Marquis. She later admits to Julien that the priest actually wrote it himself. During Julien's trial, Mathilde bribes a large number of priests who claim they can secure an acquittal. One priest even tries to blackmail Mathilde into making him a bishop in return for his help. As he nears death, Julien refuses to find truth in a religion where priests are more concerned with politics and their salaries than in helping the poor. Both Julien and Mathilde's reliance on French history to dictate their own destinies comes back to haunt them in this final section. Julien's admiration for Napoleonic honor and glory encourage him to both shoot Mme. de Renal and to later refuse clemency. He falsely believes that, like Napoleon, his glory and reputation will grow with his death. He wants to be a martyr. Mathilde's obsession with her decapitated ancestor, Boniface de la Mole, comes to life as well. As Julien goes off to kill Mme. de Renal, Mathilde notes how \"Boniface de la Mole seemed reborn in him.\" When Julien is finally guillotined, she does not hesitate to kiss his severed head and bury it herself, just as Queen Margot did 250 years earlier. In this historical context, Julien's fate seems sealed from the moment Mathilde falls in love with him. Her idea of romance is inextricably linked to the decapitation of her lover. Julien simply reenacts a role subconsciously prescribed to him by Mathilde. Stendhal thus uses Julien's unoriginal death to further criticize the predictable and boring nineteenth century. It is only in this last section that the reader begins to understand and admire Julien Sorel. He readily admits that Mme. de Renal represents a maternal figure for him. Since there is never any mention of Julien's biological mother, his tie with Mme. de Renal seems much stronger. As his love for Mathilde grows cold, one can only suspect that Julien has not been able to forget the class difference that separates them. His rejection of French society must also be a rejection of Mathilde. But as a surrogate mother, Mme. de Renal represents everything Julien ever really wanted in life: unconditional love. As he approaches death, Julien gains a sudden insight into who he really is. He realizes that he has always defined himself in terms of politics and society as a whole, never on his own terms. He always saw himself as a possible something-else, and not as Julien Sorel. This emphasis on individualism, one of Stendhal's classic themes, is finally resolved when Julien refuses to see himself through the lens of French society and French history. He is no Napoleon, he is no Boniface, and he is no de la Vernaye. Unlike the charlatans around him, Julien discovers that he has \"nobility in my heart.\" At his trial, he thus admonishes the lack of originality and creativity that plagues the nineteenth century. Having wanted to make his fortune all his life, Julien finally sees that it is successful bourgeois men like M. Valenod that are the most dangerous men in France. Stendhal sadly notes that not only are conservatives impeding the progress of French society, but liberals are making hypocrisy the national pastime."}
CHAPTER LXV

A STORM


        My God, give me mediocrity.--_Mirabeau_.


His mind was engrossed; he only half answered the eager tenderness that
she showed to him. He remained gloomy and taciturn. He had never seemed
so great and so adorable in Mathilde's eyes. She was apprehensive of
some subtle twist of his pride which would spoil the whole situation.

She saw the abbe Pirard come to the hotel nearly every morning. Might
not Julien have divined something of her father's intentions through
him? Might not the marquis himself have written to him in a momentary
caprice. What was the explanation of Julien's stern manner following on
so great a happiness? She did not dare to question.

She did not _dare_--she--Mathilde! From that moment her feelings for
Julien contained a certain vague and unexpected element which was
almost panic. This arid soul experienced all the passion possible in
an individual who has been brought up amid that excessive civilisation
which Paris so much admires.

Early on the following day Julien was at the house of the abbe Pirard.
Some post-horses were arriving in the courtyard with a dilapidated
chaise which had been hired at a neighbouring station.

"A vehicle like that is out of fashion," said the stern abbe to him
morosely. "Here are twenty thousand francs which M. de la Mole makes
you a gift of. He insists on your spending them within a year, but
at the same time wants you to try to look as little ridiculous as
possible." (The priest regarded flinging away so substantial a sum on a
young man as simply an opportunity for sin).

"The marquis adds this: 'M. Julien de la Vernaye will have received
this money from his father, whom it is needless to call by any other
name. M. de la Vernaye will perhaps think it proper to give a present
to M. Sorel, a carpenter of Verrieres, who cared for him in his
childhood....' I can undertake that commission," added the abbe. "I
have at last prevailed upon M. de la Mole to come to a settlement with
that Jesuit, the abbe de Frilair. His influence is unquestionably too
much for us. The complete recognition of your high birth on the part
of this man, who is in fact the governor of B---- will be one of the
unwritten terms of the arrangement." Julien could no longer control his
ecstasy. He embraced the abbe. He saw himself recognised.

"For shame," said M. Pirard, pushing him away. "What is the meaning of
this worldly vanity? As for Sorel and his sons, I will offer them in my
own name a yearly allowance of five hundred francs, which will be paid
to each of them as long as I am satisfied with them."

Julien was already cold and haughty. He expressed his thanks, but in
the vaguest terms which bound him to nothing. "Could it be possible,"
he said to himself, "that I am the natural son of some great nobleman
who was exiled to our mountains by the terrible Napoleon?" This idea
seemed less and less improbable every minute.... "My hatred of my
father would be a proof of this.... In that case, I should not be an
unnatural monster after all."

A few days after this soliloquy the Fifteenth Regiment of Hussars,
which was one of the most brilliant in the army, was being reviewed on
the parade ground of Strasbourg. M. the chevalier de La Vernaye sat
the finest horse in Alsace, which had cost him six thousand francs. He
was received as a lieutenant, though he had never been sub-lieutenant
except on the rolls of a regiment of which he had never heard.

His impassive manner, his stern and almost malicious eyes, his pallor,
and his invariable self-possession, founded his reputation from
the very first day. Shortly afterwards his perfect and calculated
politeness, and his skill at shooting and fencing, of which, though
without any undue ostentation, he made his comrades aware, did away
with all idea of making fun of him openly. After hesitating for five
or six days, the public opinion of the regiment declared itself in his
favour.

"This young man has everything," said the facetious old officers,
"except youth."

Julien wrote from Strasbourg to the old cure of Verrieres, M. Chelan,
who was now verging on extreme old age.

"You will have learnt, with a joy of which I have no doubt, of the
events which have induced my family to enrich me. Here are five hundred
francs which I request you to distribute quietly, and without any
mention of my name, among those unfortunate ones who are now poor as I
myself was once, and whom you will doubtless help as you once helped
me."

Julien was intoxicated with ambition, and not with vanity. He
nevertheless devoted a great part of his time to attending to his
external appearance. His horses, his uniform, his orderlies' liveries,
were all kept with a correctness which would have done credit to the
punctiliousness of a great English nobleman. He had scarcely been made
a lieutenant as a matter of favour (and that only two days ago) than
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 Hotel 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 Hotel 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 Renal. 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 Renal'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 Renal'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 Verrieres. 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 Verrieres 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 Verrieres. All the lofty windows of
the building were veiled with crimson curtains. Julien found himself
some spaces behind the pew of madame de Renal. 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 Renal 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 Renal 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 Renal, "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 Renal. "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 Verrieres. 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,
        and you will confide in no one. If you absolutely need a
        friend's help, I bequeath the abbe Pirard to you.

        "Do not talk to anyone else, particularly to the people
        of your own class--the de Luz's, the Caylus's.

        "A year after my death, marry M. de Croisenois; I
        command you as your husband. Do not write to me at all,
        I shall not answer. Though in my view, much less wicked
        than Iago, I am going to say, like him: 'From this time
        forth, I never will speack word.'[1]

        "I shall never be seen to speak or write again. You will
        have received my final words and my final expressions of
        adoration.

                                                         "J. S."

It was only after he had despatched this letter and had recovered
himself a little, that Julien felt for the first time extremely
unhappy. Those momentous words, I shall die, meant the successive
tearing out of his heart of each individual hope and ambition.
Death, in itself, was not horrible in his eyes. His whole life had
been nothing but a long preparation for unhappiness, and he had
made a point of not losing sight of what is considered the greatest
unhappiness of all.

"Come then," he said to himself; "if I had to fight a duel in a couple
of months, with an expert duellist, should I be weak enough to think
about it incessantly with panic in my soul?"

He passed more than an hour in trying to analyze himself thoroughly on
this score.

When he saw clear in his own soul, and the truth appeared before his
eyes with as much definiteness as one of the pillars of his prison, he
thought about remorse.

"Why should I have any? I have been atrociously injured; I have
killed--I deserve death, but that is all. I die after having squared my
account with humanity. I do not leave any obligation unfulfilled. I owe
nothing to anybody; there is nothing shameful about my death, except
the instrument of it; that alone, it is true, is simply sufficient to
disgrace me in the eyes of the bourgeois of Verrieres; but from the
intellectual standpoint, what could be more contemptible than they? I
have one means of winning their consideration; by flinging pieces of
gold to the people as I go to the scaffold. If my memory is linked with
the idea of gold, they will always look upon it as resplendent."

After this chain of reasoning, which after a minute's reflection seemed
to him self-evident, Julien said to himself, "I have nothing left to do
in the world," and fell into a deep sleep.

About 9 o'clock in the evening the gaoler woke him up as he brought in
his supper.

"What are they saying in Verrieres?"

"M. Julien, the oath which I took before the crucifix in the 'Royal
Courtyard,' on the day when I was installed in my place, obliges me to
silence."

He was silent, but remained. Julien was amused by the sight of this
vulgar hypocrisy. I must make him, he thought, wait a long time for the
five francs which he wants to sell his conscience for.

When the gaoler saw him finish his meal without making any attempt to
corrupt him, he said in a soft and perfidious voice:

"The affection which I have for you, M. Julien, compels me to speak.
Although they say that it is contrary to the interests of justice,
because it may assist you in preparing your defence. M. Julien you are
a good fellow at heart, and you will be very glad to learn that madame
de Renal is better."

"What! she is not dead?" exclaimed Julien, beside himself.

"What, you know nothing?" said the gaoler, with a stupid air which soon
turned into exultant cupidity. "It would be very proper, monsieur, for
you to give something to the surgeon, who, so far as law and justice
go, ought not to have spoken. But in order to please you, monsieur, I
went to him, and he told me everything."

"Anyway, the wound is not mortal," said Julien to him impatiently, "you
answer for it on your life?"

The gaoler, who was a giant six feet tall, was frightened and retired
towards the door. Julien saw that he was adopting bad tactics for
getting at the truth. He sat down again and flung a napoleon to M.
Noiraud.

As the man's story proved to Julien more and more conclusively that
madame de Renal's wound was not mortal, he felt himself overcome by
tears. "Leave me," he said brusquely.

The gaoler obeyed. Scarcely had the door shut, than Julien exclaimed:
"Great God, she is not dead," and he fell on his knees, shedding hot
tears.

In this supreme moment he was a believer. What mattered the hypocrisies
of the priests? Could they abate one whit of the truth and sublimity of
the idea of God?

It was only then that Julien began to repent of the crime that he had
committed. By a coincidence, which prevented him falling into despair,
it was only at the present moment that the condition of physical
irritation and semi-madness, in which he had been plunged since his
departure from Paris for Verrieres came to an end.

His tears had a generous source. He had no doubt about the condemnation
which awaited him.

"So she will live," he said to himself. "She will live to forgive me
and love me."

Very late the next morning the gaoler woke him up and said, "You must
have a famous spirit, M. Julien. I have come in twice, but I did not
want to wake you up. Here are two bottles of excellent wine which our
cure, M. Maslon, has sent you."

"What, is that scoundrel still here?" said Julien.

"Yes, monsieur," said the gaoler, lowering his voice. "But do not talk
so loud, it may do you harm."

Julien laughed heartily.

"At the stage I have reached, my friend, you alone can do me harm in
the event of your ceasing to be kind and tender. You will be well
paid," said Julien, changing his tone and reverting to his imperious
manner. This manner was immediately justified by the gift of a piece of
money.

M. Noiraud related again, with the greatest detail, everything he
had learnt about madame de Renal, but he did not make any mention of
mademoiselle Elisa's visit.

The man was as base and servile as it was possible to be. An idea
crossed Julien's mind. "This kind of misshapen giant cannot earn more
than three or four hundred francs, for his prison is not at all full.
I can guarantee him ten thousand francs, if he will escape with me
to Switzerland. The difficulty will be in persuading him of my good
faith." The idea of the long conversation he would need to have with so
vile a person filled Julien with disgust. He thought of something else.

In the evening the time had passed. A post-chaise had come to pick him
up at midnight. He was very pleased with his travelling companions, the
gendarmes. When he arrived at the prison of Besancon in the morning
they were kind enough to place him in the upper storey of a Gothic
turret. He judged the architecture to be of the beginning of the
fourteenth century. He admired its fascinating grace and lightness.
Through a narrow space between two walls, beyond the deep court, there
opened a superb vista.

On the following day there was an interrogation, after which he was
left in peace for several days. His soul was calm. He found his affair
a perfectly simple one. "I meant to kill. I deserve to be killed."

His thoughts did not linger any further over this line of reasoning.
As for the sentence, the disagreeableness of appearing in public,
the defence, he considered all this as slight embarrassment, irksome
formalities, which it would be time enough to consider on the actual
day. The actual moment of death did not seize hold of his mind either.
"I will think about it after the sentence." Life was no longer boring,
he was envisaging everything from a new point of view, he had no longer
any ambition. He rarely thought about mademoiselle de la Mole. His
passion of remorse engrossed him a great deal, and often conjured up
the image of madame de Renal, particularly during the silence of the
night, which in this high turret was only disturbed by the song of the
osprey.

He thanked heaven that he had not inflicted a mortal wound.
"Astonishing," he said to himself, "I thought that she had destroyed my
future happiness for ever by her letter to M. de la Mole, and here am
I, less than a fortnight after the date of that letter, not giving a
single thought to all the things that engrossed me then. An income of
two or three thousand francs, on which to live quietly in a mountain
district, like Vergy.... I was happy then.... I did not realise my
happiness."

At other moments he would jump up from his chair. "If I had mortally
wounded madame de Renal, I would have killed myself.... I need to feel
certain of that so as not to horrify myself."

"Kill myself? That's the great question," he said to himself. "Oh,
those judges, those fiends of red tape, who would hang their best
citizen in order to win the cross.... At any rate, I should escape from
their control and from the bad French of their insults, which the local
paper will call eloquence."

"I still have five or six weeks, more or less to live.... Kill myself.
No, not for a minute," he said to himself after some days, "Napoleon
went on living."

"Besides, I find life pleasant, this place is quiet, I am not troubled
with bores," he added with a smile, and he began to make out a list of
the books which he wanted to order from Paris.


[1] Stendhal's bad spelling is here reproduced.





CHAPTER LXVII

A TURRET


        The tomb of a friend.--_Sterne_.


He heard a loud noise in the corridor. It was not the time when the
gaoler usually came up to his prison. The osprey flew away with a
shriek. The door opened, and the venerable cure Chelan threw himself
into his arms. He was trembling all over and had his stick in his hands.

"Great God! Is it possible, my child--I ought to say monster?"

The good old man could not add a single word. Julien was afraid he
would fall down. He was obliged to lead him to a chair. The hand of
time lay heavy on this man who had once been so active. He seemed to
Julien the mere shadow of his former self.

When he had regained his breath, he said, "It was only the day before
yesterday that I received your letter from Strasbourg with your five
hundred francs for the poor of Verrieres. They brought it to me in
the mountains at Liveru where I am living in retirement with my
nephew Jean. Yesterday I learnt of the catastrophe.... Heavens, is it
possible?" And the old man left off weeping. He did not seem to have
any ideas left, but added mechanically, "You will have need of your
five hundred francs, I will bring them back to you."

"I need to see you, my father," exclaimed Julien, really touched. "I
have money, anyway."

But he could not obtain any coherent answer. From time to time, M.
Chelan shed some tears which coursed silently down his cheeks. He then
looked at Julien, and was quite dazed when he saw him kiss his hands
and carry them to his lips. That face which had once been so vivid,
and which had once portrayed with such vigour the most noble emotions
was now sunk in a perpetual apathy. A kind of peasant came soon to
fetch the old man. "You must not fatigue him," he said to Julien, who
understood that he was the nephew. This visit left Julien plunged in a
cruel unhappiness which found no vent in tears. Everything seemed to
him gloomy and disconsolate. He felt his heart frozen in his bosom.

This moment was the cruellest which he had experienced since the
crime. He had just seen death and seen it in all its ugliness. All his
illusions about greatness of soul and nobility of character had been
dissipated like a cloud before the hurricane.

This awful plight lasted several hours. After moral poisoning, physical
remedies and champagne are necessary. Julien would have considered
himself a coward to have resorted to them. "What a fool I am," he
exclaimed, towards the end of the horrible day that he had spent
entirely in walking up and down his narrow turret. "It's only, if I
had been going to die like anybody else, that the sight of that poor
old man would have had any right to have thrown me into this awful fit
of sadness: but a rapid death in the flower of my age simply puts me
beyond the reach of such awful senility."

In spite of all his argumentation, Julien felt as touched as any
weak-minded person would have been, and consequently felt unhappy
as the result of the visit. He no longer had any element of rugged
greatness, or any Roman virtue. Death appeared to him at a great height
and seemed a less easy proposition.

"This is what I shall take for my thermometer," he said to himself.
"To-night I am ten degrees below the courage requisite for
guillotine-point level. I had that courage this morning. Anyway, what
does it matter so long as it comes back to me at the necessary moment?"
This thermometer idea amused him and finally managed to distract him.

When he woke up the next day he was ashamed of the previous day. "My
happiness and peace of mind are at stake." He almost made up his mind
to write to the Procureur-General to request that no one should be
admitted to see him. "And how about Fouque," he thought? "If he takes
it upon himself to come to Besancon, his grief will be immense."
It had perhaps been two months since he had given Fouque a thought.
"I was a great fool at Strasbourg. My thoughts did not go beyond my
coat-collar. He was much engrossed by the memory of Fouque, which
left him more and more touched. He walked nervously about. Here I
am, clearly twenty degrees below death point.... If this weakness
increases, it will be better for me to kill myself. What joy for the
abbe Maslon, and the Valenods, if I die like an usher."

Fouque arrived. The good, simple man, was distracted by grief. His one
idea, so far as he had any at all, was to sell all he possessed in
order to bribe the gaoler and secure Julien's escape. He talked to him
at length of M. de Lavalette's escape.

"You pain me," Julien said to him. "M. de Lavalette was innocent--I
am guilty. Though you did not mean to, you made me think of the
difference...."

"But is it true? What? were you going to sell all you possessed?" said
Julien, suddenly becoming mistrustful and observant.

Fouque was delighted at seeing his friend answer his obsessing idea,
and detailed at length, and within a hundred francs, what he would get
for each of his properties.

"What a sublime effort for a small country land-owner," thought Julien.
"He is ready to sacrifice for me the fruits of all the economies, and
all the little semi-swindling tricks which I used to be ashamed of when
I saw him practice them."

"None of the handsome young people whom I saw in the Hotel de la Mole,
and who read Rene, would have any of his ridiculous weaknesses: but,
except those who are very young and who have also inherited riches
and are ignorant of the value of money, which of all those handsome
Parisians would be capable of such a sacrifice?"

All Fouque's mistakes in French and all his common gestures seemed to
disappear. He threw himself into his arms. Never have the provinces
in comparison with Paris received so fine a tribute. Fouque was so
delighted with the momentary enthusiasm which he read in his friend's
eyes that he took it for consent to the flight.

This view of the sublime recalled to Julien all the strength that the
apparition of M. Chelan had made him lose. He was still very young;
but in my view he was a fine specimen. Instead of his character passing
from tenderness to cunning, as is the case with the majority of men,
age would have given him that kindness of heart which is easily melted
... but what avail these vain prophecies.

The interrogations became more frequent in spite of all the efforts
of Julien, who always endeavoured by his answers to shorten the whole
matter.

"I killed, or at any rate, I wished to occasion death, and I did so
with premeditation," he would repeat every day. But the judge was
a pedant above everything. Julien's confessions had no effect in
curtailing the interrogations. The judge's conceit was wounded. Julien
did not know that they had wanted to transfer him into an awful cell,
and that it was only, thanks to Fouque's efforts, that he was allowed
to keep his pretty room at the top of a hundred and eighty steps.

M. the abbe de Frilair was one of the important customers who entrusted
Fouque with the purveying of their firewood. The good tradesmen managed
to reach the all powerful grand vicar. M. de Frilair informed him,
to his unspeakable delight, that he was so touched by Julien's good
qualities, and by the services which he had formerly rendered to the
seminary, that he intended to recommend him to the judges. Fouque
thought he saw a hope of saving his friend, and as he went out, bowing
down to the ground, requested M. the grand vicar, to distribute a sum
of ten louis in masses to entreat the acquittal of the accused.

Fouque was making a strange mistake. M. de Frilair was very far from
being a Valenod. He refused, and even tried to make the good peasant
understand that he would do better to keep his money. Seeing that it
was impossible to be clear without being indiscreet, he advised him to
give that sum as alms for the use of the poor prisoners, who, in point
of fact, were destitute of everything.

"This Julien is a singular person, his action is unintelligible,"
thought M. de Frilair, "and I ought to find nothing unintelligible.
Perhaps it will be possible to make a martyr of him.... In any case,
I shall get to the bottom of the matter, and shall perhaps find an
opportunity of putting fear into the heart of that madame de Renal
who has no respect for us, and at the bottom detests me.... Perhaps
I might be able to utilise all this as a means of a brilliant
reconciliation with M. de la Mole, who has a weakness for the little
seminarist."

The settlement of the lawsuit had been signed some weeks previously,
and the abbe Pirard had left Besancon after having duly mentioned
Julien's mysterious birth, on the very day when the unhappy man tried
to assassinate madame de Renal in the church of Verrieres.

There was only one disagreeable event between himself and his death
which Julien anticipated. He consulted Fouque concerning his idea
of writing to M. the Procureur-General asking to be exempt from all
visits. This horror at the sight of a father, above all at a moment
like this, deeply shocked the honest middle-class heart of the wood
merchant.

He thought he understood why so many people had a passionate hatred for
his friend. He concealed his feelings out of respect for misfortune.

"In any case," he answered coldly, "such an order for privacy would not
be applied to your father."





CHAPTER LXVIII

A POWERFUL MAN


        But her proceedings are so mysterious and her figure is
        so elegant! Who can she be?--_Schiller_.


The doors of the turret opened very early on the following day.

"Oh! good God," he thought, "here's my father! What an unpleasant
scene!"

At the same time a woman dressed like a peasant rushed into his arms.
He had difficulty in recognising her. It was mademoiselle de la Mole.

"You wicked man! Your letter only told me where you were. As for what
you call your crime, but which is really nothing more or less than a
noble vengeance, which shews me all the loftiness of the heart which
beats within your bosom, I only got to know of it at Verrieres."

In spite of all his prejudices against mademoiselle de la Mole,
prejudices moreover which he had not owned to himself quite frankly,
Julien found her extremely pretty. It was impossible not to recognise
both in what she had done and what she had said, a noble disinterested
feeling far above the level of anything that a petty vulgar soul would
have dared to do? He thought that he still loved a queen, and after a
few moments said to her with a remarkable nobility both of thought and
of elocution,

"I sketched out the future very clearly. After my death I intended to
remarry you to M. de Croisenois, who will officially of course then
marry a widow. The noble but slightly romantic soul of this charming
widow, who will have been brought back to the cult of vulgar prudence
by an astonishing and singular event which played in her life a part
as great as it was tragic, will deign to appreciate the very real
merit of the young marquis. You will resign yourself to be happy with
ordinary worldly happiness, prestige, riches, high rank. But, dear
Mathilde, if your arrival at Besancon is suspected, it will be a mortal
blow for M. de la Mole, and that is what I shall never forgive myself.
I have already caused him so much sorrow. The academician will say that
he has nursed a serpent in his bosom.

"I must confess that I little expected so much cold reason and so much
solicitude for the future," said mademoiselle de la Mole, slightly
annoyed. "My maid who is almost as prudent as you are, took a passport
for herself, and I posted here under the name of madam Michelet."

"And did madame Michelet find it so easy to get to see me?"

"Ah! you are still the same superior man whom I chose to favour. I
started by offering a hundred francs to one of the judge's secretaries,
who alleged at first that my admission into this turret was impossible.
But once he had got the money the worthy man kept me waiting, raised
objections, and I thought that he meant to rob me--" She stopped.

"Well?" said Julien.

"Do not be angry, my little Julien," she said, kissing him. "I was
obliged to tell my name to the secretary, who took me for a young
working girl from Paris in love with handsome Julien. As a matter of
fact those are his actual expressions. I swore to him, my dear, that I
was your wife, and I shall have a permit to see you every day."

"Nothing could be madder," thought Julien, "but I could not help it.
After all, M. de la Mole is so great a nobleman that public opinion
will manage to find an excuse for the young colonel who will marry
such a charming widow. My death will atone for everything;" and he
abandoned himself with delight to Mathilde's love. It was madness, it
was greatness of soul, it was the most remarkable thing possible. She
seriously suggested that she should kill herself with him.

After these first transports, when she had had her fill of the
happiness of seeing Julien, a keen curiosity suddenly invaded her soul.
She began to scrutinize her lover, and found him considerably above
the plane which she had anticipated. Boniface de La Mole seemed to be
brought to life again, but on a more heroic scale.

Mathilde saw the first advocates of the locality, and offended them by
offering gold too crudely, but they finished by accepting.

She promptly came to the conclusion that so far as dubious and far
reaching intrigues were concerned, everything depended at Besancon on
M. the abbe de Frilair.

She found at first overwhelming difficulties in obtaining an interview
with the all-powerful leader of the congregation under the obscure name
of madame Michelet. But the rumour of the beauty of a young dressmaker,
who was madly in love, and had come from Paris to Besancon to console
the young abbe Julien Sorel, spread over the town.

Mathilde walked about the Besancon streets alone: she hoped not to be
recognised. In any case, she thought it would be of some use to her
cause if she produced a great impression on the people. She thought, in
her madness, of making them rebel in order to save Julien as he walked
to his death. Mademoiselle de la Mole thought she was dressed simply
and in a way suitable to a woman in mourning, she was dressed in fact
in such a way as to attract every one's attention.

She was the object of everyone's notice at Besancon when she obtained
an audience of M. de Frilair after a week spent in soliciting it.

In spite of all her courage, the idea of an influential leader of the
congregation, and the idea of deep and calculating criminality, were so
associated with each other in her mind, that she trembled as she rang
the bell at the door of the bishop's palace. She could scarcely walk
when she had to go up the staircase, which led to the apartment of the
first grand Vicar. The solitude of the episcopal palace chilled her. "I
might sit down in an armchair, and the armchair might grip my arms: I
should then disappear. Whom could my maid ask for? The captain of the
gendarmerie will take care to do nothing. I am isolated in this great
town."

After her first look at the apartment, mademoiselle de la Mole felt
reassured. In the first place, the lackey who had opened the door to
her had on a very elegant livery. The salon in which she was asked to
wait displayed that refined and delicate luxury which differs so much
from crude magnificence, and which is only found in the best houses in
Paris. As soon as she noticed M. de Frilair coming towards her with
quite a paternal air, all her ideas of his criminality disappeared. She
did not even find on his handsome face the impress of that drastic and
somewhat savage courage which is so anti-pathetic to Paris society.
The half-smile which animated the features of the priest, who was
all-powerful at Besancon, betokened the well-bred man, the learned
prelate, the clever administrator. Mathilde felt herself at Paris.

It was the work of a few minutes for M. de Frilair to induce Mathilde
to confess to him that she was the daughter of his powerful opponent,
the marquis de la Mole.

"As a matter of fact, I am not Madame Michelet," she said, reassuming
all the haughtiness of her natural demeanour, "and this confession
costs me but little since I have come to consult you, monsieur, on the
possibility of procuring the escape of M. de la Vernaye. Moreover, he
is only guilty of a piece of folly; the woman whom he shot at is well;
and, in the second place, I can put down fifty-thousand francs straight
away for the purpose of bribing the officials, and pledge myself for
twice that sum. Finally, my gratitude and the gratitude of my family
will be ready to do absolutely anything for the man who has saved M. de
la Vernaye."

M. de Frilair seemed astonished at the name. Mathilde shewed him
several letters from the Minister of War, addressed to M. Julien Sorel
de la Vernaye.

"You see, monsieur, that my father took upon himself the responsibility
of his career. I married him secretly, my father was desirous that he
should be a superior officer before the notification of this marriage,
which, after all, is somewhat singular for a de la Mole."

Mathilde noticed that M. de Frilair's expression of goodwill and mild
cheerfulness was rapidly vanishing in proportion as he made certain
important discoveries. His face exhibited a subtlety tinged with deep
perfidiousness, the abbe had doubts, he was slowly re-reading the
official documents.

"What can I get out of these strange confidences?" he said to himself.
"Here I am suddenly thrown into intimate relations with a friend of
the celebrated marechale de Fervaques, who is the all-powerful niece
of my lord, bishop of ---- who can make one a bishop of France. What
I looked upon as an extremely distant possibility presents itself
unexpectedly. This may lead me to the goal of all my hopes."

Mathilde was at first alarmed by the sudden change in the expression
of this powerful man, with whom she was alone in a secluded room. "But
come," she said to herself soon afterwards. "Would it not have been
more unfortunate if I had made no impression at all on the cold egoism
of a priest who was already sated with power and enjoyment?"

Dazzled at the sight of this rapid and unexpected path of reaching the
episcopate which now disclosed itself to him, and astonished as he was
by Mathilde's genius, M. de Frilair ceased for a moment to be on his
guard. Mademoiselle de la Mole saw him almost at her feet, tingling
with ambition, and trembling nervously.

"Everything is cleared up," she thought. "Madame de Fervaques' friend
will find nothing impossible in this town." In spite of a sentiment
of still painful jealousy she had sufficient courage to explain that
Julien was the intimate friend of the marechale, and met my lord the
bishop of ---- nearly every day.

"If you were to draw by ballot four or five times in succession a
list of thirty-six jurymen from out the principal inhabitants of this
department," said the grand Vicar, emphasizing his words, and with a
hard, ambitious expression in his eyes, "I should not feel inclined to
congratulate myself, if I could not reckon on eight or ten friends who
would be the most intelligent of the lot in each list. I can always
manage in nearly every case to get more than a sufficient majority to
secure a condemnation, so you see, mademoiselle, how easy it is for me
to secure a conviction." The abbe stopped short as though astonished
by the sound of his own words; he was admitting things which are never
said to the profane. But he in his turn dumbfounded Mathilde when he
informed her that the special feature in Julien's strange adventure
which astonished and interested Besancon society, was that he had
formerly inspired Madame de Renal with a grand passion and reciprocated
it for a long time. M. de Frilair had no difficulty in perceiving the
extreme trouble which his story produced.

"I have my revenge," he thought. "After all it's a way of managing
this decided young person. I was afraid that I should not succeed." Her
distinguished and intractable appearance intensified in his eyes the
charm of the rare beauty whom he now saw practically entreating him. He
regained all his self-possession--and he did not hesitate to move the
dagger about in her heart.

"I should not be at all surprised," he said to her lightly, "if we
were to learn that it was owing to jealousy that M. Sorel fired two
pistol shots at the woman he once loved so much. Of course she must
have consoled herself and for some time she has been seeing extremely
frequently a certain abbe Marquinot of Dijon, a kind of Jansenist, and
as immoral as all Jansenists are."

M. de Frilair experienced the voluptuous pleasure of torturing at
his leisure the heart of this beautiful girl whose weakness he had
surprised.

"Why," he added, as he fixed his ardent eyes upon Mathilde, "should
M. Sorel have chosen the church, if it were not for the reason that
his rival was celebrating mass in it at that very moment? Everyone
attributes an infinite amount of intelligence and an even greater
amount of prudence to the fortunate man who is the object of your
interest. What would have been simpler than to hide himself in the
garden of M. de Renal which he knows so well. Once there he could put
the woman of whom he was jealous to death with the practical certainty
of being neither seen, caught, nor suspected."

This apparently sound train of reasoning eventually made Mathilde
loose all self-possession. Her haughty soul steeped in all that arid
prudence, which passes in high society for the true psychology of the
human heart, was not of the type to be at all quick in appreciating
that joy of scorning all prudence, which an ardent soul can find so
keen. In the high classes of Paris society in which Mathilde had lived,
it is only rarely that passion can divest itself of prudence, and
people always make a point of throwing themselves out of windows from
the fifth storey.

At last the abbe de Frilair was sure of his power over her. He gave
Mathilde to understand (and he was doubtless lying) that he could do
what he liked with the public official who was entrusted with the
conduct of Julien's prosecution. After the thirty-six jurymen for the
sessions had been chosen by ballot, he would approach at least thirty
jurymen directly and personally.

If M. de Frilair had not thought Mathilde so pretty, he would not have
spoken so clearly before the fifth or sixth interview.





CHAPTER LXIX

THE INTRIGUE


        Castres 1676--A brother has just murdered his sister
        in the house next to mine. This gentleman had already
        been guilty of one murder. His father saved his life by
        causing five-hundred crowns to be distributed among the
        councillors.--_Locke: Journey in France_.


When she left the bishop's palace, Mathilde did not hesitate to
despatch a courier to madame de Fervaques. The fear of compromising
herself did not stop her for a moment. She entreated her rival to
obtain for M. de Frilair an autograph letter from the bishop of ----.
She went as far as to entreat her to come herself to Besancon with all
speed. This was an heroic act on the part of a proud and jealous soul.

Acting on Fouque's advice, she had had the discretion to refrain from
mentioning the steps she had taken for Julien. Her presence troubled
him enough without that. A better man when face to face with death than
he had ever been during his life, he had remorse not only towards M. de
la Mole, but also towards Mathilde.

"Come," he said to himself, "there are times when I feel absent-minded
and even bored by her society. She is ruining herself on my account,
and this is how I reward her. Am I really a scoundrel?" This question
would have bothered him but little in the days when he was ambitious.
In those days he looked upon failure as the only disgrace.

His moral discomfort when with Mathilde was proportionately emphasized
by the fact that he inspired her at this time with the maddest and most
extraordinary passion. She talked of nothing but the strange sacrifices
that she was ready to make in order to save him.

Exalted as she was by a sentiment on which she plumed herself, to the
complete subordination of her pride, she would have liked not to have
let a single minute of her life go by without filling it with some
extraordinary act. The strangest projects, and ones involving her in
the utmost danger, supplied the topics of her long interviews with
Julien. The well-paid gaolers allowed her to reign over the prison.
Mathilde's ideas were not limited by the sacrifice of her reputation.
She would have thought nothing of making her condition known to society
at large. Throwing herself on her knees before the king's carriage
as it galloped along, in order to ask for Julien's pardon, and thus
attracting the attention of the prince, at the risk of being crushed
a thousand times over, was one of the least fantastic dreams in which
this exalted and courageous imagination chose to indulge. She was
certain of being admitted into the reserved portion of the park of St.
Cloud, through those friends of hers who were employed at the king's
court.

Julien thought himself somewhat unworthy of so much devotion. As a
matter of fact, he was tired of heroism. A simple, naive, and almost
timid tenderness was what would have appealed to him, while Mathilde's
haughty soul, on the other hand, always required the idea of a public
and an audience.

In the midst of all her anguish and all her fears for the life of
that lover whom she was unwilling to survive, she felt a secret need
of astonishing the public by the extravagance of her love and the
sublimity of her actions.

Julien felt irritated at not finding himself touched by all this
heroism. What would he have felt if he had known of all the mad ideas
with which Mathilde overwhelmed the devoted but eminently logical and
limited spirit of the good Fouque?

He did not know what to find fault with in Mathilde's devotion. For
he, too, would have sacrificed all his fortune, and have exposed his
life to the greatest risks in order to save Julien. He was dumbfounded
by the quantity of gold which Mathilde flung away. During the first
days Fouque, who had all the provincial's respect for money, was much
impressed by the sums she spent in this way.

He at last discovered that mademoiselle de la Mole's projects
frequently varied, and he was greatly relieved at finding a word with
which to express his blame for a character whom he found so exhausting.
She was changeable. There is only a step from this epithet to that of
wrong-headed, the greatest term of opprobrium known to the provinces.

"It is singular," said Julien to himself, as Mathilde was going out
of his prison one day, "that I should be so insensible at being the
object of so keen a passion! And two months ago I adored her! I have,
of course, read that the approach of death makes one lose interest
in everything, but it is awful to feel oneself ungrateful, and not
to be able to change. Am I an egoist, then?" He addressed the most
humiliating reproaches to himself on this score.

Ambition was dead in his heart; another passion had arisen from its
ashes. He called it remorse at having assassinated madame de Renal.

As a matter of fact, he loved her to the point of distraction. He
experienced a singular happiness on these occasions when, being left
absolutely alone, and without being afraid of being interrupted, he
could surrender himself completely to the memory of the happy days
which he had once passed at Verrieres, or at Vergy. The slightest
incidents of these days, which had fleeted away only too rapidly,
possessed an irresistible freshness and charm. He never gave a thought
to his Paris successes; they bored him.

These moods, which became intensified with every succeeding day, were
partly guessed by the jealous Mathilde. She realised very clearly that
she had to struggle against his love of solitude. Sometimes, with
terror in her heart, she uttered madame de Renal's name.

She saw Julien quiver. Henceforth her passion had neither bounds nor
limit.

"If he dies, I will die after him," she said to herself in all good
faith. "What will the Paris salons say when they see a girl of my own
rank carry her adoration for a lover who is condemned to death to such
a pitch as this? For sentiments like these you must go back to the age
of the heroes. It was loves of this kind which thrilled the hearts of
the century of Charles IX. and Henri III."

In the midst of her keenest transports, when she was clasping Julien's
head against her heart, she would say to herself with horror, "What!
is this charming head doomed to fall? Well," she added, inflamed by
a not unhappy heroism, "these lips of mine, which are now pressing
against this pretty hair, will be icy cold less than twenty-four hours
afterwards."

Thoughts of the awful voluptuousness of such heroic moments gripped
her in a compelling embrace. The idea of suicide, absorbing enough
in itself, entered that haughty soul (to which, up to the present it
had been so utterly alien), and soon reigned over it with an absolute
dominion.

"No, the blood of my ancestors has not grown tepid in descending to
me," said Mathilde proudly to herself.

"I have a favour to ask of you," said her lover to her one day. "Put
your child out to nurse at Verrieres. Madame de Renal will look after
the nurse."

"Those words of yours are very harsh." And Mathilde paled.

"It is true, and I ask your pardon a thousand times," exclaimed Julien,
emerging from his reverie, and clasping her in his arms.

After having dried his tears, he reverted to his original idea, but
with greater tact. He had given a twist of melancholy philosophy to the
conversation. He talked of that future of his which was so soon going
to close. "One must admit, dear one, that passions are an accident in
life, but such accidents only occur in superior souls.... My son's
death would be in reality a happiness for your own proud family, and
all the servants will realize as much. Neglect will be the lot of that
child of shame and unhappiness. I hope that, at a time which I do not
wish to fix, but which nevertheless I am courageous enough to imagine,
you will obey my last advice: you will marry the marquis de Croisenois."

"What? Dishonoured?"

"Dishonour cannot attach to a name such as yours. You will be a widow,
and the widow of a madman--that is all. I will go further--my crime
will confer no dishonour, since it had no money motive. Perhaps when
the time comes for your marriage, some philosophic legislator will have
so far prevailed on the prejudice of his contemporaries as to have
secured the suppression of the death penalty. Then some friendly voice
will say, by way of giving an instance: 'Why, madame de la Mole's first
husband was a madman, but not a wicked man or a criminal. It was absurd
to have his head cut off.' So my memory will not be infamous in any
way--at least, after a certain time.... Your position in society, your
fortune, and, if you will allow me to say so, your genius, will make M.
de Croisenois, once he is your husband, play a part which he would have
never managed to secure unaided. He only possesses birth and bravery,
and those qualities alone, though they constituted an accomplished man
in 1729, are an anachronism a century later on, and only give rise to
unwarranted pretensions. You need other things if you are to place
yourself at the head of the youth of France."

"You will take all the help of your firm and enterprising character
to the political party which you will make your husband join. You may
be able to be a successor to the Chevreuses and the Longuevilles of
the Fronde--but then, dear one, the divine fire which animates you
at present will have grown a little tepid. Allow me to tell you," he
added, "after many other preparatory phrases, that in fifteen years'
time you will look upon the love you once had for me as a madness,
which though excusable, was a piece of madness all the same."

He stopped suddenly and became meditative. He found himself again
confronted with the idea which shocked Mathilde so much: "In fifteen
years, madame de Renal will adore my son and you will have forgotten
him."





CHAPTER LXX

TRANQUILITY


        It is because I was foolish then that I am wise to-day.
        Oh thou philosopher who seest nothing except the actual
        instant. How short-sighted are thy views! Thine eye
        is not adapted to follow the subterranean work of the
        passions.--_M. Goethe_.


This conversation was interrupted by an interrogation followed by
a conference with the advocate entrusted with the defence. These
moments were the only absolutely unpleasant ones in a life made up of
nonchalance and tender reveries.

"There is murder, and murder with premeditation," said Julien to the
judge as he had done to the advocate, "I am sorry, gentlemen, he added
with a smile, that this reduces your functions to a very small compass."

"After all," said Julien to himself, when he had managed to rid
himself of those two persons, "I must really be brave, and apparently
braver than those two men. They regard that duel with an unfortunate
termination, which I can only seriously bother myself about on the
actual day, as the greatest of evils and the arch-terror."

"The fact is that I have known a much greater unhappiness," continued
Julien, as he went on philosophising with himself. "I suffered far
more acutely during my first journey to Strasbourg, when I thought I
was abandoned by Mathilde--and to think that I desired so passionately
that same perfect intimacy which to-day leaves me so cold--as a matter
of fact I am more happy alone than when that handsome girl shares my
solitude."

The advocate, who was a red-tape pedant, thought him mad, and believed,
with the public, that it was jealousy which had lead him to take up
the pistol. He ventured one day to give Julien to understand that
this contention, whether true or false, would be an excellent way of
pleading. But the accused man became in a single minute a passionate
and drastic individual.

"As you value your life, monsieur," exclaimed Julien, quite beside
himself, "mind you never put forward such an abominable lie." The
cautious advocate was for a moment afraid of being assassinated.

He was preparing his case because the decisive moment was drawing near.
The only topic of conversation in Besancon, and all the department, was
the _cause celebre_. Julien did not know of this circumstance. He had
requested his friends never to talk to him about that kind of thing.

On this particular day, Fouque and Mathilde had tried to inform him
of certain rumours which in their view were calculated to give hope.
Julien had stopped them at the very first word.

"Leave me my ideal life. Your pettifogging troubles and details of
practical life all more or less jar on me and bring me down from my
heaven. One dies as best one can: but I wish to chose my own way of
thinking about death. What do I care for other people? My relations
with other people will be sharply cut short. Be kind enough not to talk
to me any more about those people. Seeing the judge and the advocate is
more than enough."

"As a matter of fact," he said to himself, "it seems that I am fated
to die dreaming. An obscure creature like myself, who is certain to be
forgotten within a fortnight, would be very silly, one must admit, to
go and play a part. It is nevertheless singular that I never knew so
much about the art of enjoying life, as since I have seen its end so
near me."

He passed his last day in promenading upon the narrow terrace at the
top of the turret, smoking some excellent cigars which Mathilde had
had fetched from Holland by a courier. He had no suspicion that his
appearance was waited for each day by all the telescopes in the town.
His thoughts were at Vergy. He never spoke to Fouque about madame de
Renal, but his friend told him two or three times that she was rapidly
recovering, and these words reverberated in his heart.

While Julien's soul was nearly all the time wholly in the realm
of ideas, Mathilde, who, as befits an aristocratic spirit, had
occupied herself with concrete things, had managed to make the
direct and intimate correspondence between madame de Fervaques and
M. de Frilair progress so far that the great word bishopric had been
already pronounced. The venerable prelate, who was entrusted with the
distribution of the benefices, added in a postscript to one of his
niece's letters, "This poor Sorel is only a lunatic. I hope he will be
restored to us."

At the sight of these lines, M. de Frilair felt transported. He had no
doubts about saving Julien.

"But for this Jacobin law which has ordered the formation of an
unending panel of jurymen, and which has no other real object, except
to deprive well-born people of all their influence," he said to
Mathilde on the eve of the balloting for the thirty-six jurymen of the
session, "I would have answered for the verdict. I certainly managed to
get the cure N---- acquitted."

When the names were selected by ballot on the following day, M. de
Frilair experienced a genuine pleasure in finding that they contained
five members of the Besancon congregation and that amongst those who
were strangers to the town were the names of MM. Valenod, de Moirod,
de Cholin. I can answer for these eight jurymen he said to Mathilde.
The first five are mere machines, Valenod is my agent: Moirod owes me
everything: de Cholin is an imbecile who is frightened of everything.

The journal published the names of the jurymen throughout the
department, and to her husband's unspeakable terror, madame de Renal
wished to go to Besancon. All that M. de Renal could prevail on her
to promise was that she would not leave her bed so as to avoid the
unpleasantness of being called to give evidence. "You do not understand
my position," said the former mayor of Verrieres. "I am now said to
be disloyal and a Liberal. No doubt that scoundrel Valenod and M. de
Frilair will get the procureur-general and the judges to do all they
can to cause me unpleasantness."

Madame de Renal found no difficulty in yielding to her husband's
orders. "If I appear at the assize court," she said to herself, "I
should seem as if I were asking for vengeance." In spite of all the
promises she had made to the director of her conscience and to her
husband that she would be discreet, she had scarcely arrived at
Besancon before she wrote with her own hand to each of the thirty-six
jurymen:--

"I shall not appear on the day of the trial, monsieur, because my
presence might be prejudicial to M. Sorel's case. I only desire one
thing in the world, and that I desire passionately--for him to be
saved. Have no doubt about it, the awful idea that I am the cause of an
innocent man being led to his death would poison the rest of my life
and would no doubt curtail it. How can you condemn him to death while I
continue to live? No, there is no doubt about it, society has no right
to take away a man's life, and above all, the life of a being like
Julien Sorel. Everyone at Verrieres knew that there were moments when
he was quite distracted. This poor young man has some powerful enemies,
but even among his enemies, (and how many has he not got?) who is there
who casts any doubt on his admirable talents and his deep knowledge?
The man whom you are going to try, monsieur, is not an ordinary person.
For a period of nearly eighteen months we all knew him as a devout and
well behaved student. Two or three times in the year he was seized by
fits of melancholy that went to the point of distraction. The whole
town of Verrieres, all our neighbours at Vergy, where we live in the
fine weather, my whole family, and monsieur the sub-prefect himself
will render justice to his exemplary piety. He knows all the Holy Bible
by heart. Would a blasphemer have spent years of study in learning the
Sacred Book. My sons will have the honour of presenting you with this
letter, they are children. Be good enough to question them, monsieur,
they will give you all the details concerning this poor young man which
are necessary to convince you of how barbarous it would be to condemn
him. Far from revenging me, you would be putting me to death.

"What can his enemies argue against this? The wound, which was the
result of one of those moments of madness, which my children themselves
used to remark in their tutor, is so little dangerous than in less
than two months it has allowed me to take the post from Verrieres to
Besancon. If I learn, monsieur, that you show the slightest hesitation
in releasing so innocent a person from the barbarity of the law, I will
leave my bed, where I am only kept by my husband's express orders, and
I will go and throw myself at your feet. Bring in a verdict, monsieur,
that the premeditation has not been made out, and you will not have an
innocent man's blood on your head, etc."





CHAPTER LXXI

THE TRIAL


        The country will remember this celebrated case for
        a long time. The interest in the accused amounted
        to an agitation. The reason was that his crime was
        astonishing, and yet not atrocious. Even if it had been,
        this young man was so handsome. His brilliant career,
        that came to an end so early in his life, intensified
        the pathos. "Will they condemn him?" the women asked of
        the men of their acquaintance, and they could be seen to
        grow pale as they waited for the answer.--_Sainte Beuve_.


The day that madame de Renal and Mathilde feared so much arrived at
last.

Their terror was intensified by the strange appearance of the town,
which had its emotional effect even upon Fouque's sturdy soul. All the
province had rushed to Besancon to see the trial of this romantic case.

There had been no room left in the inns for some days. M. the president
of the assizes, was besieged by requests for tickets; all the ladies
in the town wanted to be present at the trial. Julien's portrait was
hawked about the streets, etc., etc.

Mathilde was keeping in reserve for this supreme moment a complete
autograph letter from my lord, bishop of ----. This prelate, who
governed the Church of France and created its bishops, was good enough
to ask for Julien's acquittal. On the eve of the trial, Mathilde took
this letter to the all-powerful grand vicar.

When she was going away in tears at the end of the interview, M.
de Frilair at last emerged from his diplomatic reserve and almost
shewed some emotion himself. "I will be responsible for the jury's
verdict," he said to her. "Out of the twelve persons charged with the
investigation of whether your friend's crime is made out, and above
all, whether there was premeditation, I can count six friends who are
devoted to my fortunes, and I have given them to understand that they
have it in their power to promote me to the episcopate. Baron Valenod,
whom I have made mayor of Verrieres, can do just as he likes with two
of his officials, MM. de Moirod, and de Cholin. As a matter of fact,
fate has given us for this business two jurymen of extremely loose
views; but, although ultra-Liberals, they are faithful to my orders on
great occasions, and I have requested them to vote like M. Valenod.
I have learnt that a sixth juryman, a manufacturer, who is immensely
rich, and a garrulous Liberal into the bargain, has secret aspirations
for a contract with the War Office, and doubtless he would not like to
displease me. I have had him told that M. de Valenod knows my final
injunctions."

"And who is this M. Valenod?" said Mathilde, anxiously.

"If you knew him, you could not doubt our success. He is an audacious
speaker, coarse, impudent, with a natural gift for managing fools. 1814
saw him in low water, and I am going to make a prefect of him. He is
capable of beating the other jurymen if they do not vote his way."

Mathilde felt a little reassured.

Another discussion awaited her in the evening. To avoid the
prolongation of an unpleasant scene, the result of which, in his view,
was absolutely certain, Julien had resolved not to make a speech.

"My advocate will speak," he said to Mathilde. "I shall figure too long
anyway as a laughing-stock to all my enemies. These provincials have
been shocked by the rapidity of my success, for which I have to thank
you, and believe me, there is not one of them who does not desire my
conviction, though he would be quite ready to cry like an idiot when I
am taken to my death."

"They desire to see you humiliated. That is only too true," answered
Mathilde, "but I do not think they are at all cruel. My presence at
Besancon, and the sight of my sufferings have interested all the women;
your handsome face will do the rest. If you say a few words to your
judges, the whole audience will be on your side, etc., etc."

At nine o'clock on the following day, when Julien left his prison
for the great hall of the Palais de Justice, the gendarmes had much
difficulty in driving away the immense crowd that was packed in the
courtyard. Julien had slept well. He was very calm, and experienced no
other sentiment except a sense of philosophic pity towards that crowd
of jealous creatures who were going to applaud his death sentence,
though without cruelty. He was very surprised when, having been
detained in the middle of the crowd more than a quarter of an hour,
he was obliged to admit that his presence affected the public with
a tender pity. He did not hear a single unpleasant remark. "These
provincials are less evil than I thought," he said to himself.

As he entered the courtroom, he was struck by the elegance of the
architecture. It was real Gothic, with a number of pretty little
columns hewn out of stone with the utmost care. He thought himself in
England.

But his attention was soon engrossed by twelve or fifteen pretty
women, who sat exactly opposite the prisoner's seat and filled the
three balconies above the judges and the jury. As he turned round
towards the public, he saw that the circular gallery that dominated the
amphitheatre was filled with women, the majority were young and seemed
very pretty, their eyes were shining and full of interest. The crowd
was enormous throughout the rest of the room. People were knocking
against the door, and the janitors could not obtain silence.

When all the eyes that were looking for Julien observed where he was,
and saw him occupying the slightly raised place which is reserved for
the prisoner, he was greeted by a murmur of astonishment and tender
interest.

You would have taken him for under twenty on this day. He was dressed
very simply, but with a perfect grace. His hair and his forehead were
charming. Mathilde had insisted on officiating personally at his
toilette. Julien's pallor was extreme. Scarcely was he seated in this
place than he heard people say all over the room, "Great heavens! how
young he is!... But he's quite a child!... He is much better than his
portrait."

"Prisoner," said the gendarme who was sitting on his right, "do you see
those six ladies in that balcony?" The gendarme pointed out a little
gallery that jutted out over the amphitheatre where the jury were
placed. "That's madame, the prefect's wife," continued the gendarme.
"Next to her, madame the marquise de M----. She likes you well: I have
heard her speak to the judge of first instance. Next to her is madame
Derville."

"Madame Derville!" exclaimed Julien, and a vivid blush spread over his
forehead. "When she leaves here," he thought, "she will write to madame
de Renal." He was ignorant of madame de Renal's arrival at Besancon.
The witnesses were quickly heard. After the first words of the opening
of the prosecution by the advocate-general, two of the ladies in the
little balcony just opposite Julien burst into tears. Julien noticed
that madame Derville did not break down at all. He remarked, however,
that she was very red.

The advocate-general was indulging in melodrama in bad French over the
barbarity of the crime that had been perpetrated. Julien noticed that
madame Derville's neighbours seemed to manifest a keen disapproval.
Several jurors, who were apparently acquainted with the ladies, spoke
to them and seemed to reassure them. "So far as it goes, that is
certainly a good omen," thought Julien.

Up to the present, he had felt himself steeped in an unadulterated
contempt for all the persons who were present at the trial. This
sentiment of disgust was intensified by the stale eloquence of
the advocate-general. But the coldness of Julien's soul gradually
disappeared before the marks of interest of which he was evidently the
object.

He was satisfied with the sturdy demeanour of his advocate. "No
phrases," he said to him in a whisper, as he was about to commence his
speech.

"All the bombast which our opponent has stolen from Bossuet and
lavished upon you," said the advocate, "has done you good."

As a matter of fact, he had scarcely spoken for five minutes before
practically all the women had their handkerchiefs in their hands. The
advocate was encouraged, and addressed some extremely strong remarks
to the jury. Julien shuddered. He felt on the point of breaking into
tears. "My God," he thought, "what would my enemies say?"

He was on the point of succumbing to the emotion which was overcoming
him, when, luckily for him, he surprised an insolent look from M. the
baron de Valenod.

"That rogue's eyes are gleaming," he said to himself "What a triumph
for that base soul! If my crime had only produced this one result, it
would be my duty to curse it. God knows what he will say about it to
madame de Renal."

This idea effaced all others. Shortly afterwards Julien was brought
back to reality by the public's manifestation of applause. The advocate
had just finished his speech. Julien remembered that it was good form
to shake hands with him. The time had passed rapidly.

They brought in refreshments for the advocate and the prisoner. It was
only then that Julien was struck by the fact that none of the women had
left the audience to go and get dinner.

"Upon my word, I am dying of hunger," said the advocate. "And you?"

"I, too," answered Julien.

"See, there's madame, the prefect's wife, who is also getting her
dinner," said the advocate, as he pointed out the little balcony. "Keep
up your courage; everything is going all right." The court sat again.

Midnight struck as the president was summing up. The president was
obliged to pause in his remarks. Amid the silence and the anxiety of
all present, the reverberation of the clock filled the hall.

"So my last day is now beginning," thought Julien. He soon felt
inflamed by the idea of his duty. Up to the present he had controlled
his emotion and had kept his resolution not to speak. When the
president of the assizes asked him if he had anything to add, he got
up. He saw in front of him the eyes of madame Derville, which seemed
very brilliant in the artificial light. "Can she by any chance be
crying?" he thought.

"Gentlemen of the jury!

"I am induced to speak by my fear of that contempt which I thought,
at the very moment of my death, I should be able to defy. Gentlemen,
I have not the honour of belonging to your class. You behold in me a
peasant who has rebelled against the meanness of his fortune.

"I do not ask you for any pardon," continued Julien, with a firmer
note in his voice. "I am under no illusions. Death awaits me; it
will be just. I have brought myself to make an attempt on the life
of the woman who is most worthy of all reverence and all respect.
Madame de Renal was a mother to me. My crime was atrocious, and it
was premeditated. Consequently, I have deserved death, gentlemen of
the jury. But even if I were not so guilty, I see among you men who,
without a thought for any pity that may be due to my youth, would like
to use me as a means for punishing and discouraging for ever that class
of young man who, though born in an inferior class, and to some extent
oppressed by poverty, have none the less been fortunate enough to
obtain a good education, and bold enough to mix with what the pride of
the rich calls Society.

"That is my crime, gentlemen, and it will be punished with even more
severity, inasmuch as, in fact, I am very far from being judged by my
peers. I do not see on the jury benches any peasant who has made money,
but only indignant bourgeois...."

Julien talked in this strain for twenty minutes. He said everything
he had on his mind. The advocate-general, who aspired to the favours
of the aristocracy, writhed in his seat. But in spite of the somewhat
abstract turn which Julien had given to his speech, all the women
burst out into tears. Even madame Derville put her handkerchief to
her eyes. Before finishing, Julien alluded again to the fact of his
premeditation, to his repentance, and to the respect and unbounded
filial admiration which, in happier days, he had entertained for madame
de Renal.... Madame Derville gave a cry and fainted.

One o'clock was striking when the jury retired to their room. None of
the women had left their places; several men had tears in their eyes.
The conversations were at first very animated, but, as there was a
delay in the verdict of the jury, their general fatigue gradually began
to invest the gathering with an atmosphere of calm. It was a solemn
moment; the lights grew less brilliant. Julien, who was very tired,
heard people around him debating the question of whether this delay was
a good or a bad omen. He was pleased to see that all the wishes were
for him. The jury did not come back, and yet not a woman left the court.

When two o'clock had struck, a great movement was heard. The little
door of the jury room opened. M. the baron de Valenod advanced with
a slow and melodramatic step. He was followed by all the jurors. He
coughed, and then declared on his soul and conscience that the jury's
unanimous verdict was that Julien Sorel was guilty of murder, and of
murder with premeditation. This verdict involved the death penalty,
which was pronounced a moment afterwards. Julien looked at his watch,
and remembered M. de Lavalette. It was a quarter past two. "To-day is
Friday," he thought.

"Yes, but this day is lucky for the Valenod who has got me
convicted.... I am watched too well for Mathilde to manage to save me
like madame de Lavalette saved her husband.... So in three days' time,
at this very hour, I shall know what view to take about the great
perhaps."

At this moment he heard a cry and was called back to the things of this
world. The women around him were sobbing: he saw that all faces were
turned towards a little gallery built into the crowning of a Gothic
pilaster. He knew later that Mathilde had concealed herself there. As
the cry was not repeated, everybody began to look at Julien again, as
the gendarmes were trying to get him through the crowd.

"Let us try not to give that villain Valenod any chance of laughing
at me," thought Julien. "With what a contrite sycophantic expression
he pronounced the verdict which entails the death penalty, while that
poor president of the assizes, although he has been a judge for years
and years, had tears in his eyes as he sentenced me. What a joy the
Valenod must find in revenging himself for our former rivalry for
madame de Renal's favors! ... So I shall never see her again! The thing
is finished.... A last good-bye between us is impossible--I feel it....
How happy I should have been to have told her all the horror I feel for
my crime!

"Mere words. I consider myself justly convicted."






Julien feels like he has won the battle but not the war. He quickly impresses the other soldiers with his skill and professionalism. He is more ambitious than ever, hoping to become commander-in- chief of the French army by the time he is thirty. Julien also begins planning for the future of his child, who he is sure will be a boy. But all of his dreams are shattered when the Marquis de la Mole receives a letter from Mme. de Renal, denouncing Julien as a womanizer ambitious to make his fortune by seducing rich aristocrats. The Marquis withdraws all of his support for Julien, condemns his proposed marriage to Mathilde and asks Julien to move to America. Julien is stunned and, without a second thought, races back home to Verrieres where he finds Mme. de Renal kneeling in prayer at Church. Shaking violently, he shoots her from behind. Julien is immediately arrested and taken to Besancon to await trial. There he writes to Mathilde, ordering her to forget about him and to marry one of her many suitors. The idea of death no longer frightens Julien and he demands to be executed. However, Mme. de Renal was only slightly wounded from the one bullet that struck her and makes a quick recovery. Julien is overjoyed that she is not dead and for the first time in his life begins to believe in God. Mathilde and Fouque soon arrive to help him escape but Julien refuses, deciding that he wants to die. Mathilde goes to great lengths in her efforts to save Julien, hiring lawyers and attempting to bribe the priests in charge of Julien's court case. Despite her devotion to him, Julien soon loses interest in Mathilde and begins to think of Mme. de Renal instead. He decides that he only knew true happiness with Mme. de Renal, not Mathilde. Mme. de Renal decides not to appear at Julien's trial and writes a letter to the jury demanding his acquittal. She is still in love with Julien and feels so guilty that she secretly wishes he had killed her. Despite Julien's plea for death, Mathilde thinks that she has bribed the right people to assure Julien's innocence. However, M. Valenod is the foreman of the jury and is still jealous of Julien's affair with Mme. de Renal. He and one of Julien's enemies from the seminary pronounce Julien guilty and vote for his execution. Julien contemplates suicide until Mme. de Renal visits him in jail. They both still love each other, and vow not to commit suicide. Mme. de Renal confesses that she was forced by her confessor to write the letter to the Marquis, and Julien forgives her. When he is left alone, Julien finally begins to understand himself. He renounces hypocrisy as the malaise of his century and finds solace in his love for Mme. de Renal. He wishes that he had not been so ambitious and could have just concentrated on loving her. Julien rejects all final offers of clemency and is guillotined. With a bitter sense of historical irony, Mathilde buries his severed head herself, while Mme. de Renal dies of despair three days later.
Commentary Stendhal finishes the novel with a bitter denunciation of the political corruption of the clergy. He continues to acknowledge the existence of good men like M. Chelan and M. Pirard, but he portrays the majority of the clergy as conniving politicians. A jealous priest forces Mme. de Renal to write her letter to the Marquis. She later admits to Julien that the priest actually wrote it himself. During Julien's trial, Mathilde bribes a large number of priests who claim they can secure an acquittal. One priest even tries to blackmail Mathilde into making him a bishop in return for his help. As he nears death, Julien refuses to find truth in a religion where priests are more concerned with politics and their salaries than in helping the poor. Both Julien and Mathilde's reliance on French history to dictate their own destinies comes back to haunt them in this final section. Julien's admiration for Napoleonic honor and glory encourage him to both shoot Mme. de Renal and to later refuse clemency. He falsely believes that, like Napoleon, his glory and reputation will grow with his death. He wants to be a martyr. Mathilde's obsession with her decapitated ancestor, Boniface de la Mole, comes to life as well. As Julien goes off to kill Mme. de Renal, Mathilde notes how "Boniface de la Mole seemed reborn in him." When Julien is finally guillotined, she does not hesitate to kiss his severed head and bury it herself, just as Queen Margot did 250 years earlier. In this historical context, Julien's fate seems sealed from the moment Mathilde falls in love with him. Her idea of romance is inextricably linked to the decapitation of her lover. Julien simply reenacts a role subconsciously prescribed to him by Mathilde. Stendhal thus uses Julien's unoriginal death to further criticize the predictable and boring nineteenth century. It is only in this last section that the reader begins to understand and admire Julien Sorel. He readily admits that Mme. de Renal represents a maternal figure for him. Since there is never any mention of Julien's biological mother, his tie with Mme. de Renal seems much stronger. As his love for Mathilde grows cold, one can only suspect that Julien has not been able to forget the class difference that separates them. His rejection of French society must also be a rejection of Mathilde. But as a surrogate mother, Mme. de Renal represents everything Julien ever really wanted in life: unconditional love. As he approaches death, Julien gains a sudden insight into who he really is. He realizes that he has always defined himself in terms of politics and society as a whole, never on his own terms. He always saw himself as a possible something-else, and not as Julien Sorel. This emphasis on individualism, one of Stendhal's classic themes, is finally resolved when Julien refuses to see himself through the lens of French society and French history. He is no Napoleon, he is no Boniface, and he is no de la Vernaye. Unlike the charlatans around him, Julien discovers that he has "nobility in my heart." At his trial, he thus admonishes the lack of originality and creativity that plagues the nineteenth century. Having wanted to make his fortune all his life, Julien finally sees that it is successful bourgeois men like M. Valenod that are the most dangerous men in France. Stendhal sadly notes that not only are conservatives impeding the progress of French society, but liberals are making hypocrisy the national pastime.