CHAPTER XXVIII

A PROCESSION

        All hearts were moved. The presence of God seemed to
        have descended into these narrow Gothic streets that
        stretched in every direction, and were sanded by the
        care of the faithful.--_Young_.

It was in vain that Julien pretended to be petty and stupid. He could
not please; he was too different. Yet all these professors, he said to
himself, are very clever people, men in a thousand. Why do they not
like my humility? Only one seemed to take advantage of his readiness
to believe everything, and apparently to swallow everything. This was
the abbe Chas-Bernard, the director of the ceremonies of the cathedral,
where, for the last fifteen years, he had been given occasion to hope
for a canonry. While waiting, he taught homiletics at the seminary.
During the period of Julien's blindness, this class was one of those in
which he most frequently came out top. The abbe Chas had used this as
an opportunity to manifest some friendship to him, and when the class
broke up, he would be glad to take him by the arm for some turns in the
garden.

"What is he getting at," Julien would say to himself. He noticed
with astonishment that, for hours on end, the abbe would talk to him
about the ornaments possessed by the cathedral. It had seventeen lace
chasubles, besides the mourning vestments. A lot was hoped from the old
wife of the judge de Rubempre. This lady, who was ninety years of age,
had kept for at least seventy years her wedding dress of superb Lyons
material, embroidered with gold.

"Imagine, my friend," the abbe Chas would say, stopping abruptly, and
staring with amazement, "that this material keeps quite stiff. There
is so much gold in it. It is generally thought in Besancon that the
will of the judge's wife will result in the cathedral treasure being
increased by more than ten chasubles, without counting four or five
capes for the great feast. I will go further," said the abbe Chas,
lowering his voice, "I have reasons for thinking the judge's wife will
leave us her magnificent silver gilt candlesticks, supposed to have
been bought in Italy by Charles the Bold, Duke of Burgundy, whose
favourite minister was one of the good lady's ancestors."

"But what is the fellow getting at with all this old clothes business,"
thought Julien. "These adroit preliminaries have been going on for
centuries, and nothing comes of them. He must be very suspicious of me.
He is cleverer than all the others, whose secret aim can be guessed so
easily in a fortnight. I understand. He must have been suffering for
fifteen years from mortified ambition."

Julien was summoned one evening in the middle of the fencing lesson to
the abbe Pirard, who said to him.

"To-morrow is the feast of Corpus Domini (the Fete Dieu) the abbe
Chas-Bernard needs you to help him to decorate the cathedral. Go and
obey." The abbe Pirard called him back and added sympathetically. "It
depends on you whether you will utilise the occasion to go into the
town."

"Incedo per ignes," answered Julien. (I have secret enemies).

Julien went to the cathedral next morning with downcast eyes. The sight
of the streets and the activity which was beginning to prevail in the
town did him good. In all quarters they were extending the fronts of
the houses for the procession.

All the time that he had passed in the seminary seemed to him no more
than a moment. His thoughts were of Vergy, and of the pretty Amanda
whom he might perhaps meet, for her cafe was not very far off. He saw
in the distance the abbe Chas-Bernard on the threshold of his beloved
cathedral. He was a big man with a jovial face and a frank air. To-day
he looked triumphant. "I was expecting you, my dear son," he cried as
soon as he saw Julien in the distance. "Be welcome. This day's duty
will be protracted and arduous. Let us fortify ourselves by a first
breakfast. We will have the second at ten o'clock during high mass."

"I do not wish, sir," said Julien to him gravely, "to be alone for a
single instant. Deign to observe," he added, showing him the clock over
their heads, "that I have arrived at one minute to five."

"So those little rascals at the seminary frightened you. It is very
good of you to think of them," said the abbe. "But is the road less
beautiful because there are thorns in the hedges which border it.
Travellers go on their way, and leave the wicked thorns to wait in vain
where they are. And now to work my dear friend, to work."

The abbe Chas was right in saying that the task would be arduous. There
had been a great funeral ceremony at the cathedral the previous day.
They had not been able to make any preparations. They had consequently
only one morning for dressing all the Gothic pillars which constitute
the three naves with a kind of red damask cloth ascending to a height
of thirty feet. The Bishop had fetched by mail four decorators from
Paris, but these gentry were not able to do everything, and far from
giving any encouragement to the clumsiness of the Besancon colleagues,
they made it twice as great by making fun of them.

Julien saw that he would have to climb the ladder himself. His agility
served him in good stead. He undertook the direction of the decorators
from town. The Abbe Chas was delighted as he watched him flit from
ladder to ladder. When all the pillars were dressed in damask, five
enormous bouquets of feathers had to be placed on the great baldachin
above the grand altar. A rich coping of gilded wood was supported by
eight big straight columns of Italian marble, but to reach the centre
of the baldachin above the tabernacle involved walking over an old
wooden cornice which was forty feet high and possibly worm-eaten.

The sight of this difficult crossing had extinguished the gaiety of the
Parisian decorators, which up till then had been so brilliant. They
looked at it from down below, argued a great deal, but did not go up.
Julien seized hold of the bouquets of feathers and climbed the ladder
at a run. He placed it neatly on the crown-shaped ornament in the
centre of the baldachin. When he came down the ladder again, the abbe
Chas-Bernard embraced him in his arms.

"Optime" exclaimed the good priest, "I will tell this to Monseigneur."

Breakfast at ten o'clock was very gay. The abbe Chas had never seen his
church look so beautiful.

"Dear disciple," he said to Julien. "My mother used to let out chairs
in this venerable building, so I have been brought up in this great
edifice. The Terror of Robespierre ruined us, but when I was eight
years old, that was my age then, I used to serve masses in private
houses, so you see I got my meals on mass-days. Nobody could fold a
chasuble better than I could, and I never cut the fringes. After the
re-establishment of public worship by Napoleon, I had the good fortune
to direct everything in this venerable metropolis. Five times a year do
my eyes see it adorned with these fine ornaments. But it has never been
so resplendent, and the damask breadths have never been so well tied or
so close to the pillars as they are to-day."

"So he is going to tell me his secret at last," said Julien. "Now he is
going to talk about himself. He is expanding." But nothing imprudent
was said by the man in spite of his evident exaltation.

"All the same he has worked a great deal," said Julien to himself.
"He is happy. What a man! What an example for me! He really takes the
cake." (This was a vulgar phrase which he had learned from the old
surgeon).

As the sanctus of high mass sounded, Julien wanted to take a surplice
to follow the bishop in the superb procession. "And the thieves, my
friend! And the thieves," exclaimed the abbe Chas. "Have you forgotten
them? The procession will go out, but we will watch, will you and I.
We shall be very lucky if we get off with the loss of a couple of ells
of this fine lace which surrounds the base of the pillars. It is a
gift of Madame de Rubempre. It comes from her great-grandfather the
famous Count. It is made of real gold, my friend," added the abbe in
a whisper, and with evident exaltation. "And all genuine. I entrust
you with the watching of the north wing. Do not leave it. I will keep
the south wing and the great nave for myself. Keep an eye on the
confessional. It is there that the women accomplices of the thieves
always spy. Look out for the moment when we turn our backs."

As he finished speaking, a quarter to twelve struck. Immediately
afterwards the sound of the great clock was heard. It rang a full peal.
These full solemn sounds affected Julien. His imagination was no longer
turned to things earthly. The perfume of the incense and of the rose
leaves thrown before the holy sacrament by little children disguised as
St. John increased his exaltation.

Logically the grave sounds of the bell should only have recalled to
Julien's mind the thought of the labour of twenty men paid fifty-four
centimes each, and possibly helped by fifteen or twenty faithful souls.
Logically, he ought to have thought of the wear and tear of the cords
and of the framework and of the danger of the clock itself, which
falls down every two centuries, and to have considered the means of
diminishing the salary of the bell-ringers, or of paying them by some
indulgence or other grace dispensed from the treasures of the Church
without diminishing its purse.

Julien's soul exalted by these sounds with all their virile fulness,
instead of making these wise reflections, wandered in the realm
of imagination. He will never turn out a good priest or a good
administrator. Souls which get thrilled so easily are at the best
only capable of producing an artist. At this moment the presumption
of Julien bursts out into full view. Perhaps fifty of his comrades
in the seminary made attentive to the realities of life by their own
unpopularity and the Jacobinism which they are taught to see hiding
behind every hedge, would have had no other thought suggested by the
great bell of the cathedral except the wages of the ringers. They would
have analysed with the genius of Bareme whether the intensity of the
emotion produced among the public was worth the money which was given
to the ringers. If Julien had only tried to think of the material
interests of the cathedral, his imagination would have transcended its
actual object and thought of economizing forty francs on the fabric
and have lost the opportunity of avoiding an expense of twenty-five
centimes.

While the procession slowly traversed Besancon on the finest day
imaginable, and stopped at the brilliant altar-stations put up by the
authorities, the church remained in profound silence. There prevailed a
semi-obscurity, an agreeable freshness. It was still perfumed with the
fragrance of flowers and incense.

The silence, the deep solitude, the freshness of the long naves
sweetened Julien's reverie. He did not fear being troubled by the
abbe Chas, who was engaged in another part of the building. His soul
had almost abandoned its mortal tenement, which was pacing slowly the
north wing which had been trusted to his surveillance. He was all the
more tranquil when he had assured himself that there was no one in the
confessional except some devout women. His eyes looked in front of him
seeing nothing.

His reverie was almost broken by the sight of two well-dressed women,
one in the Confessional, and the other on a chair quite near her. He
looked without seeing, but noticed, however, either by reason of some
vague appreciation of his duties or admiration for the aristocratic
but simple dress of the ladies, that there was no priest in the
Confessional.

"It is singular," he thought, "that if these fair ladies are devout,
they are not kneeling before some altar, or that if they are in society
they have not an advantageous position in the first row of some
balcony. How well cut that dress is! How graceful!"

He slackened his pace to try and look at them. The lady who was
kneeling in the Confessional turned her head a little hearing the noise
of Julien's step in this solemn place. Suddenly she gave a loud cry,
and felt ill.

As the lady collapsed and fell backwards on her knees, her friend who
was near her hastened to help her. At the same time Julien saw the
shoulders of the lady who was falling backwards. His eyes were struck
by a twisted necklace of fine, big pearls, which he knew well. What
were his emotions when he recognised the hair of Madame de Renal? It
was she! The lady who was trying to prevent her from falling was Madame
Derville. Julien was beside himself and hastened to their side. Madame
de Renal's fall would perhaps have carried her friend along with her,
if Julien had not supported them. He saw the head of Madame de Renal,
pale and entirely devoid of consciousness floating on his shoulder. He
helped Madame Derville to lean that charming head up against a straw
chair. He knelt down.

Madame Derville turned round and recognised him.

"Away, monsieur, away!" she said to him, in a tone of the most lively
anger. "Above all, do not let her see you again. The sight of you would
be sure to horrify her. She was so happy before you came. Your conduct
is atrocious. Flee! Take yourself off if you have any shame left."

These words were spoken with so much authority, and Julien felt so
weak, that he did take himself off. "She always hated me," he said to
himself, thinking of Madame Derville. At the same moment the nasal
chanting of the first priests in the procession which was now coming
back resounded in the church. The abbe Chas-Bernard called Julien, who
at first did not hear him, several times. He came at last and took his
arm behind a pillar where Julien had taken refuge more dead than alive.
He wanted to present him to the Bishop.

"Are you feeling well, my child?" said the abbe to him, seeing him so
pale, and almost incapable of walking. "You have worked too much." The
abbe gave him his arm. "Come, sit down behind me here, on the little
seat of the dispenser of holy water; I will hide you."

They were now beside the main door.

"Calm yourself. We have still a good twenty minutes before Monseigneur
appears. Try and pull yourself together. I will lift you up when he
passes, for in spite of my age, I am strong and vigorous."

Julien was trembling so violently when the Bishop passed, that the abbe
Chas gave up the idea of presenting him.

"Do not take it too much to heart," he said. "I will find another
opportunity."

The same evening he had six pounds of candles which had been saved, he
said, by Julien's carefulness, and by the promptness with which he had
extinguished them, carried to the seminary chapel. Nothing could have
been nearer the truth. The poor boy was extinguished himself. He had
not had a single thought after meeting Madame de Renal.

CHAPTER XXIX

THE FIRST PROMOTION

    He knew his age, he knew his department, and he is rich.
                                               _The Forerunner_.

Julien had not emerged from the deep reverie in which the episode in
the cathedral had plunged him, when the severe abbe Pirard summoned him.

"M. the abbe Chas-Bernard has just written in your favour. I am on
the whole sufficiently satisfied with your conduct. You are extremely
imprudent and irresponsible without outward signs of it. However, up
to the present, you have proved yourself possessed of a good and even
generous heart. Your intellect is superior. Taking it all round, I see
in you a spark which one must not neglect.

"I am on the point of leaving this house after fifteen years of work.
My crime is that I have left the seminarists to their free will, and
that I have neither protected nor served that secret society of which
you spoke to me at the Confessional. I wish to do something for you
before I leave. I would have done so two months earlier, for you
deserve it, had it not been for the information laid against you as
the result of the finding in your trunk of Amanda Binet's address. I
will make you New and Old Testament tutor. Julien was transported with
gratitude and evolved the idea of throwing himself on his knees and
thanking God. He yielded to a truer impulse, and approaching the abbe
Pirard, took his hand and pressed it to his lips.

"What is the meaning of this?" exclaimed the director angrily, but
Julien's eyes said even more than his act.

The abbe Pirard looked at him in astonishment, after the manner of a
man who has long lost the habit of encountering refined emotions. The
attention deceived the director. His voice altered.

"Well yes, my child, I am attached to you. Heaven knows that I have
been so in spite of myself. I ought to show neither hate nor love to
anyone. I see in you something which offends the vulgar. Jealousy and
calumny will pursue you in whatever place Providence may place you.
Your comrades will never behold you without hate, and if they pretend
to like you, it will only be to betray you with greater certainty. For
this there is only one remedy. Seek help only from God, who, to punish
you for your presumption, has cursed you with the inevitable hatred
of your comrades. Let your conduct be pure. That is the only resource
which I can see for you. If you love truth with an irresistible
embrace, your enemies will sooner or later be confounded."

It had been so long since Julien had heard a friendly voice that he
must be forgiven a weakness. He burst out into tears.

The abbe Pirard held out his arms to him. This moment was very sweet
to both of them. Julien was mad with joy. This promotion was the first
which he had obtained. The advantages were immense. To realise them one
must have been condemned to pass months on end without an instant's
solitude, and in immediate contact with comrades who were at the best
importunate, and for the most part insupportable. Their cries alone
would have sufficed to disorganise a delicate constitution. The noise
and joy of these peasants, well-fed and well-clothed as they were,
could only find a vent for itself, or believe in its own completeness
when they were shouting with all the strength of their lungs.

Now Julien dined alone, or nearly an hour later than the other
seminarists. He had a key of the garden and could walk in it when no
one else was there.

Julien was astonished to perceive that he was now hated less. He, on
the contrary, had been expecting that their hate would become twice as
intense. That secret desire of his that he should not be spoken to,
which had been only too manifest before, and had earned him so many
enemies, was no longer looked upon as a sign of ridiculous haughtiness.
It became, in the eyes of the coarse beings who surrounded him, a just
appreciation of his own dignity. The hatred of him sensibly diminished,
above all among the youngest of his comrades, who were now his pupils,
and whom he treated with much politeness. Gradually he obtained his own
following. It became looked upon as bad form to call him Martin Luther.

But what is the good of enumerating his friends and his enemies? The
whole business is squalid, and all the more squalid in proportion to
the truth of the picture. And yet the clergy supply the only teachers
of morals which the people have. What would happen to the people
without them? Will the paper ever replace the cure?

Since Julien's new dignity, the director of the seminary made a point
of never speaking to him without witnesses. These tactics were prudent,
both for the master and for the pupil, but above all it was meant for
a test. The invariable principle of that severe Jansenist Pirard was
this--"if a man has merit in your eyes, put obstacles in the way of
all he desires, and of everything which he undertakes. If the merit is
real, he will manage to overthrow or get round those obstacles."

It was the hunting season. It had occurred to Fouque to send a stag
and a boar to the seminary as though they came from Julien's parents.
The dead animals were put down on the floor between the kitchen and
the refectory. It was there that they were seen by all the seminarists
on their way to dinner. They constituted a great attraction for their
curiosity. The boar, dead though it was, made the youngest ones feel
frightened. They touched its tusks. They talked of nothing else for a
whole week.

This gift, which raised Julien's family to the level of that class
of society which deserves respect, struck a deadly blow at all
jealousy. He enjoyed a superiority, consecrated by fortune. Chazel,
the most distinguished of the seminarists, made advances to him, and
always reproached him for not having previously apprised them of his
parents' position and had thus involved them in treating money without
sufficient respect. A conscription took place, from which Julien, in
his capacity as seminarist, was exempt. This circumstance affected him
profoundly. "So there is just passed for ever that moment which, twenty
years earlier, would have seen my heroic life begin. He was walking
alone in the seminary garden. He heard the masons who were walling up
the cloister walls talking between themselves.

"Yes, we must go. There's the new conscription. When _the other_ was
alive it was good business. A mason could become an officer then, could
become a general then. One has seen such things."

"You go and see now. It's only the ragamuffins who leave for the army.
Any one _who has anything_ stays in the country here."

"The man who is born wretched stays wretched, and there you are."

"I say, is it true what they say, that the other is dead?" put in the
third mason.

"Oh well, it's the '_big men_' who say that, you see. The other one
made them afraid."

"What a difference. How the fortification went ahead in his time. And
to think of his being betrayed by his own marshals."

This conversation consoled Julien a little. As he went away, he
repeated with a sigh:

"_Le seul roi dont le peuple a garde la memoire._"

The time for the examination arrived. Julien answered brilliantly. He
saw that Chazel endeavoured to exhibit all his knowledge. On the first
day the examiners, nominated by the famous Grand Vicar de Frilair, were
very irritated at always having to put first, or at any rate second,
on their list, that Julien Sorel, who had been designated to them as
the Benjamin of the Abbe Pirard. There were bets in the seminary that
Julien would come out first in the final list of the examination, a
privilege which carried with it the honour of dining with my Lord
Bishop. But at the end of a sitting, dealing with the fathers of the
Church, an adroit examiner, having first interrogated Julien on Saint
Jerome and his passion for Cicero, went on to speak about Horace,
Virgil and other profane authors. Julien had learnt by heart a great
number of passages from these authors without his comrades' knowledge.
Swept away by his successes, he forgot the place where he was, and
recited in paraphrase with spirit several odes of Horace at the
repeated request of the examiner. Having for twenty minutes given him
enough rope to hang himself, the examiner changed his expression, and
bitterly reproached him for the time he had wasted on these profane
studies, and the useless or criminal ideas which he had got into his
head.

"I am a fool, sir. You are right," said Julien modestly, realising the
adroit stratagem of which he was the victim.

This examiner's dodge was considered dirty, even at the seminary, but
this did not prevent the abbe de Frilair, that adroit individual who
had so cleverly organised the machinery of the Besancon congregation,
and whose despatches to Paris put fear into the hearts of judges,
prefect, and even the generals of the garrison, from placing with
his powerful hand the number 198 against Julien's name. He enjoyed
subjecting his enemy, Pirard the Jansenist, to this mortification.

His chief object for the last ten years had been to deprive him of the
headship of the seminary. The abbe, who had himself followed the plan
which he had indicated to Julien, was sincere, pious, devoted to his
duties and devoid of intrigue, but heaven in its anger had given him
that bilious temperament which is by nature so deeply sensitive to
insults and to hate. None of the insults which were addressed to him
was wasted on his burning soul. He would have handed in his resignation
a hundred times over, but he believed that he was useful in the place
where Providence had set him. "I prevent the progress of Jesuitism and
Idolatry," he said to himself.

At the time of the examinations, it was perhaps nearly two months
since he had spoken to Julien, and nevertheless, he was ill for eight
days when, on receipt of the official letter announcing the result of
the competition, he saw the number 198 placed beside the name of that
pupil whom he regarded as the glory of his town. This stern character
found his only consolation in concentrating all his surveillance on
Julien. He was delighted that he discovered in him neither anger, nor
vindictiveness, nor discouragement.

Julien felt a thrill some months afterwards when he received a letter.
It bore the Paris post-mark. Madame de Renal is remembering her
promises at last, he thought. A gentleman who signed himself Paul
Sorel, and who said that he was his relative, sent him a letter of
credit for five hundred francs. The writer went on to add that if
Julien went on to study successfully the good Latin authors, a similar
sum would be sent to him every year.

"It is she. It is her kindness," said Julien to himself, feeling quite
overcome. "She wishes to console me. But why not a single word of
affection?"

He was making a mistake in regard to this letter, for Madame de Renal,
under the influence of her friend, Madame Derville, was abandoning
herself absolutely to profound remorse. She would often think, in
spite of herself, of that singular being, the meeting with whom had
revolutionized her life. But she carefully refrained from writing to
him.

If we were to talk the terminology of the seminary, we would be able
to recognise a miracle in the sending of these five hundred francs and
to say that heaven was making use of Monsieur de Frilair himself in
order to give this gift to Julien. Twelve years previously the abbe de
Frilair had arrived in Besancon with an extremely exiguous portmanteau,
which, according to the story, contained all his fortune. He was now
one of the richest proprietors of the department. In the course of his
prosperity, he had bought the one half of an estate, while the other
half had been inherited by Monsieur de la Mole. Consequently there was
a great lawsuit between these two personages.

M. le Marquis de la Mole felt that, in spite of his brilliant life at
Paris and the offices which he held at Court, it would be dangerous to
fight at Besancon against the Grand Vicar, who was reputed to make and
unmake prefects.

Instead of soliciting a present of fifty thousand francs which could
have been smuggled into the budget under some name or other, and of
throwing up this miserable lawsuit with the abbe Frilair over a matter
of fifty thousand francs, the marquis lost his temper. He thought
he was in the right, absolutely in the right. Moreover, if one is
permitted to say so, who is the judge who has not got a son, or at any
rate a cousin to push in the world?

In order to enlighten the blindest minds the abbe de Frilair took
the carriage of my Lord the Bishop eight days after the first decree
which he obtained, and went himself to convey the cross of the Legion
of Honour to his advocate. M. de la Mole, a little dumbfounded at
the demeanour of the other side, and appreciating also that his own
advocates were slackening their efforts, asked advice of the abbe
Chelan, who put him in communication with M. Pirard.

At the period of our story the relations between these two men had
lasted for several years. The abbe Pirard imported into this affair
his characteristic passion. Being in constant touch with the Marquis's
advocates, he studied his case, and finding it just, he became quite
openly the solicitor of M. de la Mole against the all-powerful Grand
Vicar. The latter felt outraged by such insolence, and on the part of a
little Jansenist into the bargain.

"See what this Court nobility who pretend to be so powerful really
are," would say the abbe de Frilair to his intimates. M. de la Mole has
not even sent a miserable cross to his agent at Besancon, and will let
him be tamely turned out. None the less, so they write me, this noble
peer never lets a week go by without going to show off his blue ribbon
in the drawing-room of the Keeper of Seal, whoever it may be.

In spite of all the energy of the abbe Pirard, and although M. de la
Mole was always on the best of terms with the minister of justice, and
above all with his officials, the best that he could achieve after six
careful years was not to lose his lawsuit right out. Being as he was
in ceaseless correspondence with the abbe Pirard in connection with an
affair in which they were both passionately interested, the Marquis
came to appreciate the abbe's particular kind of intellect. Little by
little, and in spite of the immense distance in their social positions,
their correspondence assumed the tone of friendship. The abbe Pirard
told the Marquis that they wanted to heap insults upon him till he
should be forced to hand in his resignation. In his anger against what,
in his opinion, was the infamous stratagem employed against Julien, he
narrated his history to the Marquis.

Although extremely rich, this great lord was by no means miserly. He
had never been able to prevail on the abbe Pirard to accept even the
reimbursement of the postal expenses occasioned by the lawsuit. He
seized the opportunity of sending five hundred francs to his favourite
pupil. M. de la Mole himself took the trouble of writing the covering
letter. This gave the abbe food for thought. One day the latter
received a little note which requested him to go immediately on an
urgent matter to an inn on the outskirts of Besancon. He found there
the steward of M. de la Mole.

"M. le Marquis has instructed me to bring you his carriage," said the
man to him. "He hopes that after you have read this letter you will
find it convenient to leave for Paris in four or five days. I will
employ the time in the meanwhile in asking you to be good enough to
show me the estates of M. le Marquis in the Franche-Comte, so that I
can go over them."

The letter was short:--

        "Rid yourself, my good sir, of all the chicanery of the
        provinces and come and breathe the peaceful atmosphere
        of Paris. I send you my carriage which has orders to
        await your decision for four days. I will await you
        myself at Paris until Tuesday. You only require to say
        so, monsieur, to accept in your own name one of the best
        livings in the environs of Paris. The richest of your
        future parishioners has never seen you, but is more
        devoted than you can possibly think: he is the Marquis
        de la Mole."

Without having suspected it, the stern abbe Pirard loved this seminary,
peopled as it was by his enemies, but to which for the past fifteen
years he had devoted all his thoughts. M. de la Mole's letter had
the effect on him of the visit of the surgeon come to perform a
difficult but necessary operation. His dismissal was certain. He made
an appointment with the steward for three days later. For forty-eight
hours he was in a fever of uncertainty. Finally he wrote to the M. de
la Mole, and composed for my Lord the Bishop a letter, a masterpiece of
ecclesiastical style, although it was a little long; it would have been
difficult to have found more unimpeachable phrases, and ones breathing
a more sincere respect. And nevertheless, this letter, intended as it
was to get M. de Frilair into trouble with his patron, gave utterance
to all the serious matters of complaint, and even descended to the
little squalid intrigues which, having been endured with resignation
for six years, were forcing the abbe Pirard to leave the diocese.

They stole his firewood, they poisoned his dog, etc., etc.

Having finished this letter he had Julien called. Like all the other
seminarists, he was sleeping at eight o'clock in the evening.

"You know where the Bishop's Palace is," he said to him in good
classical Latin. "Take this letter to my Lord. I will not hide from
you that I am sending you into the midst of the wolves. Be all ears
and eyes. Let there be no lies in your answers, but realise that the
man questioning you will possibly experience a real joy in being able
to hurt you. I am very pleased, my child, at being able to give you
this experience before I leave you, for I do not hide from you that the
letter which you are bearing is my resignation."

Julien stood motionless. He loved the abbe Pirard. It was in vain that
prudence said to him,

"After this honest man's departure the Sacre-Coeur party will disgrace
me and perhaps expel me."

He could not think of himself. He was embarrassed by a phrase which he
was trying to turn in a polite way, but as a matter of fact he found
himself without the brains to do so.

"Well, my friend, are you not going?"

"Is it because they say, monsieur," answered Julian timidly, "that you
have put nothing on one side during your long administration. I have
six hundred francs."

His tears prevented him from continuing.

"_That also will be noticed,_" said the ex-director of the seminary
coldly. "Go to the Palace. It is getting late."

Chance would so have it that on that evening, the abbe de Frilair
was on duty in the salon of the Palace. My lord was dining with the
prefect, so it was to M. de Frilair himself that Julien, though he did
not know it, handed the letter.

Julien was astonished to see this abbe boldly open the letter which was
addressed to the Bishop. The face of the Grand Vicar soon expressed
surprise, tinged with a lively pleasure, and became twice as grave
as before. Julien, struck with his good appearance, found time to
scrutinise him while he was reading. This face would have possessed
more dignity had it not been for the extreme subtlety which appeared
in some features, and would have gone to the fact of actually denoting
falseness if the possessor of this fine countenance had ceased
to school it for a single minute. The very prominent nose formed
a perfectly straight line and unfortunately gave to an otherwise
distinguished profile, a curious resemblance to the physiognomy of
a fox. Otherwise this abbe, who appeared so engrossed with Monsieur
Pirard's resignation, was dressed with an elegance which Julien had
never seen before in any priest and which pleased him exceedingly.

It was only later that Julien knew in what the special talent of the
abbe de Frilair really consisted. He knew how to amuse his bishop,
an amiable old man made for Paris life, and who looked upon Besancon
as exile. This Bishop had very bad sight, and was passionately fond
of fish. The abbe de Frilair used to take the bones out of the fish
which was served to my Lord. Julien looked silently at the abbe who
was rereading the resignation when the door suddenly opened with a
noise. A richly dressed lackey passed in rapidly. Julien had only
time to turn round towards the door. He perceived a little old man
wearing a pectoral cross. He prostrated himself. The Bishop addressed a
benevolent smile to him and passed on. The handsome abbe followed him
and Julien was left alone in the salon, and was able to admire at his
leisure its pious magnificence.

The Bishop of Besancon, a man whose spirit had been tried but
not broken by the long miseries of the emigration, was more than
seventy-five years old and concerned himself infinitely little with
what might happen in ten years' time.

"Who is that clever-looking seminarist I think I saw as I passed?" said
the Bishop. "Oughtn't they to be in bed according to my regulations."

"That one is very wide-awake I assure you, my Lord, and he brings
great news. It is the resignation of the only Jansenist residing in
your diocese, that terrible abbe Pirard realises at last that we mean
business."

"Well," said the Bishop with a laugh. "I challenge you to replace him
with any man of equal worth, and to show you how much I prize that man,
I will invite him to dinner for to-morrow."

The Grand Vicar tried to slide in a few words concerning the choice of
a successor. The prelate, who was little disposed to talk business,
said to him.

"Before we install the other, let us get to know a little of the
circumstances under which the present one is going. Fetch me this
seminarist. The truth is in the mouth of children."

Julien was summoned. "I shall find myself between two inquisitors,"
he thought. He had never felt more courageous. At the moment when he
entered, two valets, better dressed than M. Valenod himself, were
undressing my lord. That prelate thought he ought to question Julien
on his studies before questioning him about M. Pirard. He talked a
little theology, and was astonished. He soon came to the humanities,
to Virgil, to Horace, to Cicero. "It was those names," thought Julien,
that earned me my number 198. I have nothing to lose. Let us try
and shine. He succeeded. The prelate, who was an excellent humanist
himself, was delighted.

At the prefect's dinner, a young girl who was justly celebrated,
had recited the poem of the Madeleine. He was in the mood to talk
literature, and very quickly forgot the abbe Pirard and his affairs
to discuss with the seminarist whether Horace was rich or poor. The
prelate quoted several odes, but sometimes his memory was sluggish,
and then Julien would recite with modesty the whole ode: the fact
which struck the bishop was that Julien never deviated from the
conversational tone. He spoke his twenty or thirty Latin verses as
though he had been speaking of what was taking place in his own
seminary. They talked for a long time of Virgil, or Cicero, and the
prelate could not help complimenting the young seminarist. "You could
not have studied better."

"My Lord," said Julien, "your seminary can offer you 197 much less
unworthy of your high esteem."

"How is that?" said the Prelate astonished by the number.

"I can support by official proof just what I have had the honour of
saying before my lord. I obtained the number 198 at the seminary's
annual examination by giving accurate answers to the very questions
which are earning me at the present moment my lord's approbation.

"Ah, it is the Benjamin of the abbe Pirard," said the Bishop with a
laugh, as he looked at M. de Frilair. "We should have been prepared
for this. But it is fair fighting. Did you not have to be woken up, my
friend," he said, addressing himself to Julien. "To be sent here?"

"Yes, my Lord. I have only been out of the seminary alone once in my
life to go and help M. the abbe Chas-Bernard decorate the cathedral on
Corpus Christi day.

"Optime," said the Bishop. "So, it is you who showed proof of so much
courage by placing the bouquets of feathers on the baldachin. They
make me shudder. They make me fear that they will cost some man his
life. You will go far, my friend, but I do not wish to cut short your
brilliant career by making you die of hunger."

And by the order of the Bishop, biscuits and wine were brought in, to
which Julien did honour, and the abbe de Frilair, who knew that his
Bishop liked to see people eat gaily and with a good appetite, even
greater honour.

The prelate, more and more satisfied with the end of his evening,
talked for a moment of ecclesiastical history. He saw that Julien did
not understand. The prelate passed on to the moral condition of the
Roman Empire under the system of the Emperor Constantine. The end of
paganism had been accompanied by that state of anxiety and of doubt
which afflicts sad and jaded spirits in the nineteenth century. My Lord
noticed Julien's ignorance of almost the very name of Tacitus. To the
astonishment of the prelate, Julien answered frankly that that author
was not to be found in the seminary library.

"I am truly very glad," said the Bishop gaily, "You relieve me of an
embarrassment. I have been trying for the last five minutes to find a
way of thanking you for the charming evening which you have given me in
a way that I could certainly never have expected. I did not anticipate
finding a teacher in a pupil in my seminary. Although the gift is not
unduly canonical, I want to give you a Tacitus." The prelate had eight
volumes in a superior binding fetched for him, and insisted on writing
himself on the title page of the first volume a Latin compliment to
Julien Sorel. The Bishop plumed himself on his fine Latinity. He
finished by saying to him in a serious tone, which completely clashed
with the rest of the conversation.

"Young man, if you are good, you will have one day the best living in
my diocese, and one not a hundred leagues from my episcopal palace, but
you must be good."

Laden with his volumes, Julien left the palace in a state of great
astonishment as midnight was striking.

My Lord had not said a word to him about the abbe Pirard. Julien was
particularly astonished by the Bishop's extreme politeness. He had had
no conception of such an urbanity in form combined with so natural an
air of dignity. Julien was especially struck by the contrast on seeing
again the gloomy abbe Pirard, who was impatiently awaiting him.

"Quid tibi dixerunt (What have they said to you)?" he cried out to him
in a loud voice as soon as he saw him in the distance. "Speak French,
and repeat my Lord's own words without either adding or subtracting
anything," said the ex-Director of the seminary in his harsh tone,
and with his particularly inelegant manners, as Julien got slightly
confused in translating into Latin the speeches of the Bishop.

"What a strange present on the part of the Bishop to a young
seminarist," he ventured to say as he turned over the leaves of the
superb Tacitus, whose gilt edges seemed to horrify him.

Two o'clock was already striking when he allowed his favourite pupil to
retire to his room after an extremely detailed account.

"Leave me the first volume of your Tacitus," he said to him. "Where
is my Lord Bishop's compliment? This Latin line will serve as your
lightning-conductor in this house after my departure."

Erit tibi, fili mi, successor meus tanquam leo querens quem devoret.
(For my successor will be to you, my son, like a ravening lion seeking
someone to devour).

The following morning Julien noticed a certain strangeness in
the manner in which his comrades spoke to him. It only made him
more reserved. "This," he thought, "is the result of M. Pirard's
resignation. It is known over the whole house, and I pass for his
favourite. There ought logically to be an insult in their demeanour."
But he could not detect it. On the contrary, there was an absence of
hate in the eyes of all those he met along the corridors. "What is the
meaning of this? It is doubtless a trap. Let us play a wary game."

Finally the little seminarist said to him with a laugh,

"Cornelii Taciti opera omnia (complete works of Tacitus)."

On hearing these words, they all congratulated Julien enviously, not
only on the magnificent present which he had received from my lord, but
also on the two hours' conversation with which he had been honoured.
They knew even its minutest details. From that moment envy ceased
completely. They courted him basely. The abbe Castanede, who had
manifested towards him the most extreme insolence the very day before,
came and took his arm and invited him to breakfast.

By some fatality in Julien's character, while the insolence of these
coarse creatures had occasioned him great pain, their baseness afforded
him disgust, but no pleasure.

Towards mid-day the abbe Pirard took leave of his pupils, but not
before addressing to them a severe admonition.

"Do you wish for the honours of the world," he said to them. "For all
the social advantages, for the pleasure of commanding pleasures, of
setting the laws at defiance, and the pleasure of being insolent with
impunity to all? Or do you wish for your eternal salvation? The most
backward of you have only got to open your eyes to distinguish the true
ways."

He had scarcely left before the devotees of the _Sacre Coeur de Jesus_
went into the chapel to intone a Te Deum. Nobody in the seminary took
the ex-director's admonition seriously.

"He shows a great deal of temper because he is losing his job," was
what was said in every quarter.

Not a single seminarist was simple enough to believe in the voluntary
resignation of a position which put him into such close touch with the
big contractors.

The abbe Pirard went and established himself in the finest inn at
Besancon, and making an excuse of business which he had not got,
insisted on passing a couple of days there. The Bishop had invited
him to dinner, and in order to chaff his Grand Vicar de Frilair,
endeavoured to make him shine. They were at dessert when the
extraordinary intelligence arrived from Paris that the abbe Pirard had
been appointed to the magnificent living of N. ---- four leagues from
Paris. The good prelate congratulated him upon it. He saw in the whole
affair a piece of good play which put him in a good temper and gave him
the highest opinion of the abbe's talents. He gave him a magnificent
Latin certificate, and enjoined silence on the abbe de Frilair, who was
venturing to remonstrate.

The same evening, my Lord conveyed his admiration to the Marquise de
Rubempre. This was great news for fine Besancon society. They abandoned
themselves to all kinds of conjectures over this extraordinary favour.
They already saw the abbe Pirard a Bishop. The more subtle brains
thought M. de la Mole was a minister, and indulged on this day in
smiles at the imperious airs that M. the abbe de Frilair adopted in
society.

The following day the abbe Pirard was almost mobbed in the streets,
and the tradesmen came to their shop doors when he went to solicit an
interview with the judges who had had to try the Marquis's lawsuit. For
the first time in his life he was politely received by them. The stern
Jansenist, indignant as he was with all that he saw, worked long with
the advocates whom he had chosen for the Marquis de la Mole, and left
for Paris. He was weak enough to tell two or three college friends who
accompanied him to the carriage whose armorial bearings they admired,
that after having administered the Seminary for fifteen years he was
leaving Besancon with five hundred and twenty francs of savings. His
friends kissed him with tears in their eyes, and said to each other,

"The good abbe could have spared himself that lie. It is really too
ridiculous."

The vulgar, blinded as they are by the love of money, were
constitutionally incapable of understanding that it was in his own
sincerity that the abbe Pirard had found the necessary strength to
fight for six years against Marie Alacoque, the _Sacre Coeur de Jesus_,
the Jesuits and his Bishop.

One priest, however, befriends Julien: Father Chas-Bernard, master of ceremonies of the cathedral. Julien is selected to aid the latter in an important ceremony in the cathedral in Besancon. There he distinguishes himself for his physical prowess and agility in decorating pillars. Here, Julien is also glimpsed by Mme. de Renal, who promptly faints at the sight of him. He, similarly, is violently moved by this encounter. Pirard sends Julien as his messenger to the bishop with Pirard's letter of resignation. Julien also learns from Pirard that he is being named tutor in the Old and New Testaments, a signal honor proving Pirard's esteem for him. Contrary to Julien's expectations, the other seminarians accept his advancement as evidence of his merit -- that is, they recognize him as one whom they must fear. Stendhal fills in the political intrigue that has prompted Pirard's resignation: Pirard has allied himself with M. de La Mole in a lawsuit the latter has against Frilair, the powerful Jesuit vicar and organizer of the Besancon Congregation. Pirard has accepted the generosity of his friend Mole's influence: responsibility of a very wealthy church in the vicinity of Paris since he knows that Frilair will succeed in divesting him of his position at the seminary. Julien receives an anonymous gift of money from Mole, who has chosen to honor Pirard's prize student, since the rector himself will not accept recompense for his services in Mole's lawsuit. Julien receives a wild boar from Fouque, and this gift further wins the esteem of his fellows since they believe that Julien's parents have sent the boar and, therefore, must be rich. Julien performs brilliantly in his examinations, but he is tricked by Frilair into displaying his knowledge of Latin poets, poets whose works are banned at the seminary. Julien delivers the letter to the bishop and is invited to dinner. In Frilair's presence, he provides a stimulating discussion of the arts for the bishop of Besancon. As a reward, the bishop makes him a gift of the complete works of Tacitus. News of this gift soon circulates in the seminary and adds to the high esteem in which the others now hold Julien.

These chapters narrate Julien's success at the seminary. The beginning of Chapter 28 illustrates Stendhal's improvisational technique. The "event" -- the protection offered by Father Chas, thus the beginning of his success -- - needs an introduction to "precipitate" it. The method of having the event happen is Julien's question: Surely among all these learned professors, one at least has noticed my willingness and has been taken in by my hypocrisy? Julien has over-evaluated Father Chas, however. Stendhal, it will be remarked, does not state this fact; the reader must draw the conclusion. Julien is so accustomed to hypocrisy and ruse that he sees it where it isn't. He imagines in this simple priest  a very shrewd man with some ulterior motives beneath conversation entirely devoted to reveling in the rich furnishings of the cathedral. In reality, Father Chas-Bernard is only what he appears to be. The priest's disinterestedness gives a certain gratuitousness to Julien's success. We learn that Pirard is taking Julien more and more into his confidence from his passing warning to the hero concerning his mission into Besancon to aid in the adornment of the cathedral. This isolated note of confidence is a preparation for Julien's future in Paris. Note again that Julien's physical ascension betokens his aspirations and destiny. He alone is daring enough to risk his neck forty feet off the ground to pose the feathers. The ecstatic reverie that the solemnity of the surroundings inspires in Julien is reminiscent of the scene in Chapter 18 when he watches in ecstasy the ceremony of the ardent chapel. Both scenes betray his highly sensitive, superior nature and contrast his emotional, authentic religious response to the baseness of the Church, no longer a divine instrument but perverted to political ends during the Restoration. The unexpected appearance of Mme. de Renal should not completely surprise us. We know that she has become extremely pious and that, refusing to make Father Maslon her confessor, she frequents the confessional at Besancon. It is also obvious why she comes to Besancon -- her passion for Julien is the only justification for her piety. We will find another important encounter between Julien and Mme. de Renal in a church later in the novel. Her fainting in this scene foreshadows her fate in that later scene, for which Julien will be more directly responsible. The cathedral episode is the first step in Julien's success at the seminary. Julien's mentors are kindred souls: noble, of great principle, who have refused to compromise. The austere Jansenist Pirard, just as Chelan, recognizes Julien's nobility of soul and protects him. The touching "communion of souls" that takes place in this scene between Pirard and Julien, two rebels who finally let down their guard and console each other, is reminiscent of Julien's escape sought in high places and solitude in earlier chapters. Note the philosophy of Pirard, similar to Julien's, that has helped to strengthen the latter's character: Pirard has tested Julien by creating insurmountable obstacles in his path. It is Pirard's belief that only the noblest of men could prove themselves by overcoming these obstacles. Pirard tests Julien in this episode just as Stendhal "tests" his hero throughout the novel. Julien still interprets incorrectly the attitudes of his fellows. On various occasions during his rapid advancement, he expects hate and receives respect from the seminarians. Stendhal benefits from a certain ambiguity of presentation to maintain the reader's sympathy for Julien. It is uncertain as to how aware of the political maneuvering Julien is; Stendhal chooses not to elaborate this point. It is to be presumed that Julien is as informed as are the others about the rivalry between the Jansenist Pirard and the Jesuit Frilair. The reader is completely informed, however, and our superiority over Julien encourages an indulgent attitude toward his mistakes. The bishop has no future, and his awareness of this accounts in part for his fair treatment of Julien. He is a power, and independent, but his old age relieves him of the need to intrigue. He is another "father-figure" for Julien, albeit his role is short-lived. Again, it is by feats of memory, by "bon mots" which we do not hear, and by brilliant discussion, likewise unrecorded, that Julien charms the bishop. Note the brief allusion to the "Red" in this chapter: Julien is quickly consoled at not being able to enlist as he overhears two old troopers lament the present state of command and the absence of the great Napoleon.