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."

CHAPTER LXXII[1]

When Julien was taken back to prison he had been taken into a room
intended for those who were condemned to death. Although a man who in
the usual way would notice the most petty details, he had quite failed
to observe that he had not been taken up to his turret. He was thinking
of what he would say to madame de Renal if he had the happiness of
seeing her before the final moment. He thought that she would break
into what he was saying and was anxious to be able to express his
absolute repentance with his very first words. "How can I convince her
that I love her alone after committing an action like that? For after
all, it was either out of ambition, or out of love for Mathilde, that I
wanted to kill her."

As he went to bed, he came across sheets of a rough coarse material.
"Ah! I am in the condemned cell, he said to himself. That is right.

"Comte Altamira used to tell me that Danton, on the eve of his death,
would say in his loud voice: 'it is singular but you cannot conjugate
the verb guillotine in all its tenses: of course you can say, I shall
be guillotined, thou shalt be guillotined, but you don't say, I have
been guillotined.'

"Why not?" went on Julien, "if there is another life.... Upon my word,
it will be all up with me if I find the God of the Christians there: He
is a tyrant, and as such, he is full of ideas of vengeance: his Bible
speaks of nothing but atrocious punishment. I never liked him--I could
never get myself to believe that anyone really liked him. He has no
pity (and he remembered several passages in the Bible) he will punish
me atrociously.

"But supposing I find Fenelon's God: He will perhaps say to me: 'Much
forgiveness will be vouchsafed to thee, inasmuch as thou hast loved
much.'

"Have I loved much? Ah! I loved madame de Renal, but my conduct has
been atrocious. In that, as in other cases, simple modest merit was
abandoned for the sake of what was brilliant.

"But still, what fine prospects? Colonel of Hussars, if we had had a
war: secretary of a legation during peace: then ambassador ... for
I should soon have picked up politics ... and even if I had been an
idiot, would the marquis de la Mole's son-in-law have had any rivalry
to fear? All my stupidities have been forgiven, or rather, counted
as merits. A man of merit, then, and living in the grandest style at
Vienna or London.

"Not exactly, monsieur. Guillotined in three days' time."

Julien laughed heartily at this sally of his wit. "As a matter of fact,
man has two beings within him, he thought. Who the devil can have
thought of such a sinister notion?"

"Well, yes, my friend: guillotined in three days," he answered the
interruptor. "M. de Cholin will hire a window and share the expense
with the abbe Maslon. Well, which of those two worthy personages
will rob the other over the price paid for hiring that window?" The
following passage from Rotrou's "Venceslas" suddenly came back into his
mind:--

              LADISLAS
    .................Mon ame est toute prete.
    THE KING, _father of Ladislas_.
    L'echafaud l'est aussi: portez-y-votre tete.

"A good repartee" he thought, as he went to sleep. He was awakened in
the morning by someone catching hold of him violently.

"What! already," said Julien, opening his haggard eyes. He thought he
was already in the executioner's hands.

It was Mathilde. "Luckily, she has not understood me." This reflection
restored all his self possession. He found Mathilde as changed as
though she had gone through a six months' illness: she was really not
recognisable.

"That infamous Frilair has betrayed me," she said to him, wringing her
hands. Her fury prevented her from crying.

"Was I not fine when I made my speech yesterday?" answered Julien. "I
was improvising for the first time in my life! It is true that it is to
be feared that it will also be the last."

At this moment, Julien was playing on Mathilde's character with all
the self-possession of a clever pianist, whose fingers are on the
instrument.... "It is true," he added, "that I lack the advantage of a
distinguished birth, but Mathilde's great soul has lifted her lover up
to her own level. Do you think that Boniface de la Mole would have cut
a better figure before his judges?"

On this particular day, Mathilde was as unaffectedly tender as a poor
girl living in a fifth storey. But she failed to extract from him any
simpler remark. He was paying her back without knowing it for all the
torture she had frequently inflicted on him.

"The sources of the Nile are unknown," said Julien to himself: "it has
not been vouchsafed to the human eye to see the king of rivers as a
simple brook: similarly, no human eye shall see Julien weak. In the
first place because he is not so. But I have a heart which it is easy
to touch. The most commonplace words, if said in a genuine tone, can
make my voice broken and even cause me to shed tears. How often have
frigid characters not despised me for this weakness. They thought that
I was asking a favour: that is what I cannot put up with.

"It is said that when at the foot of the scaffold, Danton was affected
by the thought of his wife: but Danton had given strength to a nation
of coxcombs and prevented the enemy from reaching Paris.... I alone
know what I should have been able to do.... I represent to the others
at the very outside, simply A PERHAPS.

"If madame de Renal had been here in my cell instead of Mathilde,
should I have been able to have answered for myself? The extremity of
my despair and my repentance would have been taken for a craven fear of
death by the Valenods and all the patricians of the locality. They are
so proud, are those feeble spirits, whom their pecuniary position puts
above temptation! 'You see what it is to be born a carpenter's son,'
M. de Moirod and de Cholin doubtless said after having condemned me to
death! 'A man can learn to be learned and clever, but the qualities of
the heart--the qualities of the heart cannot be learnt.' Even in the
case of this poor Mathilde, who is crying now, or rather, who cannot
cry," he said to himself, as he looked at her red eyes.... And he
clasped her in his arms: the sight of a genuine grief made him forget
the sequence of his logic.... "She has perhaps cried all the night," he
said to himself, "but how ashamed she will be of this memory on some
future day! She will regard herself as having been led astray in her
first youth by a plebeian's low view of life.... Le Croisenois is weak
enough to marry her, and upon my word, he will do well to do so. She
will make him play a part."

    "Du droit qu'un esprit ferme et vaste en ses desseins
    A sur l'esprit grossier des vulgaires humaines."

"Ah! that's really humorous; since I have been doomed to die, all the
verses I ever knew in my life are coming back into my memory. It must
be a sign of demoralisation."

Mathilde kept on repeating in a choked voice: "He is there in the next
room." At last he paid attention to what she was saying. "Her voice is
weak," he thought, "but all the imperiousness of her character comes
out in her intonation. She lowers her voice in order to avoid getting
angry."

"And who is there?" he said, gently.

"The advocate, to get you to sign your appeal."

"I shall not appeal."

"What! you will not appeal," she said, getting up, with her eyes
sparkling with rage. "And why, if you please?"

"Because I feel at the present time that I have the courage to die
without giving people occasion to laugh too much at my expense. And
who will guarantee that I shall be in so sound a frame of mind in two
months' time, after living for a long time in this damp cell? I foresee
interviews with the priests, with my father. I can imagine nothing more
unpleasant. Let's die."

This unexpected opposition awakened all the haughtiness of Mathilde's
character. She had not managed to see the abbe de Frilair before the
time when visitors were admitted to the cells in the Besancon prison.
Her fury vented itself on Julien. She adored him, and nevertheless she
exhibited for a good quarter of an hour in her invective against his,
Julien's, character, and her regret at having ever loved him, the
same haughty soul which had formerly overwhelmed him with such cutting
insults in the library of the Hotel de la Mole.

"In justice to the glory of your stock, Heaven should have had you born
a man," he said to her.

"But as for myself," he thought, "I should be very foolish to go on
living for two more months in this disgusting place, to serve as a
butt for all the infamous humiliations which the patrician party can
devise,[2] and having the outburst of this mad woman for my only
consolation.... Well, the morning after to-morrow I shall fight a duel
with a man known for his self-possession and his remarkable skill ...
his very remarkable skill," said the Mephistophelian part of him; "he
never makes a miss. Well, so be it--good." (Mathilde continued to wax
eloquent). "No, not for a minute," he said to himself, "I shall not
appeal."

Having made this resolution, he fell into meditation....

"The courier will bring the paper at six o'clock as usual, as he
passes; at eight o'clock, after M. de Renal has finished reading it,
Elisa will go on tiptoe and place it on her bed. Later on she will wake
up; suddenly, as she reads it she will become troubled; her pretty
hands will tremble; she will go on reading down to these words: _At
five minutes past ten he had ceased to exist_.

"She will shed hot tears, I know her; it will matter nothing that I
tried to assassinate her--all will be forgotten, and the person whose
life I wished to take will be the only one who will sincerely lament my
death.

"Ah, that's a good paradox," he thought, and he thought about nothing
except madame de Renal during the good quarter of an hour which the
scene Mathilde was making still lasted. In spite of himself, and though
he made frequent answers to what Mathilde was saying, he could not take
his mind away from the thought of the bedroom at Verrieres. He saw the
Besancon Gazette on the counterpane of orange taffeta; he saw that
white hand clutching at it convulsively. He saw madame de Renal cry....
He followed the path of every tear over her charming face.

Mademoiselle de la Mole, being unable to get anything out of Julien,
asked the advocate to come in. Fortunately, he was an old captain of
the Italian army of 1796, where he had been a comrade of Manuel.

He opposed the condemned man's resolution as a matter of form. Wishing
to treat him with respect, Julien explained all his reasons.

"Upon my word, I can understand a man taking the view you do," said
M. Felix Vaneau (that was the advocate's name) to him at last. "But
you have three full days in which to appeal, and it is my duty to come
back every day. If a volcano were to open under the prison between now
and two months' time you would be saved. You might die of illness," he
said, looking at Julien.

Julien pressed his hand--"I thank you, you are a good fellow. I will
think it over."

And when Mathilde eventually left with the advocate, he felt much more
affection for the advocate than for her.

[1] There is no heading to this and the following chapters in the
original.--TRANSL.

[2] The speaker is a Jacobin.

Just before his trial, Julien pleads guilty of premeditated attempted murder to the judge and to his own defense lawyer, who visit his cell. Mathilde has succeeded in establishing a contact between Mme. de Fervaques and M. de Frilair with the result that promise has been intimated of a bishopric for Frilair in exchange for his willingness to influence the jurors. Frilair is certain of being able to control the votes of Valenod, de Moirod, and Cholin, and of being able to bring about an acquittal. In spite of the protests of her husband, Mme. de Renal has come to Besancon and has personally written a plea of mercy for Julien to each of the thirty-six jurors. All of Besancon has turned out for the trial. Mathilde makes a final tearful visit to Frilair, who assures her that all has been arranged. The jurors will vote as Valenod votes. Julien has decided not to speak out in his own defense at the trial. The trial begins. The audience, mostly women, is obviously sympathetic toward the defendant. The trial lasts far into the night with no recess. Julien delivers a final oration after the summation in spite of his resolve not to speak. The jury returns with a verdict of guilty with premeditation. Julien's only comment to the court is that he has been justly condemned to death. Julien is moved to the death cell. His thoughts are only of Mme. de Renal, whom he would hope to see before he dies. Mathilde disturbs his peaceful sleep to plead that he appeal for another trial. Julien stands firm in his refusal in spite of Mathilde's entreaties. Julien gives the same answer to his lawyer, and he feels more kindly disposed toward the lawyer as they depart than he does toward Mathilde.

These chapters relate the trial and the events immediately before and after it. Julien's soliloquy reveals his calm acceptance of the inevitability of his death. This attitude is in marked contrast to the frantic activity of Mathilde and Mme. de Renal to bring about his acquittal. Julien remains ignorant of their attempts, and the ironic result is that they are working at cross purposes: Julien admits premeditation, but Mme. de Renal urges the jurors not to find premeditation; Julien refuses to consider a plea of jealousy, as Mathilde, swallowing her pride, urges him to plead. Chapter 40 brings Mme. de Renal back into focus in preparation for the final role she will play in the last chapters. The movement of the short chapter shifts from Julien's cell to the final efforts of Mathilde with Frilair, and finally to the passionate plea for mercy that is Mme. de Renal's letter. In passing, Stendhal alludes to the effect that the trial has had on Besancon. This adds to the brief, but complete and suspenseful, summing up of everyone's pretrial state. Note the point at which Julien has arrived in his elaboration of an "art of living." In his own mind, his affair is already classified. He is finally enjoying a life in which he may give himself over completely to contemplation, to dreams of past happiness with Mme. de Renal, to an objective, dispassionate self-scrutiny and evaluation. Any invasion of his privacy by sordid details of life outside his cell is painful to him. Freudians would see in the Stendhalian hero's passive, blissful state achieved in the protectiveness of prison Stendhal's desire to return to the womb. When maternal Mme. de Renal finally joins Julien in this happy seclusion, such a view is even more convincing. We witness the trial scene from Julien's point of view. Thus, the reader adopts Julien's physical vantage point, and he observes not individual faces in the courtroom but groups of faces, mostly feminine, localized only generally by their position vis-a-vis Julien. Across from the dock above the jurors and judge, twelve to fifteen pretty women occupy three galleries. In the circular gallery overhanging the crowded courtroom are more young, pretty faces. Just as he enters the courtroom, Julien glimpses the gothic pillars, an isolated and clear detail of the blurred scene that surrounds him. After his initial view, by means of a wide sweep Julien's attention is attracted to the galleries above the jury, where he sees Mme. Derville. Only once does the point of view stray -- to appreciate Julien's simple elegance as viewed by the ladies of the courtroom. The description is incomplete and fragmentary, but in that respect realistic. It is a foretaste of Stendhal's great battle scene in the Charterhouse in which the battle of Waterloo is seen from the point of view of an individual soldier, who is never quite sure of what is transpiring. This realistic technique was admired and imitated by the great Tolstoy. The Red Badge of Courage, by Stephen Crane, portrays war realistically in much the same way that Stendhal had done. Is it accurate to say that Julien commits suicide? Again, Stendhal does not offer an explicit answer. The answer lies partially in another question: Would Valenod have betrayed Julien had the latter not denounced the society that condemns him? Stendhal has been careful to reintroduce Valenod intermittently and to assert Valenod's jealousy of Julien, who had succeeded in making Mme. de Renal his mistress. Would this hatred and desire for vengeance have sufficed to cause Valenod to instruct the jury to condemn Julien, or was Julien's brutal condemnation of the aspiring bourgeoisie the final blow that precipitated the betrayal? At any rate, it is because of his accurate evaluation of the situation and because of his courage in proclaiming it to others that Julien plays a truly heroic role in the court scene. Julien tells the jury that he will be condemned not for having committed the crime but for having violated the social hierarchy, for having risen above his class. Julien, like Camus' Meursault, executes a reversal in position: The accused condemns the accuser. In a sense, Julien assumes the way in which he will die: He rejects the death penalty unless he, first, has admitted its justice. In this regard, he is the ancestor of Malraux's heroes, who do not undergo death passively, but who assume their death. To what extent is Julien aware of the gravity of the consequences of his oration, assuming that it did incite Valenod to betrayal? It would not appear to have been a deliberate attempt to bring about his own condemnation; rather, it is prompted by his sense of duty, which arises spontaneously. His manner during the trial is one of dignity and courage, although he has difficulty at times in controlling his emotions. During his emotional moments, Julien is seeing himself as the lady spectators see him. The oration would simply be another of those moments when Julien's sensibility betrays him. An impulsive awakening of emotion catches his mask of self-control and calm off guard. That Julien is aware of how others are viewing him during this trial when his life is in the balance should not surprise us too much. This is another faithful rendition of psychological truth by Stendhal. In crucial moments, immediate reactions will many times be quite far from the vital issue. Julien seems to view his trial with a certain objectivity. One critical view holds that Julien unconsciously harbors a death wish. Such a view would give more responsibility to Julien in the resulting verdict of guilty. Another view would see in Julien simply another example of the fate of the Stendhalian creature who, having lived so intensely, has burned himself out. It would be the extension on a grander scale of such phenomena as Mathilde's involuntary fainting, of Julien's loss of consciousness in the presence of Pirard, of La Sanseverina's falling asleep while seated in the Charterhouse. Such an interpretation of Julien's role in his own condemnation would be in keeping with Stendhal's romantic conception of character. Even after the death sentence is read, Julien keeps his aplomb and inner calm. He lucidly examines the act of vengeance that Valenod has committed and muses momentarily on what will await him after life. Recalled to reality by Mathilde's cry, Julien's thoughts come with haste and confusion, but he contains these and expresses outwardly only his approval of the death penalty. Note that the most strained emotional moments undergone by the characters are related with the most clipped, terse, and abrupt prose by Stendhal. Stendhal continues to "detach" Julien from the action, a tendency we first noticed when the hero left to assume his commission in the army. Now that he is condemned to death, Julien's detachment is even more strongly pronounced. In musing about himself, Julien utilizes the past tense. He sees himself as having already been guillotined, which produces the effect of an even greater degree of objectivity achieved by Julien. This approach and the ironic self-detachment characterizing his interior monologue are no doubt a sort of defense mechanism. Julien is steeling himself in order not to give way to the horror of death. At the same time, it is part of the new happiness, the "art of living" that Julien has perfected now that he is in the seclusion of the prison cell. Unconsciously, Julien is punishing Mathilde for all the humiliations she has imposed on him, as he refuses to give serious thought to her appeals. He even solicits her praise at his courtroom heroism, which is reminiscent of the ideal that characterized their love. In a sense, Julien has been victorious in their heroic rivalry: He has invited death and refused to appeal the sentence. It is quite possible that Mathilde feels somewhat cheated. Julien is destroying her own heroic role. Stendhal depicts for us here a truly superior soul. Julien is moved by genuine suffering, sensitive but proud to the point of refusing to expose his suffering to the view of others, thus to debasement. The tiresome presence of Mathilde succeeds only intermittently in piercing the reverie that increasingly characterizes the mental life of Julien. He imagines Mme. de Renal's reaction after his death. Stendhal is preparing for the long-awaited arrival of Julien's first and only love.


CHAPTER LXXIII

When he was deep asleep an hour afterwards, he was woken up by feeling
tears flow over his hand. "Oh, it is Mathilde again," he thought, only
half awake. "She has come again, faithful to her tactics of attacking
my resolution by her sentimentalism." Bored by the prospect of this
new scene of hackneyed pathos he did not open his eyes. The verses of
Belphgor, as he ran away from his wife, came into his mind. He heard a
strange sigh. He opened his eyes. It was madame de Renal.

"Ah, so I see you again before I die, or is it an illusion," he
exclaimed as he threw himself at her feet.

"But, forgive me, madame, you must look upon me as a mere murderer," he
said, immediately, as he recovered himself.

"Monsieur, I have come to entreat you to appeal; I know you do not want
to...." her sobs choked her; she was unable to speak.

"Deign to forgive me."

"If you want me to forgive you," she said to him, getting up and
throwing herself into his arms, "appeal immediately against your death
sentence."

Julien covered her with kisses.

"Will you come and see me every day during those two months?"

"I swear it--every day, unless my husband forbids me."

"I will sign it," exclaimed Julien.

"What! you really forgive me! Is it possible?"

He clasped her in his arms; he was mad. She gave a little cry.

"It is nothing," she said to him. "You hurt me."

"Your shoulder," exclaimed Julien, bursting into tears. He drew back
a little, and covered her hands with kisses of fire. "Who could
have prophesied this, dear, the last time I saw you in your room at
Verrieres?"

"Who could have prophesied then that I should write that infamous
letter to M. de la Mole?"

"Know that I have always loved you, and that I have never loved anyone
but you."

"Is it possible?" cried Madame de Renal, who was delighted in her turn.
She leant on Julien, who was on his knees, and they cried silently for
a long time.

Julien had never experienced moments like this at any period of his
whole life.

"And how about that young madame Michelet?" said Madame de Renal, a
long time afterwards when they were able to speak. "Or rather, that
mademoiselle de la Mole? for I am really beginning to believe in that
strange romance."

"It is only superficially true," answered Julien. "She is my wife, but
she is not my mistress."

After interrupting each other a hundred times over, they managed with
great difficulty to explain to each other what they did not know. The
letter written to M. de la Mole had been drafted by the young priest
who directed Madame de Renal's conscience, and had been subsequently
copied by her, "What a horrible thing religion has made me do," she
said to him, "and even so I softened the most awful passages in the
letter."

Julien's ecstatic happiness proved the fulness of her forgiveness. He
had never been so mad with love.

"And yet I regard myself as devout," madame de Renal went on to say to
him in the ensuing conversation. "I believe sincerely in God! I equally
believe, and I even have full proof of it, that the crime which I am
committing is an awful one, and yet the very minute I see you, even
after you have fired two pistol shots at me--" and at this point, in
spite of her resistance, Julien covered her with kisses.

"Leave me alone," she continued, "I want to argue with you, I am
frightened lest I should forget.... The very minute I see you all my
duties disappear. I have nothing but love for you, dear, or rather, the
word love is too weak. I feel for you what I ought only to feel for
God; a mixture of respect, love, obedience.... As a matter of fact, I
don't know what you inspire me with.... If you were to tell me to stab
the gaoler with a knife, the crime would be committed before I had
given it a thought. Explain this very clearly to me before I leave you.
I want to see down to the bottom of my heart; for we shall take leave
of each other in two months.... By the bye, shall we take leave of each
other?" she said to him with a smile.

"I take back my words," exclaimed Julien, getting up, "I shall not
appeal from my death sentence, if you try, either by poison, knife,
pistol, charcoal, or any other means whatsoever, to put an end to your
life, or make any attempt upon it."

Madame de Renal's expression suddenly changed. The most lively
tenderness was succeeded by a mood of deep meditation.

"Supposing we were to die at once," she said to him.

"Who knows what one will find in the other life," answered Julien,
"perhaps torment, perhaps nothing at all. Cannot we pass two delicious
months together? Two months means a good many days. I shall never have
been so happy."

"You will never have been so happy?"

"Never," repeated Julien ecstatically, "and I am talking to you just as
I should talk to myself. May God save me from exaggerating."

"Words like that are a command," she said with a timid melancholy smile.

"Well, you will swear by the love you have for me, to make no attempt
either direct or indirect, upon your life ... remember," he added,
"that you must live for my son, whom Mathilde will hand over to lackeys
as soon as she is marquise de Croisenois."

"I swear," she answered coldly, "but I want to take away your notice
of appeal, drawn and signed by yourself. I will go myself to M. the
procureur-general."

"Be careful, you will compromise yourself."

"After having taken the step of coming to see you in your prison, I
shall be a heroine of local scandal for Besancon, and the whole of
Franche-Comte," she said very dejectedly. "I have crossed the bounds of
austere modesty.... I am a woman who has lost her honour; it is true
that it is for your sake...."

Her tone was so sad that Julien embraced her with a happiness which was
quite novel to him. It was no longer the intoxication of love, it was
extreme gratitude. He had just realised for the first time the full
extent of the sacrifice which she had made for him.

Some charitable soul, no doubt informed M. de Renal of the long visits
which his wife paid to Julien's prison; for at the end of three days
he sent her his carriage with the express order to return to Verrieres
immediately.

This cruel separation had been a bad beginning for Julien's day. He
was informed two or three hours later that a certain intriguing priest
(who had, however, never managed to make any headway among the Jesuits
of Besancon) had, since the morning, established himself in the street
outside the prison gates. It was raining a great deal, and the man out
there was pretending to play the martyr. Julien was in a weak mood, and
this piece of stupidity annoyed him deeply.

In the morning, he had already refused this priest's visit, but the man
had taken it into his head to confess Julien, and to win a name for
himself among the young women of Besancon by all the confidences which
he would pretend to have received from him.

He declared in a loud voice that he would pass the day and the night by
the prison gates. "God has sent me to touch the heart of this apostate
..." and the lower classes, who are always curious to see a scene,
began to make a crowd.

"Yes, my brothers," he said to them, "I will pass the day here and the
night, as well as all the days and all the nights which will follow.
The Holy Ghost has spoken to me. I am commissioned from above; I am the
man who must save the soul of young Sorel. Do you join in my prayers,
etc."

Julien had a horror of scandal, and of anything which could attract
attention to him. He thought of seizing the opportunity of escaping
from the world incognito; but he had some hope of seeing madame de
Renal again, and he was desperately in love.

The prison gates were situated in one of the most populous streets. His
soul was tortured by the idea of this filthy priest attracting a crowd
and creating a scandal--"and doubtless he is repeating my name at every
single minute!" This moment was more painful than death.

He called the turnkey who was devoted to him, and sent sent him two or
three times at intervals of one hour to see if the priest was still by
the prison gates.

"Monsieur," said the turnkey to him on each occasion, "he is on both
his knees in the mud; he is praying at the top of his voice, and saying
litanies for your soul.

"The impudent fellow," thought Julien. At this moment he actually heard
a dull buzz. It was the responses of the people to the litanies. His
patience was strained to the utmost when he saw the turnkey himself
move his lips while he repeated the Latin words.

"They are beginning to say," added the turnkey, "that you must have a
very hardened heart to refuse the help of this holy man."

"Oh my country, how barbarous you still are!" exclaimed Julien, beside
himself with anger. And he continued his train of thought aloud,
without giving a thought to the turn-key's presence.

"The man wants an article in the paper about him, and that's a way in
which he will certainly get it.

"Oh you cursed provincials! At Paris I should not be subjected to all
these annoyances. There they are more skilled in their charlatanism.

"Show in the holy priest," he said at last to the turnkey, and great
streams of sweat flowed down his forehead. The turnkey made the sign of
the cross and went out rejoicing.

The holy priest turned out to be very ugly, he was even dirtier than he
was ugly. The cold rain intensified the obscurity and dampness of the
cell. The priest wanted to embrace Julien, and began to wax pathetic as
he spoke to him. The basest hypocrisy was only too palpable; Julien had
never been so angry in his whole life.

A quarter of an hour after the priest had come in Julien felt an
absolute coward. Death appeared horrible to him for the first time. He
began to think about the state of decomposition which his body would be
in two days after the execution, etc., etc.

He was on the point of betraying himself by some sign of weakness or
throwing himself on the priest and strangling him with his chain, when
it occurred to him to beg the holy man to go and say a good forty franc
mass for him on that very day.

It was twelve o'clock, so the priest took himself off.

CHAPTER LXXIV

As soon as he had gone out Julien wept desperately and for a long time.
He gradually admitted to himself that if madame de Renal had been at
Besancon he would have confessed his weakness to her. The moment when
he was regretting the absence of this beloved woman he heard Mathilde's
step.

"The worst evil of being in prison," he thought "is one's inability to
close one's door." All Mathilde said only irritated him.

She told him that M. de Valenod had had his nomination to the
prefectship in his pocket on the day of his trial, and had consequently
dared to defy M. de Frilair and give himself the pleasure of condemning
him to death.

"Why did your friend take it into his head," M. de Frilair just said
to me, "to awaken and attack the petty vanity of that bourgeois
aristocracy. Why talk about caste? He pointed out to them what they
ought to do in their own political interest; the fools had not been
giving it a thought and were quite ready to weep. That caste interest
intervened and blinded their eyes to the horror of condemning a man to
death. One must admit that M. Sorel is very inexperienced. If we do not
succeed in saving him by a petition for a reprieve, his death will be a
kind of suicide."

Mathilde was careful not to tell Julien a matter concerning which she
had now no longer any doubts; it was that the abbe de Frilair seeing
that Julien was ruined, had thought that it would further his ambitious
projects to try and become his successor.

"Go and listen to a mass for me," he said to Mathilde, almost beside
himself with vexation and impotent rage, and leave me a moment in
peace. Mathilde who was already very jealous of madame de Renal's
visits and who had just learned of her departure realised the cause of
Julien's bad temper and burst into tears.

Her grief was real; Julien saw this and was only the more irritated. He
had a crying need of solitude, and how was he to get it?

Eventually Mathilde, after having tried to melt him by every possible
argument, left him alone. But almost at the same moment, Fouque
presented himself.

"I need to be alone," he said, to this faithful friend, and as he saw
him hesitate: "I am composing a memorial for my petition for pardon ...
one thing more ... do me a favour, and never speak to me about death.
If I have need of any especial services on that day, let me be the
first to speak to you about it."

When Julien had eventually procured solitude, he found himself more
prostrate and more cowardly than he had been before. The little force
which this enfeebled soul still possessed had all been spent in
concealing his condition from mademoiselle de la Mole.

Towards the evening he found consolation in this idea.

"If at the very moment this morning, when death seemed so ugly to
me, I had been given notice of my execution, the public eye would
have acted as a spur to glory, my demeanour would perhaps have had a
certain stiffness about it, like a nervous fop entering a salon. A few
penetrating people, if there are any amongst these provincial might
have managed to divine my weakness.... But no one would have seen it."

And he felt relieved of part of his unhappiness. "I am a coward at this
very moment," he sang to himself, "but no one will know it."

An even more unpleasant episode awaited him on the following day. His
father had been announcing that he would come and see him for some time
past: the old white-haired carpenter appeared in Julien's cell before
he woke up.

Julien felt weak, he was anticipating the most unpleasant reproaches.
His painful emotion was intensified by the fact that on this particular
morning he felt a keen remorse for not loving his father.

"Chance placed us next to each other in the world," he said to himself,
while the turnkey was putting the cell a little in order, "and we have
practically done each other all the harm we possibly could. He has come
to administer the final blow at the moment of my death."

As soon as they were without witnesses, the old man commenced his stern
reproaches.

Julien could not restrain his tears. "What an unworthy weakness," he
said to himself querulously. "He will go about everywhere exaggerating
my lack of courage: what a triumph for the Valenod, and for all the
fatuous hypocrites who rule in Verrieres! They are very great in
France, they combine all the social advantages. But hitherto, I could
at any rate say to myself, it is true they are in receipt of money, and
that all the honours lavished on them, but I have a noble heart.

"But here is a witness whom everyone will believe, and who will testify
to the whole of Verrieres that I shewed weakness when confronted with
death, and who will exaggerate it into the bargain! I shall be taken
for a coward in an ordeal which comes home to all!"

Julien was nearly desperate. He did not know how to get rid of his
father. He felt it absolutely beyond his strength to invent a ruse
capable of deceiving so shrewd an old man.

His mind rapidly reviewed all the alternatives. "I have saved some
money," he suddenly exclaimed.

This inspiration produced a change in the expression of the old man and
in Julien's own condition.

"How ought I to dispose of it?" continued Julien more quietly. The
result had freed him from any feeling of inferiority.

The old carpenter was burning not to let the money slip by him, but
it seemed that Julien wanted to leave part of it to his brothers. He
talked at length and with animation. Julien felt cynical.

"Well, the Lord has given me a message with regard to my will. I will
give a thousand francs to each of my brothers and the rest to you."

"Very good," said the old man. "The rest is due to me: but since God
has been gracious enough to touch your heart, your debts ought to be
paid if you wish to die like a good Christian. There are, moreover, the
expenses of your board and your education, which I advanced to you,
but which you are not thinking of."

"Such is paternal love," repeated Julien to himself, dejectedly, when
he was at last alone. Soon the gaoler appeared.

"Monsieur, I always bring my visitors a good bottle of champagne after
near relations have come to see them. It is a little dear, six francs a
bottle, but it rejoices the heart."

"Bring three glasses," said Julien to him, with a childish eagerness,
"and bring in two of the prisoners whom I have heard walking about
in the corridor." The gaoler brought two men into him who had once
been condemned to the gallows, and had now been convicted of the same
offence again, and were preparing to return to penal servitude. They
were very cheerful scoundrels, and really very remarkable by reason of
their subtlety, their courage, and their coolness.

"If you give me twenty francs," said one of them to Julien, "I will
tell you the story of my life in detail. It's rich."

"But you will lie," said Julien.

"Not me," he answered, "my friend there, who is jealous of my twenty
francs will give me away if I say anything untrue."

His history was atrocious. It was evidence of a courageous heart which
had only one passion--that of money.

After their departure Julien was no longer the same man. All his anger
with himself had disappeared. The awful grief which had been poisoned
and rendered more acute by the weakness of which he had been a victim
since madame de Renal's departure had turned to melancholy.

"If I had been less taken in by appearances," he said to himself, "I
would have had a better chance of seeing that the Paris salons are full
of honest men like my father, or clever scoundrels like those felons.
They are right. The men in the salons never get up in the morning with
this poignant thought in their minds, how am I going to get my dinner?
They boast about their honesty and when they are summoned on the jury,
they take pride in convicting the man who has stolen a silver dish
because he felt starving.

"But if there is a court, and it's a question of losing or winning a
portfolio, my worthy salon people will commit crimes exactly similar to
those, which the need of getting a dinner inspired those two felons to
perpetrate.

"There is no such thing as natural law, the expression is nothing
more than a silly anachronism well worthy of the advocate-general who
harried me the other day, and whose grandfather was enriched by one of
the confiscations of Louis XIV. There is no such thing as right, except
when there is a law to forbid a certain thing under pain of punishment.

"Before law existed, the only natural thing was the strength of the
lion, or the need of a creature who was cold or hungry, to put it
in one word, need. No, the people whom the world honours are merely
villains who have had the good fortune not to have been caught
red-handed. The prosecutor whom society put on my track was enriched by
an infamous act. I have committed a murder, and I am justly condemned,
but the Valenod who has condemned me, is by reason alone of that very
deed, a hundred times more harmful to society.

"Well," added Julien sadly but not angrily, "in spite of his avarice,
my father is worth more than all those men. He never loved me.
The disgrace I bring upon him by an infamous death has proved the
last straw. That fear of lacking money, that distorted view of the
wickedness of mankind, which is called avarice, make him find a
tremendous consolation and sense of security in a sum of three or four
hundred louis, which I have been able to leave him. Some Sunday, after
dinner, he will shew his gold to all the envious men in Verrieres.
'Which of you would not be delighted to have a son guillotined at a
price like this,' will be the message they will read in his eyes."

This philosophy might be true, but it was of such a character as to
make him wish for death. In this way five long days went by. He was
polite and gentle to Mathilde, whom he saw was exasperated by the
most violent jealousy. One evening Julien seriously thought of taking
his own life. His soul was demoralised by the deep unhappiness in
which madame de Renal's departure had thrown him. He could no longer
find pleasure in anything, either in real life or in the sphere of
the imagination. Lack of exercise began to affect his health, and
to produce in him all the weakness and exaltation of a young German
student. He began to lose that virile disdain which repels with a
drastic oath certain undignified ideas which besiege the soul of the
unhappy.

"I loved truth.... Where is it? Hypocrisy everywhere or at any rate
charlatanism. Even in the most virtuous, even in the greatest," and his
lips assumed an expression of disgust. "No, man cannot trust man."

"Madame de ---- when she was making a collection for her poor orphans,
used to tell me that such and such a prince had just given ten louis, a
sheer lie. But what am I talking about. Napoleon at St. Helena ... Pure
charlatanism like the proclamation in favour of the king of Rome.

"Great God! If a man like that at a time when misfortune ought to
summon him sternly to his duty will sink to charlatanism, what is one
to expect from the rest of the human species?"

"Where is truth? In religion. Yes," he added, with a bitter smile
of utter contempt. "In the mouth of the Maslons, the Frilairs, the
Castanedes--perhaps in that true Christianity whose priests were not
paid any more than were the apostles. But St. Paul was paid by the
pleasure of commanding, speaking, getting himself talked about."

"Oh, if there were only a true religion. Fool that I am. I see a Gothic
cathedral and venerable stained-glass windows, and my weak heart
conjures up the priest to fit the scene. My soul would understand him,
my soul has need of him. I only find a nincompoop with dirty hair.
About as comforting as a chevalier de Beauvoisis.

"But a true priest, a Massillon, a Fenelon. Massillon sacrificed
Dubois. Saint-Simon's memoirs have spoilt the illusion of Fenelon, but
he was a true priest anyway. In those days, tender souls could have a
place in the world where they could meet together. We should not then
have been isolated. That good priest would have talked to us of God.
But what God? Not the one of the Bible, a cruel petty despot, full of
vindictiveness, but the God of Voltaire, just, good, infinite."

He was troubled by all the memories of that Bible which he knew by
heart. "But how on earth, when the deity is three people all at the
same time, is one to believe in the great name of GOD, after the
frightful way in which our priests have abused it."

"Living alone. What a torture."

"I am growing mad and unreasonable," said Julien to himself, striking
his forehead. "I am alone here in this cell, but I have not lived
alone on earth. I had the powerful idea of duty. The duty which rightly
or wrongly I laid down for myself, has been to me like the trunk of a
solid tree which I could lean on during the storm, I stumbled, I was
agitated. After all I was only a man, but I was not swept away.

"It must be the damp air of this cell which made me think of being
alone.

"Why should I still play the hypocrite by cursing hypocrisy? It is
neither death, nor the cell, nor the damp air, but madame de Renal's
absence which prostrates me. If, in order to see her at Verrieres, I
had to live whole weeks at Verrieres concealed in the cellars of her
house, would I complain?"

"The influence of my contemporaries wins the day," he said aloud, with
a bitter laugh. "Though I am talking to myself and within an ace of
death, I still play the hypocrite. Oh you nineteenth century! A hunter
fires a gun shot in the forest, his quarry falls, he hastens forward
to seize it. His foot knocks against a two-foot anthill, knocks down
the dwelling place of the ants, and scatters the ants and their eggs
far and wide. The most philosophic among the ants will never be able to
understand that black, gigantic and terrifying body, the hunter's boot,
which suddenly invaded their home with incredible rapidity, preceded by
a frightful noise, and accompanied by flashes of reddish fire."

"In the same way, death, life and eternity, are very simple things for
anyone who has organs sufficiently vast to conceive them. An ephemeral
fly is born at nine o'clock in the morning in the long summer days, to
die at five o'clock in the evening. How is it to understand the word
'night'?"

"Give it five more hours of existence, and it will see night, and
understand its meaning."

"So, in my case, I shall die at the age of twenty-three. Give me five
more years of life in order to live with madame de Renal."

He began to laugh like Mephistopheles. How foolish to debate these
great problems.

"(1). I am as hypocritical as though there were someone there to listen
to me.

"(2). I am forgetting to live and to love when I have so few days left
to live. Alas, madame de Renal is absent; perhaps her husband will
not let her come back to Besancon any more, to go on compromising her
honour."

"That is what makes me lonely, and not the absence of a God who is
just, good and omnipotent, devoid of malice, and in no wise greedy of
vengeance."

"Oh, if He did exist. Alas I should fall at His feet. I have deserved
death, I should say to Him, but oh Thou great God, good God, indulgent
God, give me back her whom I love!"

By this time the night was far advanced. After an hour or two of
peaceful sleep, Fouque arrived.

Julien felt strongly resolute, like a man who sees to the bottom of his
soul.

CHAPTER LXXV

"I cannot play such a trick on that poor abbe Chas-Bernard, as to
summon him," he said to Fouque: "it would prevent him from dining for
three whole days.--But try and find some Jansenist who is a friend of
M. Pirard."

Fouque was impatiently waiting for this suggestion. Julien acquitted
himself becomingly of all the duty a man owes to provincial opinion.
Thanks to M. the abbe de Frilair, and in spite of his bad choice of a
confessor, Julien enjoyed in his cell the protection of the priestly
congregation; with a little more diplomacy he might have managed to
escape. But the bad air of the cell produced its effect, and his
strength of mind diminished. But this only intensified his happiness at
madame de Renal's return.

"My first duty is towards you, my dear," she said as she embraced him;
"I have run away from Verrieres."

Julien felt no petty vanity in his relations with her, and told her all
his weaknesses. She was good and charming to him.

In the evening she had scarcely left the prison before she made the
priest, who had clung on to Julien like a veritable prey, go to her
aunt's: as his only object was to win prestige among the young women
who belonged to good Besancon society, madame de Renal easily prevailed
upon him to go and perform a novena at the abbey of Bray-le-Haut.

No words can do justice to the madness and extravagance of Julien's
love.

By means of gold, and by using and abusing the influence of her aunt,
who was devout, rich and well-known, madame de Renal managed to see him
twice a day.

At this news, Mathilde's jealousy reached a pitch of positive madness.
M. de Frilair had confessed to her that all his influence did not go
so far as to admit of flouting the conventions by allowing her to
see her sweetheart more than once every day. Mathilde had madame de
Renal followed so as to know the smallest thing she did. M. de Frilair
exhausted all the resources of an extremely clever intellect in order
to prove to her that Julien was unworthy of her.

Plunged though she was in all these torments, she only loved him the
more, and made a horrible scene nearly every day.

Julien wished, with all his might, to behave to the very end like an
honourable man towards this poor young girl whom he had so strangely
compromised, but the reckless love which he felt for madame de Renal
swept him away at every single minute. When he could not manage to
persuade Mathilde of the innocence of her rival's visits by all his
thin excuses, he would say to himself: "at any rate the end of the
drama ought to be quite near. The very fact of not being able to lie
better will be an excuse for me."

Mademoiselle de La Mole learnt of the death of the marquis de
Croisenois. The rich M. de Thaler had indulged in some unpleasant
remarks concerning Mathilde's disappearance: M. de Croisenois went
and asked him to recant them: M. de Thaler showed him some anonymous
letters which had been sent to him, and which were full of details so
artfully put together that the poor marquis could not help catching a
glimpse of the truth.

M. de Thaler indulged in some jests which were devoid of all taste.
Maddened by anger and unhappiness, M. de Croisenois demanded such
unqualified satisfaction, that the millionaire preferred to fight a
duel. Stupidity triumphed, and one of the most lovable of men met with
his death before he was twenty-four.

This death produced a strange and morbid impression on Julien's
demoralised soul.

"Poor Croisenois," he said to Mathilde, "really behaved very reasonably
and very honourably towards us; he had ample ground for hating me and
picking a quarrel with me, by reason of your indiscretion in your
mother's salon; for the hatred which follows on contempt is usually
frenzied."

M. de Croisenois' death changed all Julien's ideas concerning
Mathilde's future. He spent several days in proving to her that she
ought to accept the hand of M. de Luz. "He is a nervous man, not too
much of a Jesuit, and will doubtless be a candidate," he said to her.
"He has a more sinister and persevering ambition than poor Croisenois,
and as there has never been a dukedom in his family, he will be only
too glad to marry Julien Sorel's widow."

"A widow, though, who scorns the grand passions," answered Mathilde
coldly, "for she has lived long enough to see her lover prefer to
her after six months another woman who was the origin of all their
unhappiness."

"You are unjust! Madame de Renal's visits will furnish my advocate
at Paris, who is endeavouring to procure my pardon, with the subject
matter for some sensational phrases; he will depict the murderer
honoured by the attention of his victim. That may produce an
impression, and perhaps some day or other, you will see me provide the
plot of some melodrama or other, etc., etc."

A furious and impotent jealousy, a prolonged and hopeless unhappiness
(for even supposing Julien was saved, how was she to win back his
heart?), coupled with her shame and anguish at loving this unfaithful
lover more than ever had plunged mademoiselle de la Mole into a gloomy
silence, from which all the careful assiduity of M. de Frilair was as
little able to draw her as the rugged frankness of Fouque.

As for Julien, except in those moments which were taken up by
Mathilde's presence, he lived on love with scarcely a thought for the
future.

"In former days," Julien said to her, "when I might have been so happy,
during our walks in the wood of Vergy, a frenzied ambition swept my
soul into the realms of imagination. Instead of pressing to my heart
that charming arm which is so near my lips, the thoughts of my future
took me away from you; I was engaged in countless combats which I
should have to sustain in order to lay the foundations of a colossal
fortune. No, I should have died without knowing what happiness was if
you had not come to see me in this prison."

Two episodes ruffled this tranquil life. Julien's confessor, Jansenist
though he was, was not proof against an intrigue of the Jesuits, and
became their tool without knowing it.

He came to tell him one day that unless he meant to fall into the awful
sin of suicide, he ought to take every possible step to procure his
pardon. Consequently, as the clergy have a great deal of influence with
the minister of Justice at Paris, an easy means presented itself; he
ought to become converted with all publicity.

"With publicity," repeated Julien. "Ha, Ha! I have caught you at it--I
have caught you as well, my father, playing a part like any missionary."

"Your youth," replied the Jansenist gravely, "the interesting
appearance which Providence has given you, the still unsolved mystery
of the motive for your crime, the heroic steps which mademoiselle de
la Mole has so freely taken on your behalf, everything, up to the
surprising affection which your victim manifests towards you, has
contributed to make you the hero of the young women of Besancon.
They have forgotten everything, even politics, on your account. Your
conversion will reverberate in their hearts and will leave behind it a
deep impression. You can be of considerable use to religion, and I was
about to hesitate for the trivial reason that in a similar circumstance
the Jesuits would follow a similar course. But if I did, even in the
one case which has escaped their greedy clutches they would still be
exercising their mischief. The tears which your conversation will
cause to be shed will annul the poisonous effect of ten editions of
Voltaire's works."

"And what will be left for me," answered Julien, coldly, "if I despise
myself? I have been ambitious; I do not mean to blame myself in any
way. Further, I have acted in accordance with the code of the age. Now
I am living from day to day. But I should make myself very unhappy
if I were to yield to what the locality would regard as a piece of
cowardice...."

Madame de Renal was responsible for the other episode which affected
Julien in quite another way. Some intriguing woman friend or other had
managed to persuade this naive and timid soul that it was her duty
to leave for St. Cloud, and go and throw herself at the feet of King
Charles X.

She had made the sacrifice of separating from Julien, and after
a strain as great as that, she no longer thought anything of the
unpleasantness of making an exhibition of herself, though in former
times she would have thought that worse than death.

"I will go to the king. I will confess freely that you are my lover.
The life of a man, and of a man like Julien, too, ought to prevail over
every consideration. I will tell him that it was because of jealousy
that you made an attempt upon my life. There are numerous instances of
poor young people who have been saved in such a case by the clemency of
the jury or of the king."

"I will leave off seeing you; I will shut myself up in my prison,"
exclaimed Julien, "and you can be quite certain that if you do not
promise me to take no step which will make a public exhibition of us
both, I will kill myself in despair the day afterwards. This idea of
going to Paris is not your own. Tell me the name of the intriguing
woman who suggested it to you.

"Let us be happy during the small number of days of this short life.
Let us hide our existence; my crime was only too self-evident.
Mademoiselle de la Mole enjoys all possible influence at Paris. Take
it from me that she has done all that is humanly possible. Here in
the provinces I have all the men of wealth and prestige against me.
Your conduct will still further aggravate those rich and essentially
moderate people to whom life comes so easy.... Let us not give the
Maslons, the Valenods, and the thousand other people who are worth more
than they, anything to laugh about."

Julien came to find the bad air of the cell unbearable. Fortunately,
nature was rejoicing in a fine sunshine on the day when they announced
to him that he would have to die, and he was in a courageous vein.
He found walking in the open air as delicious a sensation as the
navigator, who has been at sea for a long time, finds walking on the
ground. "Come on, everything is going all right," he said to himself.
"I am not lacking in courage."

His head had never looked so poetical as at that moment when it was on
the point of falling. The sweet minutes which he had formerly spent in
the woods of Vergy crowded back upon his mind with extreme force.

Everything went off simply, decorously, and without any affectation on
his part.

Two days before he had said to Fouque: "I cannot guarantee not to
show some emotion. This dense, squalid cell gives me fits of fever in
which I do not recognise myself, but fear?--no! I shall not be seen to
flinch."

He had made his arrangements in advance for Fouque to take Mathilde and
madame de Renal away on the morning of his last day.

"Drive them away in the same carriage," he had said. "Do you see that
the post-horses do not leave off galloping. They will either fall into
each other's arms, or manifest towards each other a mortal hatred.
In either case the poor women will have something to distract them a
little from their awful grief."

Julien had made madame de Renal swear that she would live to look after
Mathilde's son.

"Who knows? Perhaps we have still some sensations after our death," he
had said one day to Fouque. "I should like to rest, for rest is the
right word, in that little grotto in the great mountain which dominates
Verrieres. Many a time, as I have told you, I have spent the night
alone in that grotto, and as my gaze would plunge far and wide over the
richest provinces of France, ambition would inflame my heart. In those
days it was my passion.... Anyway, I hold that grotto dear, and one
cannot dispute that its situation might well arouse the desires of the
philosopher's soul.... Well, you know! those good priests of Besancon
will make money out of everything. If you know how to manage it, they
will sell you my mortal remains."

Fouque succeeded in this melancholy business. He was passing the night
alone in his room by his friend's body when, to his great surprise, he
saw Mathilde come in. A few hours before he had left her ten leagues
from Besancon. Her face and eyes looked distraught.

"I want to see him," she said.

Fouque had not the courage either to speak or get up. He pointed with
his finger to a big blue cloak on the floor; there was wrapped in it
all that remained of Julien.

She threw herself on her knees. The memory of Boniface de la Mole, and
of Marguerite of Navarre gave her, no doubt, a superhuman courage. Her
trembling hands undid the cloak. Fouque turned away his eyes.

He heard Mathilde walking feverishly about the room. She lit several
candles. When Fouque could bring himself to look at her, she had placed
Julien's head on a little marble table in front of her, and was kissing
it on the forehead.

Mathilde followed her lover to the tomb which he had chosen. A great
number of priests convoyed the bier, and, alone in her draped carriage,
without anyone knowing it, she carried on her knees the head of the man
whom she had loved so much.

When they arrived in this way at the most elevated peak of the high
mountains of the Jura, twenty priests celebrated the service of the
dead in the middle of the night in this little grotto, which was
magnificently illuminated by a countless number of wax candles.
Attracted by this strange and singular ceremony, all the inhabitants
of the little mountain villages which the funeral had passed through,
followed it.

Mathilde appeared in their midst in long mourning garments, and had
several thousands of five-franc pieces thrown to them at the end of the
service.

When she was left alone with Fouque, she insisted on burying her
lover's head with her own hands. Fouque nearly went mad with grief.

Mathilde took care that this wild grotto should be decorated with
marble monuments that had been sculpted in Italy at great expense.

Madame de Renal kept her promise. She did not try to make any attempt
upon her life; but she died embracing her children, three days after
Julien.

THE END.

Julien is overjoyed by a visit from Mme. de Renal. He agrees to appeal if she will visit him every day in his cell. They know complete happiness. After three days, M. de Renal has ordered that his wife return to Verrieres. An ambitious priest has undertaken the conversion of Julien and has posted himself in all weather outside the prison, where much to Julien's annoyance, he attracts a great crowd. In desperation, Julien admits him, then rids himself of the troublesome priest by sending him to say masses for the poor. Mathilde arrives on the heels of the departing priest to relate the treachery of Valenod and to try to convince Julien of the necessity of requesting a reprieve. Julien finally sends her away, requesting that she listen to a mass for him. The much dreaded visit of his father occurs. Sorel ceases his reproaches when Julien suggests that he will bequeath his money to his father and brothers. Julien then shares a bottle of champagne with two other prisoners and listens to the life story of one. Finally, Julien is left to his gloomy meditations. Julien submits to confession, and provincial public opinion is thereby satisfied. Mme. de Renal has left Verrieres and, living with her aunt in Besancon, visits Julien twice a day. This bliss is interrupted by the daily visits of Mathilde. M. de Croisenois has been killed in a duel defending the honor of Mathilde. Julien angrily rejects a Jansenist's entreaties that he make a spectacular conversion, which, according to the priest, would encourage many lost souls to return to the Church. Julien must dissuade Mme. de Renal from begging a reprieve from the king at Saint-Cloud. After the execution, Mathilde visits the cell and carries off Julien's head. Fouque, carrying out Julien's last wishes, negotiates his burial on a high hill overlooking Verrieres. Mathilde accompanies the procession and with her own hands buries Julien's head. Mme. de Renal dies three days after the death of Julien.

In the time of the novel, the action of Chapter 43 occurs only one hour after Mathilde had left Julien's cell in the preceding chapter. In Chapter 43, the incident of greatest importance is, of course, Mme. de Renal's visit with Julien. Then in almost a sentence, Stendhal indicates that "three days after these visits had been taking place," M. de Renal recalls her home. The end of the chapter elaborates another short incident, the interview of the priest, and Chapter 44 opens with the immediate reaction of Julien after the priest has left. This is typical of Stendhal's treatment of time and events. A single chapter develops one incident , culminates it , and introduces a second . The long-awaited event is the reunion of Mme. de Renal with Julien. Stendhal tells us that Julien has never known such happiness, although the author's "pudeur" prevents him, as usual, from elaborating the ecstatic happiness that both enjoy during this supreme moment. He passes over it with: "much later, when they were able to speak." Mme. de Renal loves Julien as a human should love only God. This is no doubt the love that Stendhal would have wanted to receive. Mme. de Renal's sadness and admission of her disgrace prompt a "new happiness" in Julien. In Stendhal's conception of love, one constantly makes new discoveries in the object, which increases one's love for her. We are now aware of the extent of Julien's love for Mme. de Renal and of how instrumental it has been in his calm acceptance of the death penalty up to this point. Imagining himself bereft of her love, Julien was prepared for death. Now, a new possibility of happiness opens up before him, and he will really know the terror of the condemned man. The priest's visit serves to materialize Julien's despair, and thereafter, he sees death as horrible. It was no doubt Stendhal's "pudeur" that prevented him from giving titles to the last four chapters in the original version of the novel. It is as if the suggestion of privacy were thus made after Julien has been condemned to death. Within one short chapter, Julien moves from the heights of bliss to the depths of despair. Weeping about his own death, Julien will be visited, in Chapter 44, by three more "misfortunes": the visits of Mathilde and of his father, and exposure to the criminals with whom he shares a bottle of champagne. From these he will draw food for meditation. During these meditations, the reader will witness, for the last time, Julien's solitude. There exists in this chapter the same movement as in the preceding one, but in reverse: From the depths of despair, Julien will emerge "strong and resolute, as a man who sees clearly into his own heart." Julien finally learns about the machinations of Mathilde and Frilair. The latter, no doubt in an effort to mitigate the betrayal he has suffered personally from Valenod, has tried to shift the blame for Julien's conviction to Julien himself. Frilair sees the courtroom oration as an invitation for condemnation to death. Julien has great difficulty in concealing his despair from Mathilde. His remark concerning the prisoner's public situation vis-a-vis the world sets the tone for the chapter. Just as in life outside, Julien is forced to adopt a hypocritical air in dealing with his visitors to protect what remains of his courage. The interlude of the prisoners is at once a moment of respite, of relief -- an escape from the horror of the present moment -- thereby permitting Julien to transform his self-reproach and grief into a more objective melancholy, and a pendant to the visit by his father. Both incidents are inspirational to his musings in the latter part of the chapter. The prisoner episode is reminiscent of the appearance of Geronomo at the Renal home in Part I, which constituted a sort of poetic escape from the misfortunes of the family. Here, there is a more macabre note. Greed for money has motivated the life of this criminal, otherwise endowed with a brave heart. Thus taken out of himself, Julien is able to recapture the necessary detachment to arrive at the re-creation of the required attitude before death. From Julien's meditations result some of the very important ingredients of beylism: the need to see man for what he is, not to be taken in, not to betray one's real nature; the danger of trading the present moment of happiness, so hard to come by, for sterile meditations about the unfathomable; in the absence of any ethical basis of society, the necessity of the creation of and adherence to a private code of morality based upon duty toward oneself. Five days elapsed during Chapter 44. Stendhal terminates his novel with rapidity. One would be hard put to say over what extent of time the action takes place in the final chapter. It opens as a continuation of the final scene of the preceding chapter: Fouque awakens Julien, the latter having regained his composure and resolution. Stendhal is winding up, moving from Julien's relationship to Mme. de Renal, to Mathilde, almost without transition. Julien admits to Mme. de Renal that he mistook, at the time, the real happiness he had known with her in Vergy. Mathilde is insanely jealous of Mme. de Renal's visits, and Julien's own role toward Mathilde has now become almost paternal, just as Mme. de Renal's love for him still has a maternal character. Stendhal's refusal to indulge in hyperbolic description and pathos is evidenced by his very sparse treatment of the execution of Julien, which has been termed literary euthanasia. We are told that the weather was beautiful and that Julien was poetic, courageous, observant of decorum. Stendhal even makes Julien "speak" after the narration of his death, as instructions to Fouque concerning burial are given. Note the final utilization of the "high place" motif in the burial of Julien. The cell has been the scene of his last happiness, and the heights culminate this representation beyond death. It is fitting that Mathilde be portrayed in this macabre scene retrieving Julien's head. It permits her to play the final scene in the drama from the past which she has re-enacted in her affair with Julien. There is likewise a kind of poetic justice attained thereby -- her "amour de tete" is recompensed. One wonders at the future of Mathilde de la Mole. Stendhal has hinted in a previous chapter that Frilair's attempts to replace Julien had not yet been noticed by Mathilde. As for Mme. de Renal, her death is the logical consequence of her character and conduct. She and Julien have shared a more vital identity. Mathilde and Mme. de Renal, each reflecting aspects of Julien, are complementary.