CHAPTER XXXV

SENSIBILITY AND A GREAT PIOUS LADY

        An idea which has any life in it seems like a crudity,
        so accustomed are they to colourless expression. Woe to
        him who introduces new ideas into his conversation!
                                          --_Faublas_.

This was the stage Julien had reached, when after several months of
probation the steward of the household handed him the third quarter of
his wages. M. de la Mole had entrusted him with the administration of
his estates in Brittany and Normandy. Julien made frequent journeys
there. He had chief control of the correspondence relating to the
famous lawsuit with the abbe de Frilair. M. Pirard had instructed him.

On the data of the short notes which the marquis would scribble on the
margin of all the various paper which were addressed to him, Julien
would compose answers which were nearly all signed.

At the Theology School his professors complained of his lack of
industry, but they did not fail to regard him as one of their most
distinguished pupils. This varied work, tackled as it was with all
the ardour of suffering ambition, soon robbed Julien of that fresh
complexion which he had brought from the provinces. His pallor
constituted one of his merits in the eyes of his comrades, the young
seminarist; he found them much less malicious, much less ready to bow
down to a silver crown than those of Besancon; they thought he was
consumptive. The marquis had given him a horse.

Julien fearing that he might meet people during his rides on horseback,
had given out that this exercise had been prescribed by the doctors.
The abbe Pirard had taken him into several Jansenist Societies. Julien
was astonished; the idea of religion was indissolubly connected in his
mind with the ideas of hypocrisy and covetousness. He admired those
austere pious men who never gave a thought to their income. Several
Jansenists became friendly with him and would give him advice. A new
world opened before him. At the Jansenists he got to know a comte
Altamira, who was nearly six feet high, was a Liberal, a believer, and
had been condemned to death in his own country. He was struck by the
strange contrast of devoutness and love of liberty.

Julien's relations with the young comte had become cool. Norbert
had thought that he answered the jokes of his friends with too much
sharpness. Julien had committed one or two breaches of social etiquette
and vowed to himself that he would never speak to mademoiselle
Mathilde. They were always perfectly polite to him in the Hotel de
la Mole but he felt himself quite lost. His provincial common sense
explained this result by the vulgar proverb _Tout beau tout nouveau_.

He gradually came to have a little more penetration than during his
first days, or it may have been that the first glamour of Parisian
urbanity had passed off. As soon as he left off working, he fell a prey
to a mortal boredom. He was experiencing the withering effects of that
admirable politeness so typical of good society, which is so perfectly
modulated to every degree of the social hierarchy.

No doubt the provinces can be reproached with a commonness and lack of
polish in their tone; but they show a certain amount of passion, when
they answer you. Julien's self-respect was never wounded at the Hotel
de la Mole, but he often felt at the end of the day as though he would
like to cry. A cafe-waiter in the provinces will take an interest in
you if you happen to have some accident as you enter his cafe, but if
this accident has everything about it which is disagreeable to your
vanity, he will repeat ten times in succession the very word which
tortures you, as he tells you how sorry he is. At Paris they make a
point of laughing in secret, but you always remain a stranger.

We pass in silence over a number of little episodes which would have
made Julien ridiculous, if he had not been to some extent above
ridicule. A foolish sensibility resulted in his committing innumerable
acts of bad taste. All his pleasures were precautions; he practiced
pistol shooting every day, he was one of the promising pupils of the
most famous maitres d'armes. As soon as he had an instant to himself,
instead of employing it in reading as he did before, he would rush
off to the riding school and ask for the most vicious horses. When he
went out with the master of the riding school he was almost invariably
thrown.

The marquis found him convenient by reason of his persistent industry,
his silence and his intelligence, and gradually took him into his
confidence with regard to all his affairs, which were in any way
difficult to unravel. The marquis was a sagacious business man on all
those occasions when his lofty ambition gave him some respite; having
special information within his reach, he would speculate successfully
on the Exchange. He would buy mansions and forests; but he would easily
lose his temper. He would give away hundreds of louis, and would go
to law for a few hundred francs. Rich men with a lofty spirit have
recourse to business not so much for results as for distraction. The
marquis needed a chief of staff who would put all his money affairs
into clear and lucid order. Madame de la Mole, although of so even a
character, sometimes made fun of Julien. Great ladies have a horror
of those unexpected incidents which are produced by a sensitive
character; they constitute the opposite pole of etiquette. On two or
three occasions the marquis took his part. "If he is ridiculous in your
salon, he triumphs in his office." Julien on his side thought he had
caught the marquise's secret. She deigned to manifest an interest in
everything the minute the Baron de la Joumate was announced. He was a
cold individual with an expressionless physiognomy. He was tall, thin,
ugly, very well dressed, passed his life in his chateau, and generally
speaking said nothing about anything. Such was his outlook on life.
Madame de la Mole would have been happy for the first time in her life
if she could have made him her daughter's husband.

CHAPTER XXXVI

PRONUNCIATION

        If fatuity is pardonable it is in one's first youth,
        for it is then the exaggeration of an amiable thing. It
        needs an air of love, gaiety, nonchalance. But fatuity
        coupled with self-importance; fatuity with a solemn and
        self-sufficient manner! This extravagance of stupidity
        was reserved for the XIXth century. Such are the persons
        who want to unchain the _hydra of revolutions_!--LE
        JOHANNISBURG, _Pamphlet_.

Considering that he was a new arrival who was too disdainful to put any
questions, Julien did not fall into unduly great mistakes. One day when
he was forced into a cafe in the Rue St. Honore by a sudden shower,
a big man in a beaver coat, surprised by his gloomy look, looked at
him in return just as mademoiselle Amanda's lover had done before at
Besancon.

Julien had reproached himself too often for having endured the other
insult to put up with this stare. He asked for an explanation. The
man in the tail-coat immediately addressed him in the lowest and most
insulting language. All the people in the cafe surrounded them. The
passers-by stopped before the door. Julien always carried some little
pistols as a matter of precaution. His hand was grasping them nervously
in his pocket. Nevertheless he behaved wisely and confined himself to
repeating to his man "Monsieur, your address, I despise you."

The persistency in which he kept repeating these six words eventually
impressed the crowd.

"By Jove, the other who's talking all to himself ought to give him
his address," they exclaimed. The man in the tail-coat hearing this
repeated several times, flung five or six cards in Julien's face.

Fortunately none of them hit him in the face; he had mentally resolved
not to use his pistols except in the event of his being hit. The man
went away, though not without turning round from time to time to shake
his fist and hurl insults at him.

Julien was bathed in sweat. "So," he said angrily to himself, "the
meanest of mankind has it in his power to affect me as much as this.
How am I to kill so humiliating a sensitiveness?"

Where was he to find a second? He did not have a single friend. He had
several acquaintances, but they all regularly left him after six weeks
of social intercourse. "I am unsociable," he thought, and "I am now
cruelly punished for it." Finally it occurred to him to rout out an old
lieutenant of the 96th, named Lievin, a poor devil with whom he often
used to fence. Julien was frank with him.

"I am quite willing to be your second," said Lievin, "but on one
condition. If you fail to wound your man you will fight with me
straight away."

"Agreed," said Julien quite delighted; and they went to find M. de
Beauvoisis at the address indicated on his card at the end of the
Faubourg Saint Germain.

It was seven o'clock in the morning. It was only when he was being
ushered in, that Julien thought that it might quite well be the young
relation of Madame de Renal, who had once been employed at the Rome
or Naples Embassy, and who had given the singer Geronimo a letter of
introduction.

Julien gave one of the cards which had been flung at him the previous
evening together with one of his own to a tall valet.

He and his second were kept waiting for a good three-quarters of
an hour. Eventually they were ushered in to a elegantly furnished
apartment. They found there a tall young man who was dressed like a
doll. His features presented the perfection and the lack of expression
of Greek beauty. His head, which was remarkably straight, had the
finest blonde hair. It was dressed with great care and not a single
hair was out of place.

"It was to have his hair done like this, that is why this damned
fop has kept us waiting," thought the lieutenant of the 96th. The
variegated dressing gown, the morning trousers, everything down to the
embroidered slippers was correct. He was marvellously well-groomed.
His blank and aristocratic physiognomy betokened rare and orthodox
ideas; the ideal of a Metternichian diplomatist. Napoleon as well did
not like to have in his entourage officers who thought.

Julien, to whom his lieutenant of the 96th had explained, that keeping
him waiting was an additional insult after having thrown his card
so rudely in his face, entered brusquely M. de Beauvoisis' room. He
intended to be insolent, but at the same time to exhibit good form.

Julien was so astonished by the niceness of M. de Beauvoisis'
manners and by the combination of formality, self-importance, and
self-satisfaction in his demeanour, by the admirable elegance of
everything that surrounded him, that he abandoned immediately all
idea of being insolent. It was not his man of the day before. His
astonishment was so great at meeting so distinguished a person, instead
of the rude creature whom he was looking for, that he could not find a
single word to say. He presented one of the cards which had been thrown
at him.

"That's my name," said the young diplomat, not at all impressed by
Julien's black suit at seven o'clock in the morning, "but I do not
understand the honour."

His manner of pronouncing these last words revived a little of Julien's
bad temper.

"I have come to fight you, monsieur," and he explained in a few words
the whole matter.

M. Charles de Beauvoisis, after mature reflection, was fairly satisfied
with the cut of Julien's black suit.

"It comes from Staub, that's clear," he said to himself, as he heard
him speak. "That waistcoat is in good taste. Those boots are all right,
but on the other hand just think of wearing a black suit in the early
morning! It must be to have a better chance of not being hit," said the
chevalier de Beauvoisis to himself.

After he had given himself this explanation he became again perfectly
polite to Julien, and almost treated him as an equal. The conversation
was fairly lengthy, for the matter was a delicate one, but eventually
Julien could not refuse to acknowledge the actual facts. The perfectly
mannered young man before him did not bear any resemblance to the
vulgar fellow who had insulted him the previous day.

Julien felt an invincible repugnance towards him. He noted the
self-sufficiency of the chevalier de Beauvoisis, for that was the name
by which he had referred to himself, shocked as he was when Julien
called him simply "Monsieur."

He admired his gravity which, though tinged with a certain modest
fatuity, he never abandoned for a single moment. He was astonished at
his singular manner of moving his tongue as he pronounced his words,
but after all, this did not present the slightest excuse for picking a
quarrel.

The young diplomatist very graciously offered to fight, but the
ex-lieutenant of the 96th, who had been sitting down for an hour with
his legs wide apart, his hands on his thigh, and his elbows stuck out,
decided that his friend, monsieur de Sorel, was not the kind to go and
pick a quarrel with a man because someone else had stolen that man's
visiting cards.

Julien went out in a very bad temper. The chevalier de Beauvoisis'
carriage was waiting for him in the courtyard before the steps. By
chance Julien raised his eyes and recognised in the coachman his man of
the day before.

Seeing him, catching hold of him by his big jacket, tumbling him down
from his seat, and horse-whipping him thoroughly took scarcely a moment.

Two lackeys tried to defend their comrade. Julien received some blows
from their fists. At the same moment, he cocked one of his little
pistols and fired on them. They took to flight. All this took about a
minute.

The chevalier de Beauvoisis descended the staircase with the most
pleasing gravity, repeating with his lordly pronunciation, "What is
this, what is this." He was manifestly very curious, but his diplomatic
importance would not allow him to evince any greater interest.

When he knew what it was all about, a certain haughtiness tried to
assert itself in that expression of slightly playful nonchalance which
should never leave a diplomatist's face.

The lieutenant of the 96th began to realise that M. de Beauvoisis was
anxious to fight. He was also diplomatic enough to wish to reserve for
his friend the advantage of taking the initiative.

"This time," he exclaimed, "there is ground for duel."

"I think there's enough," answered the diplomat.

"Turn that rascal out," he said to his lackeys. "Let someone else get
up."

The door of the carriage was open. The chevalier insisted on doing
the honours to Julien and his friend. They sent for a friend of M. de
Beauvoisis, who chose them a quiet place. The conversation on their
way went as a matter of fact very well indeed. The only extraordinary
feature was the diplomatist in a dressing-gown.

"These gentlemen, although very noble, are by no means as boring,"
thought Julien, "as the people who come and dine at M. de la Mole's,
and I can see why," he added a moment afterwards. "They allow
themselves to be indecent." They talked about the dancers that the
public had distinguished with its favour at the ballet presented
the night before. The two gentlemen alluded to some spicy anecdotes
of which Julien and his second, the lieutenant of the 96th, were
absolutely ignorant.

Julien was not stupid enough to pretend to know them. He confessed his
ignorance with a good grace. This frankness pleased the chevalier's
friend. He told him these stories with the greatest detail and
extremely well.

One thing astonished Julien inordinately. The carriage was pulled up
for a moment by an altar which was being built in the middle of the
street for the procession of Corpus Christi Day. The two gentlemen
indulged in the luxury of several jests. According to them, the cure
was the son of an archbishop. Such a joke would never have been heard
in the house of M. de la Mole, who was trying to be made a duke. The
duel was over in a minute. Julien got a ball in his arm. They bandaged
it with handkerchiefs which they wetted with brandy, and the chevalier
de Beauvoisis requested Julien with great politeness to allow him to
take him home in the same carriage that had brought him. When Julien
gave the name of M. de la Mole's hotel, the young diplomat and his
friend exchanged looks. Julien's fiacre was here, but they found these
gentlemen's conversation more entertaining than that of the good
lieutenant of the 96th.

"By Jove, so a duel is only that," thought Julien. "What luck I found
that coachman again. How unhappy I should have been if I had had to put
up with that insult as well." The amusing conversation had scarcely
been interrupted. Julien realised that the affectation of diplomatists
is good for something.

"So ennui," he said himself, "is not a necessary incident of
conversation among well-born people. These gentlemen make fun of the
Corpus Christi procession and dare to tell extremely obscene anecdotes,
and what is more, with picturesque details. The only thing they really
lack is the ability to discuss politics logically, and that lack is
more than compensated by their graceful tone, and the perfect aptness
of their expressions." Julien experienced a lively inclination for
them. "How happy I should be to see them often."

They had scarcely taken leave of each other before the chevalier de
Beauvoisis had enquiries made. They were not brilliant.

He was very curious to know his man. Could he decently pay a call on
him? The little information he had succeeded in obtaining from him was
not of an encouraging character.

"Oh, this is awful," he said to his second. "I can't possibly own up
to having fought a duel with a mere secretary of M. de la Mole, simply
because my coachman stole my visiting cards."

"There is no doubt that all this may make you look ridiculous."

That very evening the chevalier de Beauvoisis and his friend said
everywhere that this M. Sorel who was, moreover, quite a charming young
man, was a natural son of an intimate friend of the marquis de la Mole.
This statement was readily accepted. Once it was established, the young
diplomatist and friend deigned to call several times on Julien during
the fortnight. Julien owned to them that he had only been to the Opera
once in his life. "That is awful," said one, "that is the only place
one does go to. Your first visit must be when they are playing the
'_Comte Ory_.'"

The chevalier de Beauvoisis introduced him at the opera to the famous
singer Geronimo, who was then enjoying an immense success.

Julien almost paid court to the chevalier. His mixture of self-respect,
mysterious self-importance, and fatuous youthfulness fascinated him.
The chevalier, for example, would stammer a little, simply because he
had the honour of seeing frequently a very noble lord who had this
defect. Julien had never before found combined in one and the same
person the drollery which amuses, and those perfect manners which
should be the object of a poor provincial's imitation.

He was seen at the opera with the chevalier de Beauvoisis. This
association got him talked about.

"Well," said M. de la Mole to him one day, "so here you are, the
natural son of a rich gentleman of Franche-Comte, an intimate friend of
mine."

The marquis cut Julien short as he started to protest that he had not
in any way contributed to obtaining any credence for this rumour.

"M. de Beauvoisis did not fancy having fought a duel with the son of a
carpenter."

"I know it, I know it," said M. de la Mole. "It is my business now to
give some consistency to this story which rather suits me. But I have
one favour to ask of you, which will only cost you a bare half-hour of
your time. Go and watch every opera day at half-past eleven all the
people in society coming out in the vestibule. I still see you have
certain provincial mannerisms. You must rid yourself of them. Besides
it would do no harm to know, at any rate by sight, some of the great
personages to whom I may one day send you on a commission. Call in at
the box office to get identified. Admission has been secured for you."

CHAPTER XXXVII

AN ATTACK OF GOUT

     And I got advancement, not on my merit, but because my
                master had the gout.--_Bertolotti_.

The reader is perhaps surprised by this free and almost friendly tone.
We had forgotten to say that the marquis had been confined to his house
for six weeks by the gout.

Mademoiselle de la Mole and her mother were at Hyeres near the
marquise's mother. The comte Norbert only saw his father at stray
moments. They got on very well, but had nothing to say to each other.
M. de la Mole, reduced to Julien's society, was astonished to find that
he possessed ideas. He made him read the papers to him. Soon the young
secretary was competent to pick out the interesting passages. There was
a new paper which the marquis abhorred. He had sworn never to read it,
and spoke about it every day. Julien laughed. In his irritation against
the present time, the marquis made him read Livy aloud. The improvised
translation of the Latin text amused him. The marquis said one day
in that tone of excessive politeness which frequently tried Julien's
patience,

"Allow me to present you with a blue suit, my dear Sorel. When you find
it convenient to wear it and to come and see me, I shall look upon you
as the younger brother of the comte de Chaulnes, that is to say, the
son of my friend the old Duke."

Julien did not quite gather what it was all about, but he tried a visit
in the blue suit that very evening. The marquis treated him like an
equal. Julien had a spirit capable of appreciating true politeness, but
he had no idea of nuances. Before this freak of the marquis's he would
have sworn that it was impossible for him to have been treated with
more consideration. "What an admirable talent," said Julien to himself.
When he got up to go, the marquis apologised for not being able to
accompany him by reason of his gout.

Julien was preoccupied by this strange idea. "Perhaps he is making fun
of me," he thought. He went to ask advice of the abbe Pirard, who being
less polite than the marquis, made no other answer except to whistle
and change the subject.

Julien presented himself to the marquis the next morning in his black
suit, with his letter case and his letters for signature. He was
received in the old way, but when he wore the blue suit that evening,
the marquis's tone was quite different, and absolutely as polite as on
the previous day.

"As you are not exactly bored," said the marquis to him, "by these
visits which you are kind enough to pay to a poor old man, you must
tell him about all the little incidents of your life, but you must
be frank and think of nothing except narrating them clearly and in
an amusing way. For one must amuse oneself," continued the marquis.
"That's the only reality in life. I can't have my life saved in a
battle every day, or get a present of a million francs every day, but
if I had Rivarol here by my sofa he would rid me every day of an hour
of suffering and boredom. I saw a lot of him at Hamburg during the
emigration."

And the marquis told Julien the stories of Rivarol and the inhabitants
of Hamburg who needed the combined efforts of four individuals to
understand an epigram. M. de la Mole, being reduced to the society of
this little abbe, tried to teach him. He put Julien's pride on its
mettle. As he was asked to speak the truth, Julien resolved to tell
everything, but to suppress two things, his fanatical admiration for
the name which irritated the marquis, and that complete scepticism,
which was not particularly appropriate to a prospective cure. His
little affair with the chevalier de Beauvoisis came in very handy. The
marquis laughed till the tears came into his eyes at the scene in the
cafe in the Rue St. Honore with the coachman who had loaded him with
sordid insults. The occasion was marked by a complete frankness between
the marquis and the protege.

M. de la Mole became interested in this singular character. At the
beginning he had encouraged Julian's droll blunders in order to enjoy
laughing at them. Soon he found it more interesting to correct very
gently this young man's false outlook on life.

"All other provincials who come to Paris admire everything,"
thought the marquis. "This one hates everything. They have too much
affectation; he has not affectation enough; and fools take him for a
fool."

The attack of gout was protracted by the great winter cold and lasted
some months.

"One gets quite attached to a fine spaniel," thought the marquis. "Why
should I be so ashamed of being attached to this little abbe? He is
original. I treat him as a son. Well, where's the bother? The whim, if
it lasts, will cost me a diamond and five hundred louis in my will."
Once the marquis had realised his protege's strength of character, he
entrusted him with some new business every day.

Julien noticed with alarm that this great lord would often give him
inconsistent orders with regard to the same matter.

That might compromise him seriously. Julien now made a point whenever
he worked with him, of bringing a register with him in which he wrote
his instructions which the marquis initialled. Julien had now a clerk
who would transcribe the instructions relating to each matter in a
separate book. This book also contained a copy of all the letters.

This idea seemed at first absolutely boring and ridiculous, but in two
months the marquis appreciated its advantages. Julien suggested to him
that he should take a clerk out of a banker's who was to keep proper
book-keeping accounts of all the receipts and of all the expenses of
the estates which Julien had been charged to administer.

These measures so enlightened the marquis as to his own affairs that
he could indulge the pleasure of undertaking two or three speculations
without the help of his nominee who always robbed him.

"Take three thousand francs for yourself," he said one day to his young
steward.

"Monsieur, I should lay myself open to calumny."

"What do you want then?" retorted the marquis irritably.

"Perhaps you will be kind enough to make out a statement of account and
enter it in your own hand in the book. That order will give me a sum of
3,000 francs. Besides it's M. the abbe Pirard who had the idea of all
this exactness in accounts." The marquis wrote out his instructions in
the register with the bored air of the Marquis de Moncade listening to
the accounts of his steward M. Poisson.

Business was never talked when Julien appeared in the evening in
his blue suit. The kindness of the marquis was so flattering to the
self-respect of our hero, which was always morbidly sensitive, that
in spite of himself, he soon came to feel a kind of attachment for
this nice old man. It is not that Julien was a man of sensibility
as the phrase is understood at Paris, but he was not a monster, and
no one since the death of the old major had talked to him with so
much kindness. He observed that the marquis showed a politeness and
consideration for his own personal feelings which he had never found in
the old surgeon. He now realised that the surgeon was much prouder of
his cross than was the marquis of his blue ribbon. The marquis's father
had been a great lord.

One day, at the end of a morning audience for the transaction of
business, when the black suit was worn, Julien happened to amuse the
marquis who kept him for a couple of hours, and insisted on giving him
some banknotes which his nominee had just brought from the house.

"I hope M. le Marquis, that I am not deviating from the profound
respect which I owe you, if I beg you to allow me to say a word."

"Speak, my friend."

"M. le Marquis will deign to allow me to refuse this gift. It is not
meant for the man in the black suit, and it would completely spoil
those manners which you have kindly put up with in the man in the blue
suit." He saluted with much respect and went out without looking at his
employer.

This incident amused the marquis. He told it in the evening to the abbe
Pirard.

"I must confess one thing to you, my dear abbe. I know Julien's birth,
and I authorise you not to regard this confidence as a secret."

His conduct this morning is noble, thought the marquis, so I will
ennoble him myself.

Some time afterwards the marquis was able to go out.

"Go and pass a couple of months at London," he said to Julien.
"Ordinary and special couriers will bring you the letters I have
received, together with my notes. You will write out the answers and
send them back to me, putting each letter inside the answer. I have
ascertained that the delay will be no more than five days."

As he took the post down the Calais route, Julien was astonished at the
triviality of the alleged business on which he had been sent.

We will say nothing about the feeling of hate and almost horror with
which he touched English soil. His mad passion for Bonaparte is already
known. He saw in every officer a Sir Hudson Low, in every great
noble a Lord Bathurst, ordering the infamies of St. Helena and being
recompensed by six years of office.

At London he really got to know the meaning of sublime fatuity. He had
struck up a friendship with some young Russian nobles who initiated him.

"Your future is assured, my dear Sorel," they said to him. "You
naturally have that cold demeanour, _a thousand leagues away from the
sensation one has at the moment_, that we have been making such efforts
to acquire."

"You have not understood your century," said the Prince Korasoff to
him. "Always do the opposite of what is expected of you. On my honour
there you have the sole religion of the period. Don't be foolish or
affected, for then follies and affectations will be expected of you,
and the maxim will not longer prove true."

Julien covered himself with glory one day in the Salon of the Duke
of Fitz-Folke who had invited him to dinner together with the Prince
Korasoff. They waited for an hour. The way in which Julien conducted
himself in the middle of twenty people who were waiting is still quoted
as a precedent among the young secretaries of the London Embassy. His
demeanour was unimpeachable.

In spite of his friends, the dandies, he made a point of seeing the
celebrated Philip Vane, the one philosopher that England has had
since Locke. He found him finishing his seventh year in prison. The
aristocracy doesn't joke in this country, thought Julien. Moreover Vane
is disgraced, calumniated, etc.

Julien found him in cheery spirits. The rage of the aristocracy
prevented him from being bored. "There's the only merry man I've seen
in England," thought Julien to himself, as he left the prison.

"The idea which tyrants find most useful is the idea of God," Vane had
said to him.

We suppress the rest of the system as being cynical.

"What amusing notion do you bring me from England?" said M. la Mole to
him on his return. He was silent. "What notion do you bring me, amusing
or otherwise?" repeated the marquis sharply.

"In the first place," said Julien, "The sanest Englishman is mad one
hour every day. He is visited by the Demon of Suicide who is the local
God.

"In the second place, intellect and genius lose twenty-five per cent.
of their value when they disembark in England.

"In the third place, nothing in the world is so beautiful, so
admirable, so touching, as the English landscapes."

"Now it is my turn," said the marquis.

"In the first place, why do you go and say at the ball at the Russian
Ambassador's that there were three hundred thousand young men of twenty
in France who passionately desire war? Do you think that is nice for
the kings?"

"One doesn't know what to do when talking to great diplomats," said
Julien. "They have a mania for starting serious discussions. If one
confines oneself to the commonplaces of the papers, one is taken for a
fool. If one indulges in some original truth, they are astonished and
at a loss for an answer, and get you informed by the first Secretary
of the Embassy at seven o'clock next day that your conduct has been
unbecoming."

"Not bad," said the marquis laughing. "Anyway I will wager Monsieur
Deep-one that you have not guessed what you went to do in England."

"Pardon me," answered Julien. "I went there to dine once a week with
the king's ambassador, who is the most polite of men."

"You went to fetch this cross you see here," said the marquis to him.
"I do not want to make you leave off your black suit, and I have got
accustomed to the more amusing tone I have assumed with the man who
wears the blue suit. So understand this until further orders. When I
see this cross, you will be my friend, the Duke of Chaulne's younger
son, who has been employed in the diplomatic service the last six
months without having any idea of it. Observe," added the marquis
very seriously, cutting short all manifestations of thanks, "that I
do not want you to forget your place. That is always a mistake and a
misfortune both for patron and for dependent. When my lawsuits bore
you, or when you no longer suit me, I will ask a good living like that
of our good friend the abbe Pirard's for you, and nothing more," added
the marquis dryly. This put Julien's pride at its ease. He talked much
more. He did not so frequently think himself insulted and aimed at by
those phrases which are susceptible of some interpretation which is
scarcely polite, and which anybody may give utterance to in the course
of an animated conversation.

This cross earned him a singular visit. It was that of the baron de
Valenod, who came to Paris to thank the Minister for his barony, and
arrive at an understanding with him. He was going to be nominated mayor
of Verrieres, and to supersede M. de Renal.

Julien did not fail to smile to himself when M. Valenod gave him to
understand that they had just found out that M. de Renal was a Jacobin.
The fact was that the new baron was the ministerial candidate at the
election for which they were all getting ready, and that it was M. de
Renal who was the Liberal candidate at the great electoral college of
the department, which was, in fact, very ultra.

It was in vain that Julien tried to learn something about madame de
Renal. The baron seemed to remember their former rivalry, and was
impenetrable. He concluded by canvassing Julien for his father's vote
at the election which was going to take place. Julien promised to write.

"You ought, monsieur le Chevalier, to present me to M. the marquis de
la Mole."

"I ought, as a matter of fact," thought Julien. "But a rascal like
that!"

"As a matter of fact," he answered, "I am too small a personage in the
Hotel de la Mole to take it upon myself to introduce anyone." Julien
told the marquis everything. In the evening he described Valenod's
pretensions, as well as his deeds and feats since 1814.

"Not only will you present the new baron to me," replied de la Mole,
very seriously, "but I will invite him to dinner for the day after
to-morrow. He will be one of our new prefects."

"If that is the case, I ask for my father the post of director of the
workhouse," answered Julien, coldly.

"With pleasure," answered the marquis gaily. "It shall be granted. I
was expecting a lecture. You are getting on."

M. de Valenod informed Julien that the manager of the lottery office at
Verrieres had just died. Julien thought it humorous to give that place
to M. de Cholin, the old dotard whose petition he had once picked up in
de la Mole's room. The marquis laughed heartily at the petition, which
Julien recited as he made him sign the letter which requested that
appointment of the minister of finance.

M. de Cholin had scarcely been nominated, when Julien learnt that that
post had been asked by the department for the celebrated geometrician,
monsieur Gros. That generous man had an income of only 1400 francs, and
every year had lent 600 to the late manager who had just died, to help
him bring up his family.

Julien was astonished at what he had done.

"That's nothing," he said to himself. "It will be necessary to commit
several other injustices if I mean to get on, and also to conceal them
beneath pretty, sentimental speeches. Poor monsieur Gros! It is he who
deserves the cross. It is I who have it, and I ought to conform to the
spirit of the Government which gives it me."

After several months, Julien has made his services very valuable to M. de la Mole although, socially, he has fallen from favor in the household. He applies himself tirelessly to his work, and to escape the discouragement that his exile causes him to feel, he devotes his leisure time entirely to fencing and riding. Norbert is estranged from him, and Mme. de la Mole finds Julien's impetuosity and sensitivity repugnant to decorum. Julien is offended by a rude individual in a cafe one day, and he immediately challenges the man to a duel. Going the following morning to the address indicated on the offender's card, Julien finds, to his surprise, that the Chevalier de Beauvoisis, whose name is on the card, is the master of the coachman who had offended Julien. Julien promptly punishes the coachman for his insolence, and the chevalier agrees to a duel. Julien is slightly wounded, but the new acquaintance soon becomes friendship. The chevalier is a model aristocrat whom Julien imitates in manners and attitude, accompanying him to the opera. In order to escape the ridicule that would result from public knowledge that he had dueled with a sawyer's son, the chevalier spreads the rumor that Julien is the natural son of a close friend of the Marquis de la Mole. The latter, upon hearing this rumor, is greatly amused. Bedridden with gout, the Marquis de la Mole is reduced to the company of Julien during the absence of his family. The marquis discovers in Julien a man of ideas and of quick wit. The marquis makes Julien a gift of a blue coat, and when Julien visits him in the evenings wearing the garment, the marquis treats him as an equal. Julien introduces efficiency into the marquis' business affairs, and his innovations are so much appreciated that the marquis wants to reward him with a gift of money. This Julien declines, pretending that the gift would ruin the relationship with the man in blue since it is to that man and not to the man in black that it is made. Recognizing the inborn nobility of Julien, the marquis devises a plan to confer upon him the cross of the Legion d'Honneur, which will constitute an exterior acknowledgment of Julien's inner nobility. He sends Julien to England, where he is introduced to various notables in the highest circles. Upon his return, Julien is told that when he wears his decoration, he will be, in the eyes of the marquis, the son of the Duc de Retz, a friend of the marquis. The decoration makes Julien more confident. A visit is paid to Julien by Valenod, recently made a baron. Valenod has replaced Renal as mayor of Verrieres. Ironically, Valenod was the ultra candidate, and Renal the candidate of the liberals. The marquis agrees to receive the mayor and intends even to encourage his political career. Benefiting from his more intimate relationship with the marquis, Julien succeeds in having his own father named director of the workhouse and Cholin named as director of the lottery. Julien learns later that his intervention has thwarted the candidacy of an honest man, M. Gros, who, Julien recognizes, really deserved and needed the appointment to the lottery post. This causes Julien some remorse, which is quickly stilled, however, by a rationalization that expediency sometimes brings about injustice.

These chapters constitute a further stage in the education of Julien, specifically as the protege of M. de la Mole. Chapter 5 is preparatory to the subsequent development of the father-son relationship in that it points up Julien's success and failure: success as a prized secretary, failure as a social creature in this blase aristocracy in which he moves. Note again Stendhal's tenderly ironic treatment of his hero in the cafe scene. Stendhal will make a fool of Julien by exploiting his hero's basically contradictory nature, causing his impetuosity to play out another mock-heroic adventure. Julien is "unmasked" by a less glorious counterpart: the "gentleman" whom he challenges turns out to be a lackey, like himself. Typically, however, Stendhal takes care not to exploit the ridiculousness that would be inherent in such a situation. Stendhal permits himself to make light of Julien, delicately, but the reader may not take this liberty. The same restraint is apparent in the handling of the encounter with the chevalier. Instead of taking offense, the latter, another of the "happy few," befriends Julien and plays the role of fairy godfather. Stendhal calls to our attention the resemblance between the two cafe scenes. He utilizes repeatedly the recurrence of similar situations at different points of the narration, and such a device is particularly effective in a novel describing the formation of an individual. An event that repeats itself calls our attention to the distance covered by the character. In this instance, we note that Julien's pride has not weakened but that he is now more highly placed on the social ladder. The duel episode serves also to further the relationship between Julien and the marquis. The rumor of noble but illegitimate birth circulated by the chevalier "suggests" to the marquis, without his own awareness of it, the action he takes to confer a kind of nobility on Julien in Chapter 7. By the end of Chapter 6, the fatherly interest felt by the marquis in Julien has progressed to the point where the marquis wants actively to "form" his secretary. Hence, he stations Julien at the opera to study another spectacle, the impressive entry and departure of the aristocracy, in order that Julien may imitate their ways and rid himself of his remaining provincialisins. Betraying his negligence in plot manipulation and preparation, Stendhal feels obliged, in Chapter 7, to justify the familiar tone in which the marquis has just addressed Julien at the end of the preceding chapter. Such an intervention Stendhal would no doubt justify by evoking his realistic pretention and his definition of the novel -- he is not inventing, he is only reporting the truth, and this detail he had forgotten to mention. Stendhal indicates to the reader to what extent Julien has actually replaced Norbert as a worthy son for the marquis, both in the eyes of the latter and in those of Stendhal. "Play acting" recurs as a theme in these chapters, and the deliberate insincerity that it implies is a necessary quality of the nobility to which Julien aspires. The marquis, another fairy godfather, intervenes as for Cinderella, outfitting Julien and casting him in a dual role. A truly noble soul is capable of effecting metamorphosis by will. Thus, the marquis is "magically" empowered to transform Julien into the gentleman in the blue coat by night and into the black-coated secretary by day. That Julien is making progress is obvious by the fact that he surpasses his master's performance. By proudly refusing the well deserved gift, Julien intimates that the marquis is violating the rules he has established himself. This performance inspires the marquis to bring about the next transformation: Julien's diplomatic mission to London, which will serve as a pretext for a decoration. Julien's frequenting London's high society is the culminating phase in the stage of his formation related in these chapters. Valenod's reappearance and his victory over Renal serve to remind the reader of the changing fortunes on the political scene. Valenod's ascendancy had been predicted in Chapter 1 of Part II. Stendhal is careful to note that antipathy and rivalry still exist between Julien and Valenod. This fact will be utilized in the ultimate determination of Julien's fate. The close of Chapter 7 reminds us that Julien's experiences have taken their toll on his principles and innocence. In short, he is being corrupted, but, fortunately, this change is reversible. In the incident in question, Julien has occasion only to rationalize his remorse. One cannot help but wonder which would have won out, expediency or principle, had Julien known earlier that Gros was also aspiring to the position in which Julien's intervention has established Cholin.


CHAPTER XXXVIII

WHAT IS THE DECORATION WHICH CONFERS DISTINCTION?

    "Thy water refreshes me not," said the transformed genie.
    "'Tis nevertheless the freshest well in all Diar-Bekir"--_Pellico_.

One day Julien had just returned from the charming estate of Villequier
on the banks of the Seine, which was the especial subject of M. de la
Mole's interest because it was the only one of all his properties which
had belonged to the celebrated Boniface de la Mole.

He found the marquise and her daughter, who had just come back from
Hyeres, in the hotel. Julien was a dandy now, and understood the art of
Paris life. He manifested a perfect coldness towards mademoiselle de la
Mole. He seemed to have retained no recollection of the day when she
had asked him so gaily for details of his fall from his horse.

Mademoiselle de la Mole thought that he had grown taller and paler.
There was no longer anything of the provincial in his figure or his
appearance. It was not so with his conversation. Too much of the
serious and too much of the positive element were still noticeable. In
spite of these sober qualities, his conversation, thanks to his pride,
was destitute of any trace of the subordinate. One simply felt that
there were still too many things which he took seriously. But one saw
that he was the kind of man to stick to his guns.

"He lacks lightness of touch, but not brains," said mademoiselle de la
Mole to her father, as she rallied him on the cross that he had given
Julien. "My brother has been asking you for it for sixteen months, and
he is a La Mole."

"Yes, but Julien has surprises, and that's what the de la Mole, whom
you were referring to, has never been guilty of."

M. the duc de Retz was announced.

Mathilde felt herself seized by an irresistible attack of yawning. She
knew so well the old gildings and the old habitues of her father's
salon. She conjured up an absolutely boring picture of the life which
she was going to take up at Paris, and yet, when at Hyeres, she had
regretted Paris.

"And yet I am nineteen," she thought. "That's the age of happiness, say
all those gilt-edged ninnies."

She looked at eight or ten new volumes of poetry which had accumulated
on the table in the salon during her journey in Provence. She had the
misfortune to have more brains than M.M. de Croisnois, de Caylus, de
Luz, and her other friends. She anticipated all that they were going to
tell her about the fine sky of Provence, poetry, the South, etc., etc.

These fine eyes, which were the home of the deepest ennui, and worse
still, of the despair of ever finding pleasure, lingered on Julien. At
any rate, he was not exactly like the others.

"Monsieur Sorel," she said, in that short, sharp voice, destitute of
all femininity, which is so frequent among young women of the upper
class.

"Monsieur Sorel, are you coming to-night to M. de Retz's ball?"

"Mademoiselle, I have not had the honour of being presented to M. the
duke." (One would have said that these words and that title seared the
mouth of the proud provincial).

"He asked my brother to take you there, and if you go, you could
tell me some details about the Villequier estate. We are thinking of
going there in the spring, and I would like to know if the chateau is
habitable, and if the neighbouring places are as pretty as they say.
There are so many unmerited reputations."

Julien did not answer.

"Come to the ball with my brother," she added, very dryly. Julien bowed
respectfully.

"So I owe my due to the members of the family, even in the middle of a
ball. Am I not paid to be their business man?" His bad temper added,
"God knows, moreover, if what I tell the daughter will not put out the
plans of the father, brother, and mother. It is just like the court of
a sovereign prince. You have to be absolutely negative, and yet give no
one any right to complain."

"How that big girl displeases me!" he thought, as he watched the walk
of Mademoiselle de la Mole, whom her mother had called to present to
several women friends of hers. She exaggerates all the fashions. Her
dress almost falls down to her shoulders, she is even paler than before
she went away. How nondescript her hair has grown as the result of
being blonde! You would say that the light passed through it.

What a haughty way of bowing and of looking at you! What queenly
gestures! Mademoiselle de la Mole had just called her brother at the
moment when he was leaving the salon.

The comte de Norbert approached Julien.

"My dear Sorel," he said to him. "Where would you like me to pick you
up to-night for Monsieur's ball. He expressly asked me to bring you."

"I know well whom I have to thank for so much kindness," answered
Julien bowing to the ground.

His bad temper, being unable to find anything to lay hold of in the
polite and almost sympathetic tone in which Norbert had spoken to
him, set itself to work on the answer he had made to that courteous
invitation. He detected in it a trace of subservience.

When he arrived at the ball in the evening, he was struck with the
magnificence of the Hotel de Retz. The courtyard at the entrance was
covered with an immense tent of crimson with golden stars. Nothing
could have been more elegant. Beyond the tent, the court had been
transformed into a wood of orange trees and of pink laurels in full
flower. As they had been careful to bury the vases sufficiently deep,
the laurel trees and the orange trees appeared to come straight out of
the ground. The road which the carriages traversed was sanded.

All this seemed extraordinary to our provincial. He had never had any
idea of such magnificence. In a single instant his thrilled imagination
had left his bad temper a thousand leagues behind. In the carriage on
their way to the ball Norbert had been happy, while he saw everything
in black colours. They had scarcely entered the courtyard before the
roles changed.

Norbert was only struck by a few details which, in the midst of all
that magnificence, had not been able to be attended to. He calculated
the expense of each item, and Julien remarked that the nearer he got
to a sum total, the more jealous and bad-tempered he appeared.

As for himself, he was fascinated and full of admiration when he
reached the first of the salons where they were dancing. His emotion
was so great that it almost made him nervous. There was a crush at the
door of the second salon, and the crowd was so great that he found it
impossible to advance. The decorations of the second salon presented
the Alhambra of Grenada.

"That's the queen of the ball one must admit," said a young man with a
moustache whose shoulder stuck into Julien's chest.

"Mademoiselle Formant who has been the prettiest all the winter,
realises that she will have to go down to the second place. See how
strange she looks."

"In truth she is straining every nerve to please. Just look at that
gracious smile now that she is doing the figure in that quadrille all
alone. On my honour it is unique."

"Mademoiselle de la Mole looks as if she controlled the pleasure which
she derives from her triumph, of which she is perfectly conscious. One
might say that she fears to please anyone who talks to her."

"Very good. That is the art of alluring."

Julien vainly endeavoured to catch sight of the alluring woman. Seven
or eight men who were taller than he prevented him from seeing her.

"There is quite a lot of coquetry in that noble reserve," said the
young man with a moustache.

"And in those big blue eyes, which are lowered so slowly when one would
think they were on the point of betraying themselves," answered his
neighbour. "On my faith, nothing could be cleverer."

"See the pretty Formant looking quite common next to her," said the
first.

"That air of reserve means how much sweetness would I spend on you if
you were the man who was worthy of me."

"And who could be worthy of the sublime Mathilde," said the first man.
"Some sovereign prince, handsome, witty, well-made, a hero in war, and
twenty years old at the most."

"The natural son of the Emperor of Russia ... who would be made a
sovereign in honour of his marriage, or quite simply the comte de
Thaler, who looks like a dressed-up peasant."

The door was free, and Julien could go in.

"Since these puppets consider her so remarkable, it is worth while
for me to study her," he thought. "I shall then understand what these
people regard as perfection."

As his eyes were trying to find her, Mathilde looked at him. "My duty
calls me," said Julien to himself. But it was only his expression which
was bad-humoured.

His curiosity made him advance with a pleasure which the extremely low
cut dress on Mathilde's shoulder very quickly accentuated, in a manner
which was scarcely flattering for his own self-respect. "Her beauty has
youth," he thought. Five or six people, whom Julien recognised as those
who had been speaking at the door were between her and him.

"Now, Monsieur, you have been here all the winter," she said to him.
"Is it not true that this is the finest ball of the season."

He did not answer.

"This quadrille of Coulon's strikes me as admirable, and those ladies
dance it perfectly." The young men turned round to see who was the
happy man, an answer from whom was positively insisted on. The answer
was not encouraging.

"I shall not be able to be a good judge, mademoiselle, I pass my life
in writing. This is the first ball of this magnificence which I have
ever seen."

The young men with moustaches were scandalised.

"You are a wise man, Monsieur Sorel," came the answer with a more
marked interest. "You look upon all these balls, all these festivities,
like a philosopher, like J. J. Rousseau. All these follies astonish
without alluring you."

Julien's imagination had just hit upon an epigram which banished all
illusions from his mind. His mouth assumed the expression of a perhaps
slightly exaggerated disdain.

"J. J. Rousseau," he answered, "is in my view only a fool when he takes
it upon himself to criticise society. He did not understand it, and
he went into it with the spirit of a lackey who has risen above his
station."

"He wrote the _Contrat Social_," answered Mathilde reverently.

"While he preaches the Republic, and the overthrow of monarchical
dignities, the parvenu was intoxicated with happiness if a duke would
go out of his way after dinner to one of his friends."

"Oh yes, the Duke of Luxembourg at Montmorency, used to accompany a
Coindet from the neighbourhood of Paris," went on Mademoiselle de
la Mole, with all the pleasure and enthusiasm of her first flush of
pedantry. She was intoxicated with her knowledge, almost like the
academician who discovered the existence of King Feretrius.

Julien's look was still penetrating and severe. Mathilde had had
a moment's enthusiasm. Her partner's coldness disconcerted her
profoundly. She was all the more astonished, as it was she who was
accustomed to produce that particular effect on others.

At this moment the marquis de Croisenois was advancing eagerly towards
mademoiselle de la Mole. He was for a moment three yards away from her.
He was unable to get closer because of the crowd. He smiled at the
obstacle. The young marquise de Rouvray was near her. She was a cousin
of Mathilde. She was giving her arm to her husband who had only married
her a fortnight ago. The marquis de Rouvray, who was also very young,
had all the love which seizes a man who, having contracted a marriage
of convenience exclusively arranged by the notaries, finds a person who
is ideally pretty. M. de Rouvray would be a duke on the death of a very
old uncle.

While the marquis de Croisenois was struggling to get through the
crowd, and smiling at Mathilde she fixed her big divinely blue eyes
on him and his neighbours. "Could anything be flatter," she said to
herself. "There is Croisenois who wants to marry me, he is gentle and
polite, he has perfect manners like M. de Rouvray. If they did not
bore, those gentlemen would be quite charming. He too, would accompany
me to the ball with that smug limited expression. One year after the
marriage I shall have my carriage, my horses, my dresses, my chateau
twenty leagues from Paris. All this would be as nice as possible, and
enough to make a Countess de Roiville, for example, die of envy and
afterwards--"

Mathilde bored herself in anticipation. The marquis de Croisenois
managed to approach her and spoke to her, but she was dreaming and
did not listen to him. The noise of his words began to get mixed
with the buzz of the ball. Her eye mechanically followed Julien who
had gone away, with an air which, though respectful, was yet proud
and discontented. She noticed in a corner far from the moving crowd,
the comte Altamira who had been condemned to death in his own country
and whom the reader knows already. One of his relatives had married a
Prince de Conti in the reign of Louis XIV. This historical fact was
some protection against the police of the congregation.

"I think being condemned to death is the only real distinction," said
Mathilde. "It is the only thing which cannot be bought."

"Why, that's an epigram, I just said, what a pity it did not come at a
moment when I could have reaped all the credit for it." Mathilde had
too much taste to work into the conversation a prepared epigram but
at the same time she was too vain not to be extremely pleased with
herself. A happy expression succeeded the palpable boredom of her face.
The marquis de Croisenois, who had never left off talking, saw a chance
of success and waxed twice as eloquent.

"What objection could a caviller find with my epigram," said Mathilde
to herself. "I would answer my critic in this way: The title of baron
or vicomte is to be bought; a cross, why it is a gift. My brother
has just got one. What has he done? A promotion, why that can be
obtained by being ten years in a garrison or have the minister of war
for a relative, and you'll be a chief of a squadron like Norbert. A
great fortune! That's rather more difficult, and consequently more
meritorious. It is really quite funny. It's the opposite of what
the books say. Well, to win a fortune why you marry M. Rothschild's
daughter. Really my epigram is quite deep. Being condemned to death is
still the one privilege which one has never thought of canvassing."

"Do you know the comte Altamira," she said to M. de Croisenois.

Her thoughts seemed to have been so far away, and this question had
so little connection with all that the poor marquis had been saying
for the last five minutes, that his good temper was ruffled. He was
nevertheless a man of wit and celebrated for being so.

"Mathilde is eccentric," he thought, "that's a nuisance, but she will
give her husband such a fine social position. I don't know how the
marquis de la Mole manages. He is connected with all that is best in
all parties. He is a man who is bound to come out on top. And, besides,
this eccentricity of Mathilde's may pass for genius. Genius when allied
with good birth and a large fortune, so far from being ridiculous, is
highly distinguished. She has wit, moreover, when she wants to, that
mixture in fact of brains, character, and ready wit which constitute
perfection."

As it is difficult to do two things at the same time, the marquis
answered Mathilde with a vacant expression as though he were reciting a
lesson.

"Who does not know that poor Altamira?" and he told her the history of
his conspiracy, abortive, ridiculous and absurd.

"Very absurd," said Mathilde as if she were talking to herself, "but he
has done something. I want to see a man; bring him to me," she said to
the scandalized marquis.

Comte Altamira was one of the most avowed admirers of mademoiselle de
la Mole's haughty and impertinent manner. In his opinion she was one of
the most beautiful persons in Paris.

"How fine she would be on a throne," he said to M. de Croisenois; and
made no demur at being taken up to Mathilde.

There are a good number of people in society who would like to
establish the fact that nothing is in such bad form as a conspiracy, in
the nineteenth century; it smacks of Jacobinism. And what could be more
sordid than unsuccessful Jacobinism.

Mathilde's expression made fun a little of Altamira and M. de
Croisenois, but she listened to him with pleasure.

"A conspirator at a ball, what a pretty contrast," she thought. She
thought that this man with his black moustache looked like a lion at
rest, but she soon perceived that his mind had only one point of view:
_utility, admiration for utility_.

The young comte thought nothing worthy his attention except what tended
to give his country two chamber government. He left Mathilde, who was
the prettiest person at the ball, with alacrity, because he saw a
Peruvian general come in. Desparing of Europe such as M. de Metternich
had arranged it, poor Altamira had been reduced to thinking that when
the States of South America had become strong and powerful they could
restore to Europe the liberty which Mirabeau has given it.

A crowd of moustachised young men had approached Mathilde. She realized
that Altamira had not felt allured, and was piqued by his departure.
She saw his black eye gleam as he talked to the Peruvian general.
Mademoiselle de la Mole looked at the young Frenchmen with that
profound seriousness which none of her rivals could imitate, "which
of them," she thought, "could get himself condemned to death, even
supposing he had a favourable opportunity?"

This singular look flattered those who were not very intelligent, but
disconcerted the others. They feared the discharge of some stinging
epigram that would be difficult to answer.

"Good birth vouchsafes a hundred qualities whose absence would offend
me. I see as much in the case of Julien," thought Mathilde, "but it
withers up those qualities of soul which make a man get condemned to
death."

At that moment some one was saying near her: "Comte Altamira is the
second son of the Prince of San Nazaro-Pimentel; it was a Pimentel who
tried to save Conradin, was beheaded in 1268. It is one of the noblest
families in Naples."

"So," said Mathilde to herself, "what a pretty proof this is of my
maxim, that good birth deprives a man of that force of character
in default of which a man does not get condemned to death. I seem
doomed to reason falsely to-night. Since I am only a woman like any
other, well I must dance." She yielded to the solicitations of M. de
Croisenois who had been asking for a gallop for the last hour. To
distract herself from her failure in philosophy, Mathilde made a point
of being perfectly fascinating. M. de Croisenois was enchanted. But
neither the dance nor her wish to please one of the handsomest men at
court, nor anything at all, succeeded in distracting Mathilde. She
could not possibly have been more of a success. She was the queen of
the ball. She coldly appreciated the fact.

"What a blank life I shall pass with a person like Croisenois," she
said to herself as he took her back to her place an hour afterwards.
"What pleasure do I get," she added sadly, "if after an absence of
six months I find myself at a ball which all the women of Paris were
mad with jealousy to go to? And what is more I am surrounded by the
homage of an ideally constituted circle of society. The only bourgeois
are some peers and perhaps one or two Juliens. And yet," she added
with increasing sadness, "what advantages has not fate bestowed upon
me! Distinction, fortune, youth, everything except happiness. My most
dubious advantages are the very ones they have been speaking to me
about all the evening. Wit, I believe I have it, because I obviously
frighten everyone. If they venture to tackle a serious subject, they
will arrive after five minutes of conversation and as though they had
made a great discovery at a conclusion which we have been repeating to
them for the last hour. I am beautiful, I have that advantage for which
madame de Stael would have sacrificed everything, and yet I'm dying of
boredom. Shall I have reason to be less bored when I have changed my
name for that of the marquis de Croisenois?

"My God though," she added, while she almost felt as if she would like
to cry, "isn't he really quite perfect? He's a paragon of the education
of the age; you can't look at him without his finding something
charming and even witty to say to you; he is brave. But that Sorel is
strange," she said to herself, and the expression of her eyes changed
from melancholy to anger. "I told him that I had something to say to
him and he hasn't deigned to reappear."

CHAPTER XXXIX

THE BALL

        The luxurious dresses, the glitter of the candles; all
        those pretty arms and fine shoulders; the bouquets,
        the intoxicating strains of Rossini, the paintings of
        Ciceri. I am beside myself.--_Journeys of Useri_.

"You are in a bad temper," said the marquise de la Mole to her; "let me
caution you, it is ungracious at a ball."

"I only have a headache," answered Mathilde disdainfully, "it is too
hot here."

At this moment the old Baron Tolly became ill and fell down, as though
to justify mademoiselle de la Mole's remark. They were obliged to carry
him away. They talked about apoplexy. It was a disagreeable incident.

Mathilde did not bother much about it.

She made a point of never looking at old men, or at anyone who had the
reputation of being bad company.

She danced in order to escape the conversation about the apoplexy,
which was not apoplexy inasmuch as the baron put in an appearance the
following day.

"But Sorel does not come," she said to herself after she had danced.
She was almost looking round for him when she found him in another
salon. Astonishing, but he seemed to have lost that impassive coldness
that was so natural to him; he no longer looked English.

"He is talking to comte Altamira who was sentenced to death," said
Mathilde to herself. "His eye is full of a sombre fire; he looks like a
prince in disguise; his haughtiness has become twice as pronounced."

Julien came back to where she was, still talking to Altamira. She
looked at Altamira fixedly, studying his features in order to trace
those lofty qualities which can earn a man the honour of being
condemned to death.

"Yes," he was saying to comte Altamira as he passed by her, "Danton was
a real man."

"Heavens can he be a Danton?" said Mathilde to herself, "but he has
so noble a face, and that Danton was so horribly ugly, a butcher I
believe." Julien was still fairly near her. She did not hesitate to
call him; she had the consciousness and the pride of putting a question
that was unusual for a young girl.

"Was not Danton a butcher?" she said to him.

"Yes, in the eyes of certain persons," Julien answered her with the
most thinly disguised expression of contempt. His eyes were still
ardent from his conversation with Altamira, "but unfortunately for
the people of good birth he was an advocate at Mery-sur-Seine, that
is to say, mademoiselle," he added maliciously, "he began like many
peers whom I see here. It was true that Danton laboured under a great
disadvantage in the eyes of beauty; he was ugly."

These last few words were spoken rapidly in an extraordinary and indeed
very discourteous manner.

Julien waited for a moment, leaning slightly forward and with an air of
proud humility. He seemed to be saying, "I am paid to answer you and I
live on my pay." He did not deign to look up at Mathilde. She looked
like his slave with her fine eyes open abnormally wide and fixed on
him. Finally as the silence continued he looked at her, like a valet
looking at his master to receive orders. Although his eyes met the full
gaze of Mathilde which were fixed on him all the time with a strange
expression, he went away with a marked eagerness.

"To think of a man who is as handsome as he is," said Mathilde to
herself as she emerged from her reverie, "praising ugliness in such a
way, he is not like Caylus or Croisenois. This Sorel has something like
my father's look when he goes to a fancy dress ball as Napoleon." She
had completely forgotten Danton. "Yes, I am decidedly bored to-night."
She took her brother's arm and to his great disgust made him take
her round the ball-room. The idea occurred to her of following the
conversation between Julien and the man who had been condemned to
death.

The crowd was enormous. She managed to find them, however, at the
moment when two yards in front of her Altamira was going near a
dumb-waiter to take an ice. He was talking to Julien with his body half
turned round. He saw an arm in an embroidered coat which was taking an
ice close by. The embroidery seemed to attract his attention. He turned
round to look at the person to whom the arm belonged. His noble and yet
simple eyes immediately assumed a slightly disdainful expression.

"You see that man," he said to Julien in a low voice; "that is the
Prince of Araceli Ambassador of ----. He asked M. de Nerval, your
Minister for Foreign Affairs, for my extradition this morning. See,
there he is over there playing whist. Monsieur de Nerval is willing
enough to give me up, for we gave up two or three conspirators to you
in 1816. If I am given up to my king I shall be hanged in twenty-four
hours. It will be one of those handsome moustachioed gentlemen who will
arrest me."

"The wretches!" exclaimed Julien half aloud.

Mathilde did not lose a syllable of their conversation. Her ennui had
vanished.

"They are not scoundrels," replied Count Altamira. "I talk to you about
myself in order to give you a vivid impression. Look at the Prince of
Araceli. He casts his eyes on his golden fleece every five minutes; he
cannot get over the pleasure of seeing that decoration on his breast.
In reality the poor man is really an anachronism. The fleece was a
signal honour a hundred years ago, but he would have been nowhere
near it in those days. But nowadays, so far as people of birth are
concerned, you have to be an Araceli to be delighted with it. He had a
whole town hanged in order to get it."

"Is that the price he had to pay?" said Julien anxiously.

"Not exactly," answered Altamira coldly, "he probably had about thirty
rich landed proprietors in his district who had the reputation of being
Liberals thrown into the river."

"What a monster!" pursued Julien.

Mademoiselle de la Mole who was leaning her head forward with keenest
interest was so near him that her beautiful hair almost touched his
shoulder.

"You are very young," answered Altamira. "I was telling you that I had
a married sister in Provence. She is still pretty, good and gentle; she
is an excellent mother, performs all her duties faithfully, is pious
but not a bigot."

"What is he driving at?" thought mademoiselle de la Mole.

"She is happy," continued the comte Altamira; "she was so in 1815. I
was then in hiding at her house on her estate near the Antibes. Well
the moment she learnt of marshall Ney's execution she began to dance."

"Is it possible?" said Julien, thunderstruck.

"It's party spirit," replied Altamira. "There are no longer any real
passions in the nineteenth century: that's why one is so bored in
France. People commit acts of the greatest cruelty, but without any
feeling of cruelty."

"So much the worse," said Julien, "when one does commit a crime one
ought at least to take pleasure in committing it; that's the only good
thing they have about them and that's the only way in which they have
the slightest justification."

Mademoiselle de la Mole had entirely forgotten what she owed to herself
and placed herself completely between Altamira and Julien. Her brother,
who was giving her his arm, and was accustomed to obey her, was
looking at another part of the room, and in order to keep himself in
countenance was pretending to be stopped by the crowd.

"You are right," Altamira went on, "one takes pleasure in nothing one
does, and one does not remember it: this applies even to crimes. I can
show you perhaps ten men in this ballroom who have been convicted of
murder. They have forgotten all about it and everybody else as well."

"Many are moved to the point of tears if their dog breaks a paw.
When you throw flowers on their grave at Pere-la-Chaise, as you say
so humorously in Paris, we learn they united all the virtues of the
knights of chivalry, and we speak about the noble feats of their
great-grandfather who lived in the reign of Henri IV. If, in spite of
the good offices of the Prince de Araceli, I escape hanging and I ever
manage to enjoy the use of my money in Paris, I will get you to dine
with eight or ten of these respected and callous murderers.

"At that dinner you and I will be the only ones whose blood is pure,
but I shall be despised and almost hated as a monster, while you will
be simply despised as a man of the people who has pushed his way into
good society."

"Nothing could be truer," said mademoiselle de la Mole.

Altamira looked at her in astonishment; but Julien did not deign to
look at her.

"Observe that the revolution, at whose head I found myself," continued
the comte Altamira, "only failed for the one reason that I would not
cut off three heads and distribute among our partisans seven or eight
millions which happened to be in a box of which I happened to have the
key. My king, who is burning to have me hanged to-day, and who called
me by my christian name before the rebellion, would have given me the
great ribbon of his order if I had had those three heads cut off and
had had the money in those boxes distributed; for I should have had at
least a semi-success and my country would have had a charta like ----.
So wags the world; it's a game of chess."

"At that time," answered Julien with a fiery eye, "you did not know the
game; now...."

"You mean I would have the heads cut off, and I would not be a
Girondin, as you said I was the other day? I will give you your
answer," said Altamira sadly, "when you have killed a man in a duel--a
far less ugly matter than having him put to death by an executioner."

"Upon my word," said Julien, "the end justifies the means. If instead
of being an insignificant man I had some power I would have three men
hanged in order to save four men's lives."

His eyes expressed the fire of his own conscience; they met the eyes of
mademoiselle de la Mole who was close by him, and their contempt, so
far from changing into politeness seemed to redouble.

She was deeply shocked; but she found herself unable to forget Julien;
she dragged her brother away and went off in a temper.

"I must take some punch and dance a lot," she said to herself. "I will
pick out the best partner and cut some figure at any price. Good, there
is that celebrated cynic, the comte de Fervaques." She accepted his
invitation; they danced. "The question is," she thought, "which of us
two will be the more impertinent, but in order to make absolute fun
of him, I must get him to talk." Soon all the other members of the
quadrille were dancing as a matter of formality, they did not want to
lose any of Mathilde's cutting reparte. M. de Fervaques felt uneasy and
as he could only find elegant expressions instead of ideas, began to
scowl. Mathilde, who was in a bad temper was cruel, and made an enemy
of him. She danced till daylight and then went home terribly tired.
But when she was in the carriage the little vitality she had left, was
still employed in making her sad and unhappy. She had been despised by
Julien and could not despise him.

Julien was at the zenith of his happiness. He was enchanted without
his knowing it by the music, the flowers, the pretty women, the
general elegance, and above all by his own imagination which dreamt of
distinctions for himself and of liberty for all.

"What a fine ball," he said to the comte. "Nothing is lacking."

"Thought is lacking" answered Altamira, and his face betrayed that
contempt which is only more deadly from the very fact that a manifest
effort is being made to hide it as a matter of politeness.

"You are right, monsieur the comte, there isn't any thought at all, let
alone enough to make a conspiracy."

"I am here because of my name, but thought is hated in your salons.
Thought must not soar above the level of the point of a Vaudeville
couplet: it is then rewarded. But as for your man who thinks, if he
shows energy and originality we call him a cynic. Was not that name
given by one of your judges to Courier. You put him in prison as
well as Beranger. The priestly congregation hands over to the police
everyone who is worth anything amongst you individually; and good
society applauds.

"The fact is your effete society prizes conventionalism above
everything else. You will never get beyond military bravery. You will
have Murats, never Washingtons. I can see nothing in France except
vanity. A man who goes on speaking on the spur of the moment may easily
come to make an imprudent witticism and the master of the house thinks
himself insulted."

As he was saying this, the carriage in which the comte was seeing
Julien home stopped before the Hotel de la Mole. Julien was in love
with his conspirator. Altamira had paid him this great compliment which
was evidently the expression of a sound conviction. "You have not got
the French flippancy and you understand the principle of _utility_."
It happened that Julien had seen the day before _Marino Faliero_, a
tragedy, by Casmir Delavigne.

"Has not Israel Bertuccio got more character than all those noble
Venetians?" said our rebellious plebeian to himself, "and yet those
are the people whose nobility goes back to the year seven hundred, a
century before Charlemagne, while the cream of the nobility at M. de
Ritz's ball to-night only goes back, and that rather lamely, to the
thirteenth century. Well, in spite of all the noble Venetians whose
birth makes so great, it is Israel Bertuccio whom one remembers.

"A conspiracy annihilates all titles conferred by social caprice.
There, a man takes for his crest the rank that is given him by the way
in which he faces death. The intellect itself loses some of its power.

"What would Danton have been to-day in this age of the Valenods and the
Renals? Not even a deputy for the Public Prosecutor.

"What am I saying? He would have sold himself to the priests, he
would have been a minister, for after all the great Danton did steal.
Mirabeau also sold himself. Napoleon stole millions in Italy, otherwise
he would have been stopped short in his career by poverty like
Pichegru. Only La Fayette refrained from stealing. Ought one to steal,
ought one to sell oneself?" thought Julien. This question pulled him up
short. He passed the rest of the night in reading the history of the
revolution.

When he wrote his letters in the library the following day, his mind
was still concentrated on his conversation with count Altamira.

"As a matter of fact," he said to himself after a long reverie, "If the
Spanish Liberals had not injured their nation by crimes they would not
have been cleared out as easily as they were.

"They were haughty, talkative children--just like I am!" he suddenly
exclaimed as though waking up with a start.

"What difficulty have I surmounted that entitles me to judge such
devils who, once alive, dared to begin to act. I am like a man who
exclaims at the close of a meal, 'I won't dine to-morrow; but that
won't prevent me from feeling as strong and merry like I do to-day.'
Who knows what one feels when one is half-way through a great action?"

These lofty thoughts were disturbed by the unexpected arrival in
the library of mademoiselle de la Mole. He was so animated by his
admiration for the great qualities of such invincibles as Danton,
Mirabeau, and Carnot that, though he fixed his eyes on mademoiselle de
la Mole, he neither gave her a thought nor bowed to her, and scarcely
even saw her. When finally his big, open eyes realized her presence,
their expression vanished. Mademoiselle de la Mole noticed it with
bitterness.

It was in vain that she asked him for Vely's History of France which
was on the highest shelf, and thus necessitated Julien going to fetch
the longer of the two ladders. Julien had brought the ladder and had
fetched the volume and given it to her, but had not yet been able to
give her a single thought. As he was taking the ladder back he hit
in his hurry one of the glass panes in the library with his elbow;
the noise of the glass falling on the floor finally brought him to
himself. He hastened to apologise to mademoiselle de la Mole. He tried
to be polite and was certainly nothing more. Mathilde saw clearly that
she had disturbed him, and that he would have preferred to have gone
on thinking about what he had been engrossed in before her arrival,
to speaking to her. After looking at him for some time she went
slowly away. Julien watched her walk. He enjoyed the contrast of her
present dress with the elegant magnificence of the previous night. The
difference between the two expressions was equally striking. The young
girl who had been so haughty at the Duke de Retz's ball, had, at the
present moment, an almost plaintive expression. "As a matter of fact,"
said Julien to himself, "that black dress makes the beauty of her
figure all the more striking. She has a queenly carriage; but why is
she in mourning?"

"If I ask someone the reason for this mourning, they will think I am
putting my foot in it again." Julien had now quite emerged from the
depth of his enthusiasm. "I must read over again all the letters I have
written this morning. God knows how many missed out words and blunders
I shall find. As he was forcing himself to concentrate his mind on the
first of these letters he heard the rustle of a silk dress near him.
He suddenly turned round, mademoiselle de la Mole was two yards from
his table, she was smiling. This second interruption put Julien into a
bad temper. Mathilde had just fully realized that she meant nothing to
this young man. Her smile was intended to hide her embarrassment; she
succeeded in doing so.

"You are evidently thinking of something very interesting, Monsieur
Sorel. Is it not some curious anecdote about that conspiracy which
is responsible for comte Altamira being in Paris? Tell me what it is
about, I am burning to know. I will be discreet, I swear it." She was
astonished at hearing herself utter these words. What! was she asking a
favour of an inferior! Her embarrassment increased, and she added with
a little touch of flippancy,

"What has managed to turn such a usually cold person as yourself, into
an inspired being, a kind of Michael Angelo prophet?"

This sharp and indiscreet question wounded Julien deeply, and rendered
him madder than ever.

"Was Danton right in stealing?" he said to her brusquely in a manner
that grew more and more surly. "Ought the revolutionaries of Piedmont
and of Spain to have injured the people by crimes? To have given all
the places in the army and all the orders to undeserving persons? Would
not the persons who wore these orders have feared the return of the
king? Ought they to have allowed the treasure of Turin to be looted?
In a word, mademoiselle," he said, coming near her with a terrifying
expression, "ought the man who wishes to chase ignorance and crime from
the world to pass like the whirlwind and do evil indiscriminately?"

Mathilde felt frightened, was unable to stand his look, and retreated a
couples of paces. She looked at him a moment, and then ashamed of her
own fear, left the library with a light step.

Julien sees Mathilde after a period of separation, and she commands him to attend a ball with her brother. Julien is dazzled by the magnificence of the Hotel de Retz and by the brilliance of the aristocracy in attendance. Although Mathilde is the center of attraction, she is bored with the lack of color that characterizes all of her suitors. Julien and Altamira, a liberal condemned to die, are the only men present who intrigue her, and they seem unmoved by her charm, unlike Croisenois and the others of his ilk. In her boredom and because of her fascination with the unconventional, the exciting, the unusual, Mathilde seeks out the company of Julien and Altamira, who are deeply engrossed in a conversation about political expediency and idealism. They remain oblivious to her presence. Piqued, Mathilde seeks to tire herself by dancing and engages in a verbal bout with the impertinent Fervaques, a bout in which she is pitilessly victorious. Julien's admiration for Altamira is unbounded, and the day after the ball, as he works in the library, he is still engaged in an endless inner debate between expediency and idealism. Mathilde appears and reappears, hoping to attract his attention. When Julien deigns to answer her question about the object of his thoughts, he overwhelms her with his reflections. Mathilde hastily retires, realizing that she has interrupted his thoughts.

These chapters serve as preparation for the beginning of Julien's affair with Mathilde. Unaware that she is doing so, she will instinctively seek out Julien as a potential realization of the ideal she seeks -- a noble soul capable of self-sacrifice for great ideals. The chief point of view of narration is that of Mathilde. Stendhal's artistry as a psychological novelist requires that the reader supply the explicit formulation of the characters' motivation. Why does Mathilde command Julien's presence at the ball? We are to conclude that this is precipitated by her boredom and by the conversation she has had with her father concerning Julien. In that conversation, the marquis praised Julien for being capable of the unexpected and found his own son inferior by comparison. Stendhal transforms psychological analysis into action, expecting the reader to supply the explicit description of the psychological movement. Not even Mathilde arrives at an awareness of her own motivation. Stendhal creates the ball, in all its sterile glitter, as a fitting stage where Mathilde's boredom may be displayed as having reached its paroxysm. In this regard, the ball scene is the culmination of the salon scenes in the Hotel de la Mole. Stendhal takes little interest in describing the ball as such. He presents no exhaustive description of costumes, physical surroundings, or of guests. We have the impression of crowds mainly because Mathilde seems endlessly searching for Julien. Stendhal limits the point of view to that of Mathilde and Julien. The reader's appreciation of the ball is, therefore, limited to that of the characters. This represents a partial abandonment of the traditional omniscient point of view and previews more radical innovations in technique by late nineteenth- and twentieth-century novelists. Were Mathilde less appealing to her suitors, she would be less bored. Stendhal emphasizes her role as the most sought-after beauty of the season in order to put her boredom in relief. Any unearned victory, rather victory as such, is considered by Mathilde as a defeat since it supposes an end to battle. Happiness, for the "beyliste," is no more than the search for happiness. Ironically, only those potential realizations of Mathilde's ideal are indifferent to her -- Altamira and Julien. It would be inexact to say that Mathilde is, at this stage, directing her attentions exclusively toward Julien as an individual. Julien and Altamira appear not as individuals but as a human type, a realization of her ideal. Mathilde's ideal will ultimately individualize itself into Julien. Julien finds a kindred soul in Altamira, the only individual in the novel who earns the hero's unreserved admiration. In these chapters, Stendhal gives more ample consideration to the conflict between idealism and expediency. Ironically, Julien aspires to revolutionary liberalism, but he is becoming more firmly entrenched in the home of an ultra. He, an ambitious pariah, idolizes Altamira, a liberal whose idealism has condemned him to death. This, Stendhal is saying, is the lamentable state to which the glorious revolutionary principles have degenerated during the autocratic Restoration. Altamira is Julien's double. Because of her pride and superiority, Mathilde is very worthy of Julien, although he continues to find her unattractive, and her pride offends his. Julien has become a dandy, Stendhal tells us, and he conducts himself coldly as a defense against Mathilde's haughtiness. He will not fail to notice, however, that others admire her, that, in fact, she is the attraction of the ball. He will begin to see her differently since, prized by others, she must be worthy. Note that Julien disagrees with Altamira, although the reader realizes that Julien is really undecided as he defends so forcibly the position of expediency. The graphic image of character disposition that may be seen in the ball scene is the following: Altamira is impassioned by his ideal of freedom; Julien shares this ideal and is only attentive to its exponent, Altamira; Mathilde instinctively pursues both as representatives of her own heroic ideal. The result, temporarily, is parallel and unfulfilled aspirations.