CHAPTER LIX

ENNUI

        Sacrificing one's self to one's passions, let it pass;
        but sacrificing one's self to passions which one has not
        got! Oh! melancholy nineteenth century!
                                            _Girodet_.

Madame de Fervaques had begun reading Julien's long letters without any
pleasure, but she now began to think about them; one thing, however,
grieved her. "What a pity that M. Sorel was not a real priest! He could
then be admitted to a kind of intimacy; but in view of that cross,
and that almost lay dress, one is exposed to cruel questions and what
is one to answer?" She did not finish the train of thought, "Some
malicious woman friend may think, and even spread it about that he is
some lower middle-class cousin or other, a relative of my father, some
tradesman who has been decorated by the National Guard." Up to the
time which she had seen Julien, madame de Fervaque's greatest pleasure
had been writing the word marechale after her name. Consequently a
morbid parvenu vanity, which was ready to take umbrage at everything,
combatted the awakening of her interest in him. "It would be so easy
for me," said the marechale, "to make him a grand vicar in some diocese
near Paris! but plain M. Sorel, and what is more, a man who is the
secretary of M. de la Mole! It is heart-breaking."

For the first time in her life this soul, which was afraid of
everything, was moved by an interest which was alien to its own
pretensions to rank and superiority. Her old porter noticed that
whenever he brought a letter from this handsome young man, who always
looked so sad, he was certain to see that absent, discontented
expression, which the marechale always made a point of assuming on the
entry of any of her servants, immediately disappear. The boredom of a
mode of life whose ambitions were concentrated on impressing the public
without her having at heart any real faculty of enjoyment for that kind
of success, had become so intolerable since she had begun to think of
Julien that, all that was necessary to prevent her chambermaids being
bullied for a whole day, was that their mistress should have passed
an hour in the society of this strange young man on the evening of
the preceding day. His budding credit was proof against very cleverly
written anonymous letters. It was in vain that Tanbeau supplied M. de
Luz, de Croisenois, de Caylus, with two or three very clever calumnies
which these gentlemen were only too glad to spread, without making
too many enquiries of the actual truth of the charges. The marechale,
whose temperament was not calculated to be proof against these vulgar
expedients related her doubts to Mathilde, and was always consoled by
her.

One day, madame de Fervaques, after having asked three times if there
were any letters for her, suddenly decided to answer Julien. It was a
case of the triumph of ennui. On reaching the second letter in his name
the marechale almost felt herself pulled up sharp by the unbecomingness
of writing with her own hand so vulgar an address as to M. Sorel, care
of M. le Marquis de la Mole.

"You must bring me envelopes with your address on," she said very drily
to Julien in the evening. "Here I am appointed lover and valet in one,"
thought Julien, and he bowed, amused himself by wrinkling his face up
like Arsene, the old valet of the marquis.

He brought the envelopes that very evening, and he received the third
letter very early on the following day: he read five or six lines at
the beginning, and two or three towards the end. There were four pages
of a small and very close writing. The lady gradually developed the
sweet habit of writing nearly every day. Julien answered by faithful
copies of the Russian letters; and such is the advantage of the
bombastic style that madame de Fervaques was not a bit astonished by
the lack of connection between his answers and her letters. How gravely
irritated would her pride have been if the little Tanbeau who had
constituted himself a voluntary spy on all Julien's movements had been
able to have informed her that all these letters were left unsealed and
thrown haphazard into Julien's drawer.

One morning the porter was bringing into the library a letter to him
from the marechale. Mathilde met the man, saw the letter together with
the address in Julien's handwriting. She entered the library as the
porter was leaving it, the letter was still on the edge of the table.
Julien was very busy with his work and had not yet put it in his drawer.

"I cannot endure this," exclaimed Mathilde, as she took possession
of the letter, "you are completely forgetting me, me your wife, your
conduct is awful, monsieur."

At these words her pride, shocked by the awful unseemliness of her
proceeding, prevented her from speaking. She burst into tears, and soon
seemed to Julien scarcely able to breathe.

Julien was so surprised and embarrassed that he did not fully
appreciate how ideally fortunate this scene was for himself. He helped
Mathilde to sit down; she almost abandoned herself in his arms.

The first minute in which he noticed this movement, he felt an extreme
joy. Immediately afterwards, he thought of Korasoff: "I may lose
everything by a single word."

The strain of carrying out his tactics was so great that his arms
stiffened. "I dare not even allow myself to press this supple, charming
frame to my heart, or she will despise me or treat me badly. What an
awful character!" And while he cursed Mathilde's character, he loved
her a hundred times more. He thought he had a queen in his arms.

Julien's impassive coldness intensified the anguished pride which was
lacerating the soul of mademoiselle de la Mole. She was far from having
the necessary self-possession to try and read in his eyes what he felt
for her at that particular moment. She could not make up her mind to
look at him. She trembled lest she might encounter a contemptuous
expression.

Seated motionless on the library divan, with her head turned in the
opposite direction to Julien, she was a prey to the most poignant
anguish that pride and love can inflict upon a human soul. What an
awful step had she just slipped into taking! "It has been reserved
for me, unhappy woman that I am, to see my most unbecoming advances
rebuffed! and rebuffed by whom?" added her maddened and wounded pride;
"rebuffed by a servant of my father's! That's more than I will put up
with," she said aloud, and rising in a fury, she opened the drawer of
Julien's table, which was two yards in front of her.

She stood petrified with horror when she saw eight or ten unopened
letters, completely like the one the porter had just brought up. She
recognised Julien's handwriting, though more or less disguised, on all
the addresses.

"So," she cried, quite beside herself, "you are not only on good terms
with her, but you actually despise her. You, a nobody, despise madame
la marechale de Fervaques!"

"Oh, forgive me, my dear," she added, throwing herself on her knees;
"despise me if you wish, but love me. I cannot live without your love."
And she fell down in a dead faint.

"So our proud lady is lying at my feet," said Julien to himself.

CHAPTER LX

A BOX AT THE BOUFFES

   As the blackest sky
Foretells the heaviest tempest
               _Don Juan, c._ 1. _st_.76.

In the midst of these great transports Julien felt more surprised than
happy. Mathilde's abuse proved to him the shrewdness of the Russian
tactics. "'Few words, few deeds,' that is my one method of salvation."
He picked up Mathilde, and without saying a word, put her back on the
divan. She was gradually being overcome by tears.

In order to keep herself in countenance, she took madame de Fervaques'
letters in her hands, and slowly broke the seals. She gave a noticeable
nervous movement when she recognised the marechale's handwriting. She
turned over the pages of these letters without reading them. Most of
them were six pages.

"At least answer me," Mathilde said at last, in the most supplicatory
tone, but without daring to look at Julien: "You know how proud I am.
It is the misfortune of my position, and of my temperament, too, I
confess. Has madame de Fervaques robbed me of your heart? Has she made
the sacrifices to which my fatal love swept me?"

A dismal silence was all Julien's answer. "By what right," he thought,
"does she ask me to commit an indiscretion unworthy of an honest man?"
Mathilde tried to read the letters; her eyes were so wet with tears
that it was impossible for her to do so. She had been unhappy for a
month past, but this haughty soul had been very far from owning its own
feelings even to itself. Chance alone had brought about this explosion.
For one instant jealousy and love had won a victory over pride. She
was sitting on the divan, and very near him. He saw her hair and her
alabaster neck. For a moment he forgot all he owed to himself. He
passed his arm around her waist, and clasped her almost to his breast.

She slowly turned her head towards him. He was astonished by the
extreme anguish in her eyes. There was not a trace of their usual
expression.

Julien felt his strength desert him. So great was the deadly pain of
the courageous feat which he was imposing on himself.

"Those eyes will soon express nothing but the coldest disdain," said
Julien to himself, "if I allow myself to be swept away by the happiness
of loving her." She, however, kept repeatedly assuring him at this
moment, in a hushed voice, and in words which she had scarcely the
strength to finish, of all her remorse for those steps which her
inordinate pride had dictated.

"I, too, have pride," said Julien to her, in a scarcely articulate
voice, while his features portrayed the lowest depths of physical
prostration.

Mathilde turned round sharply towards him. Hearing his voice was a
happiness which she had given up hoping. At this moment her only
thought of her haughtiness was to curse it. She would have liked to
have found out some abnormal and incredible actions, in order to prove
to him the extent to which she adored him and detested herself.

"That pride is probably the reason," continued Julien, "why you singled
me out for a moment. My present courageous and manly firmness is
certainly the reason why you respect me. I may entertain love for the
marechale."

Mathilde shuddered; a strange expression came into her eyes. She was
going to hear her sentence pronounced. This shudder did not escape
Julien. He felt his courage weaken.

"Ah," he said to himself, as he listened to the sound of the vain words
which his mouth was articulating, as he thought it were some strange
sound, "if I could only cover those pale cheeks with kisses without
your feeling it."

"I may entertain love for the marechale," he continued, while his voice
became weaker and weaker, "but I certainly have no definite proof of
her interest in me."

Mathilde looked at him. He supported that look. He hoped, at any rate,
that his expression had not betrayed him. He felt himself bathed in a
love that penetrated even into the most secret recesses of his heart.
He had never adored her so much; he was almost as mad as Mathilde. If
she had mustered sufficient self-possession and courage to manoeuvre, he
would have abandoned all his play-acting, and fallen at her feet. He
had sufficient strength to manage to continue speaking: "Ah, Korasoff,"
he exclaimed mentally, "why are you not here? How I need a word from
you to guide me in my conduct." During this time his voice was saying,

"In default of any other sentiment, gratitude would be sufficient to
attach me to the marechale. She has been indulgent to me; she has
consoled me when I have been despised. I cannot put unlimited faith
in certain appearances which are, no doubt, extremely flattering, but
possibly very fleeting."

"Oh, my God!" exclaimed Mathilde.

"Well, what guarantee will you give me?" replied Julien with a sharp,
firm intonation, which seemed to abandon for a moment the prudent forms
of diplomacy. "What guarantee, what god will warrant that the position
to which you seem inclined to restore me at the present moment will
last more than two days?"

"The excess of my love, and my unhappiness if you do not love me," she
said to him, taking his hands and turning towards him.

The spasmodic movement which she had just made had slightly displaced
her tippet; Julien caught a view of her charming shoulders. Her
slightly dishevelled hair recalled a delicious memory....

He was on the point of succumbing. "One imprudent word," he said to
himself, "and I have to start all over again that long series of days
which I have passed in despair. Madame de Renal used to find reasons
for doing what her heart dictated. This young girl of high society
never allows her heart to be moved except when she has proved to
herself by sound logic that it ought to be moved."

He saw this proof in the twinkling of an eye, and in the twinkling
of an eye too, he regained his courage. He took away his hands which
Mathilde was pressing in her own, and moved a little away from her with
a marked respect.

Human courage could not go further. He then busied himself with
putting together madame de Fervaque's letters which were spread out on
the divan, and it was with all the appearance of extreme politeness
that he cruelly exploited the psychological moment by adding,

"Mademoiselle de la Mole will allow me to reflect over all this." He
went rapidly away and left the library; she heard him shut all the
doors one after the other.

"The monster is not the least bit troubled," she said to herself. "But
what am I saying? Monster? He is wise, prudent, good. It is I myself
who have committed more wrong than one can imagine."

This point of view lasted. Mathilde was almost happy today, for she
gave herself up to love unreservedly. One would have said that this
soul had never been disturbed by pride (and what pride!)

She shuddered with horror when a lackey announced madame le Fervaques
into the salon in the evening. The man's voice struck her as sinister.
She could not endure the sight of the marechale, and stopped suddenly.
Julien who had felt little pride over his painful victory, had feared
to face her, and had not dined at the Hotel de la Mole.

His love and his happiness rapidly increased in proportion to the time
that elapsed from the moment of the battle. He was blaming himself
already. "How could I resist her?" he said to himself. "Suppose she
were to go and leave off loving me! One single moment may change that
haughty soul, and I must admit that I have treated her awfully."

In the evening he felt that it was absolutely necessary to put in
an appearance at the Bouffes in madame de Fervaques' box. She had
expressly invited him. Mathilde would be bound to know of his presence
or his discourteous absence. In spite of the clearness of this logic,
he could not at the beginning of the evening bring himself to plunge
into society. By speaking he would lose half his happiness. Ten o'clock
struck and it was absolutely necessary to show himself. Luckily he
found the marechale's box packed with women, and was relegated to a
place near the door where he was completely hidden by the hats. This
position saved him from looking ridiculous; Caroline's divine notes of
despair in the _Matrimonio Segreto_ made him burst into tears. Madame
de Fervaques saw these tears. They represented so great a contrast
with the masculine firmness of his usual expression that the soul
of the old-fashioned lady, saturated as it had been for many years
with all the corroding acid of parvenu haughtiness, was none the less
touched. Such remnants of a woman's heart as she still possessed
impelled her to speak: she wanted to enjoy the sound of his voice at
this moment.

"Have you seen the de la Mole ladies?" she said to him. "They are
in the third tier." Julien immediately craned out over the theatre,
leaning politely enough on the front of the box. He saw Mathilde; her
eyes were shining with tears.

"And yet it is not their Opera day," thought Julien; "how eager she
must be!"

Mathilde had prevailed on her mother to come to the Bouffes in spite
of the inconveniently high tier of the box, which a lady friend of the
family had hastened to offer her. She wanted to see if Julien would
pass the evening with the marechale.

CHAPTER LXI

FRIGHTEN HER

        So this is the fine miracle of your civilisation; you
        have turned love into an ordinary business.--_Barnave_.

Julien rushed into madame de la Mole's box. His eyes first met the
tearful eyes of Mathilde; she was crying without reserve. There were
only insignificant personages present, the friend who had leant her
box, and some men whom she knew. Mathilde placed her hand on Julien's;
she seemed to have forgotten all fear of her mother. Almost stifled as
she was by her tears, she said nothing but this one word: "Guarantees!"

"So long as I don't speak to her," said Julien to himself. He was
himself very moved, and concealed his eyes with his hand as best
he could under the pretext of avoiding the dazzling light of the
third tier of boxes. "If I speak she may suspect the excess of my
emotion, the sound of my voice will betray me. All may yet be lost."
His struggles were more painful than they had been in the morning,
his soul had had the time to become moved. He had been frightened at
seeing Mathilde piqued with vanity. Intoxicated as he was with love and
pleasure he resolved not to speak.

In my view this is one of the finest traits in his character, an
individual capable of such an effort of self-control may go far si
_fata sinant_.

Mademoiselle de la Mole insisted on taking Julien back to the hotel.
Luckily it was raining a great deal, but the marquise had him placed
opposite her, talked to him incessantly, and prevented him saying a
single word to her daughter. One might have thought that the marquise
was nursing Julien's happiness for him; no longer fearing to lose
everything through his excessive emotion, he madly abandoned himself to
his happiness.

Shall I dare to say that when he went back to his room Julien fell
on his knees and covered with kisses the love letters which prince
Korasoff had given him.

"How much I owe you, great man," he exclaimed in his madness. Little
by little he regained his self-possession. He compared himself to a
general who had just won a great battle. "My advantage is definite and
immense," he said to himself, "but what will happen to-morrow? One
instant may ruin everything."

With a passionate gesture he opened the _Memoirs_ which Napoleon had
dictated at St. Helena and for two long hours forced himself to read
them. Only his eyes read; no matter, he made himself do it. During this
singular reading his head and his heart rose to the most exalted level
and worked unconsciously. "Her heart is very different from madame de
Renal's," he said to himself, but he did not go further.

"Frighten her!" he suddenly exclaimed, hurling away the book. "The
enemy will only obey me in so far as I frighten him, but then he will
not dare to show contempt for me."

Intoxicated with joy he walked up and down his little room. In point of
fact his happiness was based rather on pride than on love.

"Frighten her!" he repeated proudly, and he had cause to be proud.

"Madame de Renal always doubted even in her happiest moments if my
love was equal to her own. In this case I have to subjugate a demon,
consequently I must subjugate her." He knew quite well that Mathilde
would be in the library at eight o'clock in the morning of the
following day. He did not appear before nine o'clock. He was burning
with love, but his head dominated his heart.

Scarcely a single minute passed without his repeating to himself. "Keep
her obsessed by this great doubt. Does he love me?" Her own brilliant
position, together with the flattery of all who speak to her, tend a
little too much to make her reassure herself.

He found her sitting on the divan pale and calm, but apparently
completely incapable of making a single movement. She held out her
hand,

"Dear one, it is true I have offended you, perhaps you are angry with
me."

Julien had not been expecting this simple tone. He was on the point of
betraying himself.

"You want guarantees, my dear, she added after a silence which she had
hoped would be broken. Take me away, let us leave for London. I shall
be ruined, dishonoured for ever." She had the courage to take her hand
away from Julien to cover her eyes with it.

All her feelings of reserve and feminine virtue had come back into her
soul. "Well, dishonour me," she said at last with a sigh, "that will be
a guarantee."

"I was happy yesterday, because I had the courage to be severe with
myself," thought Julien. After a short silence he had sufficient
control over his heart to say in an icy tone,

"Once we are on the road to London, once you are dishonoured, to employ
your own expression, who will answer that you will still love me? that
my very presence in the post-chaise will not seem importunate? I am not
a monster; to have ruined your reputation will only make me still more
unhappy. It is not your position in society which is the obstacle, it
is unfortunately your own character. Can you yourself guarantee that
you will love me for eight days?"

"Ah! let her love me for eight days, just eight days," whispered
Julien to himself, "and I will die of happiness. What do I care for
the future, what do I care for life? And yet if I wish that divine
happiness can commence this very minute, it only depends on me."

Mathilde saw that he was pensive.

"So I am completely unworthy of you," she said to him, taking his hand.

Julien kissed her, but at the same time the iron hand of duty gripped
his heart. If she sees how much I adore her I shall lose her. And
before leaving her arms, he had reassumed all that dignity which is
proper to a man.

He managed on this and the following days to conceal his inordinate
happiness. There were moments when he even refused himself the pleasure
of clasping her in his arms. At other times the delirium of happiness
prevailed over all the counsels of prudence.

He had been accustomed to station himself near a bower of honeysuckle
in the garden arranged in such a way so as to conceal the ladder when
he had looked up at Mathilde's blind in the distance, and lamented her
inconstancy. A very big oak tree was quite near, and the trunk of that
tree prevented him from being seen by the indiscreet.

As he passed with Mathilde over this very place which recalled his
excessive unhappiness so vividly, the contrast between his former
despair and his present happiness proved too much for his character.
Tears inundated his eyes, and he carried his sweetheart's hand to his
lips: "It was here I used to live in my thoughts of you, it was from
here that I used to look at that blind, and waited whole hours for the
happy moment when I would see that hand open it."

His weakness was unreserved. He portrayed the extremity of his former
despair in genuine colours which could not possibly have been invented.
Short interjections testified to that present happiness which had put
an end to that awful agony.

"My God, what am I doing?" thought Julien, suddenly recovering himself.
"I am ruining myself."

In his excessive alarm he thought that he already detected a diminution
of the love in mademoiselle de la Mole's eyes. It was an illusion, but
Julien's face suddenly changed its expression and became overspread
by a mortal pallor. His eyes lost their fire, and an expression of
haughtiness touched with malice soon succeeded to his look of the most
genuine and unreserved love.

"But what is the matter with you, my dear," said Mathilde to him, both
tenderly and anxiously.

"I am lying," said Julien irritably, "and I am lying to you. I am
reproaching myself for it, and yet God knows that I respect you
sufficiently not to lie to you. You love me, you are devoted to me, and
I have no need of praises in order to please you."

"Great heavens! are all the charming things you have been telling me
for the last two minutes mere phrases?"

"And I reproach myself for it keenly, dear one. I once made them up for
a woman who loved me, and bored me--it is the weakness of my character.
I denounce myself to you, forgive me."

Bitter tears streamed over Mathilde's cheeks.

"As soon as some trifle offends me and throws me back on my
meditation," continued Julien, "my abominable memory, which I curse at
this very minute, offers me a resource, and I abuse it."

"So I must have slipped, without knowing it, into some action which has
displeased you," said Mathilde with a charming simplicity.

"I remember one day that when you passed near this honeysuckle you
picked a flower, M. de Luz took it from you and you let him keep it. I
was two paces away."

"M. de Luz? It is impossible," replied Mathilde with all her natural
haughtiness. "I do not do things like that."

"I am sure of it," Julien replied sharply.

"Well, my dear, it is true," said Mathilde, as she sadly lowered her
eyes. She knew positively that many months had elapsed since she had
allowed M. de Luz to do such a thing.

Julien looked at her with ineffable tenderness, "No," he said to
himself, "she does not love me less."

In the evening she rallied him with a laugh on his fancy for madame de
Fervaques. "Think of a bourgeois loving a parvenu, those are perhaps
the only type of hearts that my Julien cannot make mad with love. She
has made you into a real dandy," she said playing with his hair.

During the period when he thought himself scorned by Mathilde, Julien
had become one of the best dressed men in Paris. He had, moreover,
a further advantage over other dandies, in as much as once he had
finished dressing he never gave a further thought to his appearance.

One thing still piqued Mathilde, Julien continued to copy out the
Russian letters and send them to the marechale.

CHAPTER LXII

THE TIGER

        Alas, why these things and not other
        things?--_Beaumarchais_.

An English traveller tells of the intimacy in which he lived with a
tiger. He had trained it and would caress it, but he always kept a
cocked pistol on his table.

Julien only abandoned himself to the fulness of his happiness in those
moments when Mathilde could not read the expression in his eyes. He
scrupulously performed his duty of addressing some harsh word to her
from time to time.

When Mathilde's sweetness, which he noticed with some surprise,
together with the completeness of her devotion were on the point of
depriving him of all self-control, he was courageous enough to leave
her suddenly.

Mathilde loved for the first time in her life.

Life had previously always dragged along at a tortoise pace, but now it
flew.

As, however, her pride required to find a vent in some way or other,
she wished to expose herself to all the dangers in which her love could
involve her. It was Julien who was prudent, and it was only when it was
a question of danger that she did not follow her own inclination; but
submissive, and almost humble as she was when with him, she only showed
additional haughtiness to everyone in the house who came near her,
whether relatives or friends.

In the evening she would call Julien to her in the salon in the
presence of sixty people, and have a long and private conversation with
him.

The little Tanbeau installed himself one day close to them. She
requested him to go and fetch from the library the volume of Smollet
which deals with the revolution of 1688, and when he hesitated, added
with an expression of insulting haughtiness, which was a veritable balm
to Julien's soul, "Don't hurry."

"Have you noticed that little monster's expression?" he said to her.

"His uncle has been in attendance in this salon for ten or twelve
years, otherwise I would have had him packed off immediately."

Her behaviour towards MM. de Croisenois, de Luz, etc., though outwardly
perfectly polite, was in reality scarcely less provocative. Mathilde
keenly reproached herself for all the confidential remarks about them
which she had formerly made to Julien, and all the more so since she
did not dare to confess that she had exaggerated to him the, in fact,
almost absolutely innocent manifestations of interest of which these
gentlemen had been the objects. In spite of her best resolutions her
womanly pride invariably prevented her from saying to Julien, "It was
because I was talking to you that I found a pleasure in describing my
weakness in not drawing my hand away, when M. de Croisenois had placed
his on a marble table and had just touched it."

But now, as soon as one of these gentlemen had been speaking to her for
some moments, she found she had a question to put to Julien, and she
made this an excuse for keeping him by her side.

She discovered that she was _enceinte_ and joyfully informed Julien of
the fact.

"Do you doubt me now? Is it not a guarantee? I am your wife for ever."

This announcement struck Julien with profound astonishment. He was on
the point of forgetting the governing principle of his conduct. How am
I to be deliberately cold and insulting towards this poor young girl,
who is ruining herself for my sake. And if she looked at all ill,
he could not, even on those days when the terrible voice of wisdom
made itself heard, find the courage to address to her one of those
harsh remarks which his experience had found so indispensable to the
preservation of their love.

"I will write to my father," said Mathilde to him one day, "he is
more than a father to me, he is a friend; that being so, I think it
unworthy both of you and of myself to try and deceive him, even for a
single minute."

"Great heavens, what are you going to do?" said Julien in alarm.

"My duty," she answered with eyes shining with joy.

She thought she was showing more nobility than her lover.

"But he will pack me off in disgrace."

"It is his right to do so, we must respect it. I will give you my arm,
and we will go out by the front door in full daylight."

Julien was thunderstruck and requested her to put it off for a week.

"I cannot," she answered, "it is the voice of honour, I have seen my
duty, I must follow it, and follow it at once."

"Well, I order you to put it off," said Julien at last. "Your honour
is safe for the present. I am your husband. The position of us will be
changed by this momentous step. I too am within my rights. To-day is
Tuesday, next Tuesday is the duke de Retz's at home; when M. de la Mole
comes home in the evening the porter will give him the fatal letter.
His only thought is to make you a duchess, I am sure of it. Think of
his unhappiness."

"You mean, think of his vengeance?"

"It may be that I pity my benefactor, and am grieved at injuring him,
but I do not fear, and shall never fear anyone."

Mathilde yielded. This was the first occasion, since she had informed
Julien of her condition, that he had spoken to her authoritatively.
She had never loved him so much. The tender part of his soul had
found happiness in seizing on Mathilde's condition as an excuse
for refraining from his cruel remarks to her. The question of the
confession to M. de la Mole deeply moved him. Was he going to be
separated from Mathilde? And, however grieved she would be to see him
go, would she have a thought for him after his departure?

He was almost equally horrified by the thought of the justified
reproaches which the marquis might address to him.

In the evening he confessed to Mathilde the second reason for his
anxiety, and then led away by his love, confessed the first as well.

She changed colour. "Would it really make you unhappy," she said to
him, "to pass six months far away from me?"

"Infinitely so. It is the only thing in the world which terrifies me."

Mathilde was very happy. Julien had played his part so assiduously that
he had succeeded in making her think that she was the one of the two
who loved the more.

The fatal Tuesday arrived. When the marquis came in at midnight he
found a letter addressed to him, which was only to be opened himself
when no one was there:--

        "My father,

        "All social ties have been broken between us, only those
        of nature remain. Next to my husband, you are and always
        will be the being I shall always hold most dear. My
        eyes are full of tears, I am thinking of the pain that
        I am causing you, but if my shame was to be prevented
        from becoming public, and you were to be given time to
        reflect and act, I could not postpone any longer the
        confession that I owe you. If your affection for me,
        which I know is extremely deep, is good enough to grant
        me a small allowance, I will go and settle with my
        husband anywhere you like, in Switzerland, for instance.
        His name is so obscure that no one would recognize
        in Madame Sorel, the daughter-in-law of a Verrieres
        carpenter, your daughter. That is the name which I have
        so much difficulty in writing. I fear your wrath against
        Julien, it seems so justified. I shall not be a duchess,
        my father; but I knew it when I loved him; for I was
        the one who loved him first, it was I who seduced him.
        I have inherited from you too lofty a soul to fix my
        attention on what either is or appears to be vulgar. It
        is in vain that I thought of M. Croisenois with a view
        to pleasing you. Why did you place real merit under my
        eyes? You told me yourself on my return from Hyeres,
        'that young Sorel is the one person who amuses me,' the
        poor boy is as grieved as I am if it is possible, at the
        pain this letter will give you. I cannot prevent you
        being irritated as a father, but love me as a friend.

        "Julien respected me. If he sometimes spoke to me,
        it was only by reason of his deep gratitude towards
        yourself, for the natural dignity of his character
        induces him to keep to his official capacity in any
        answers he may make to anyone who is so much above
        him. He has a keen and instinctive appreciation of the
        difference of social rank. It was I (I confess it with a
        blush to my best friend, and I shall never make such a
        confession to anyone else) who clasped his arm one day
        in the garden.

        "Why need you be irritated with him, after twenty-four
        hours have elapsed? My own lapse is irreparable. If you
        insist on it, the assurance of his profound respect and
        of his desperate grief at having displeased you, can
        be conveyed to you through me. You need not see him at
        all, but I shall go and join him wherever he wishes.
        It is his right and it is my duty. He is the father of
        my child. If your kindness will go so far as to grant
        us six thousand francs to live on, I will receive it
        with gratitude; if not, Julien reckons on establishing
        himself at Besancon, where he will set up as a Latin and
        literature master. However low may have been the station
        from which he springs, I am certain he will raise
        himself. With him I do not fear obscurity. If there is
        a revolution, I am sure that he will play a prime part.
        Can you say as much for any of those who have asked
        for my hand? They have fine estates, you say. I cannot
        consider that circumstance a reason for admiring them.
        My Julien would attain a high position, even under the
        present regime, if he had a million and my father's
        protection...."

Mathilde, who knew that the marquis was a man who always abandoned
himself to his first impulse, had written eight pages.

"What am I to do?" said Julien to himself while M. de la Mole was
reading this letter. "Where is (first) my duty; (second) my interest?
My debt to him is immense. Without him I should have been a menial
scoundrel, and not even enough of a scoundrel to be hated and
persecuted by the others. He has made me a man of the world. The
villainous acts which I now have to do are (first) less frequent;
(second) less mean. That is more than as if he had given me a million.
I am indebted to him for this cross and the reputation of having
rendered those alleged diplomatic services, which have lifted me out of
the ruck.

"If he himself were writing instructions for my conduct, what would he
prescribe?"

Julien was sharply interrupted by M. de la Mole's old valet. "The
marquis wants to see you at once, dressed or not dressed." The valet
added in a low voice, as he walked by Julien's side, "He is beside
himself: look out!"

Mme. de Fervaques is beginning to respond and finally answers Julien's letters. Ultimately, she is writing him a letter daily, which Julien doesn't open and answers with the letters from Korasov. Mathilde, finding the present state of affairs unbearable, encounters Julien one day in the library. She reproaches him from having neglected her, his wife, then collapses in tears. Julien initiates no action in the way of response. Mathilde then reproaches herself for having forgotten her pride, and finding Mme. de Fervaques' letters to Julien all unopened, she is beside herself with rage, insults him, then confessing her love, begs for mercy, and faints at his feet. Julien has triumphed. Mathilde asks Julien if Mme. de Fervaques has shown him proof of her love. Julien answers no, indirectly and diplomatically. He demands guarantees from Mathilde that she will not continue this cruel game with him. She has nothing but the "intensity of her love and her unhappiness if he no longer loves her." Julien withdraws respectfully, requesting time to reflect. Mathilde has found happiness in renouncing her pride. Julien feels obligated to appear in Mme. de Fervaques' box at the opera. The latter mistakenly believes that the tears in Julien's eyes are shed for her. Julien catches sight of Mathilde in another box, weeping. Going to her box, Julien hears Mathilde murmur tearfully "guarantees." Giving himself over to the expansive joy of his love in the solitude of his room, Julien hits upon a new stratagem to perpetuate Mathilde's love: He must frighten her. The next day, she offers to elope with him. He rejects the offer, reminding her that this mood would soon pass. Walking in the garden with Mathilde, Julien confesses how he used to watch for her there, but he then denies immediately the truth of this avowal. He continues to write to Mme. de Fervaques despite Mathilde's disapproval. Mathilde is now truly in love. She acts recklessly, but Julien maintains caution. She announces triumphantly, to Julien's consternation, that she is pregnant and that this is the guarantee which he demanded. She insists on informing her father but defers to Julien's view that it would be better to delay in writing the letter. In her letter, Mathilde assumes all blame and expresses the hope that her father will forgive both of them. She announces her intention of marrying Julien, and she suggests that their future situation will depend upon how M. de la Mole receives this news.

These chapters narrate the victory that Julien wins over Mathilde as his stratagem succeeds. It is here that the Cornelian nature of their love is most fully exemplified: They are nearest when farthest apart. Julien can force an avowal from Mathilde only by refusing to respond in any way to her successive anger, tears, scorn, then tenderness. Note that Julien does not utter a word in this interview. He must not betray his extreme joy, and they seem condemned to love each other separately. This scene in Chapter 29 is the exact antithesis of a normal love scene. Instead of mutual tenderness and intimacy leading to a reciprocal avowal, there is a progression in hostility and silence leading to an avowal of defeat and submission. Mathilde's initial eruption is spontaneous -- -she reproaches Julien for having neglected her. Her next reaction is equally spontaneous but results from the first -- she has humiliated herself and weeps tears of shame. Julien proves that he has progressed in controlling his sensibility by treating her with impassive coldness. His lack of response intensifies her shame to the point that she explodes in anger. Opening the drawer and finding the letters unopened, Mathilde next resorts, in her uncontrollable rage, to insults. Instantly repenting, however, she avows her love and faints. Julien can only enjoy his love as a triumph when his victim is reduced to unconsciousness as an object. This scene no doubt inspired Proust in his demonstration of the impossibility of possessing another through love. Stendhal's portrayal of Mathilde in this scene is an excellent example of the author's unique character presentation. The reader seems to witness at first hand a process of becoming that is simultaneous with the character's acts. It has been said that the words as Stendhal uses them do more than they say. Mathilde faints because she is one of those superior beings whose emotional makeup is so intense that beyond a certain point, it shuts out reality. Julien reacted similarly in his initial interview with Pirard. Note that Mme. de Fervaques remains hypocritical, even toward herself. She does not admit to herself that she is beginning to love Julien, and since her pride would suffer by addressing letters to him, she is reduced to requesting that he give her self-addressed envelopes. There is a faint glimpse of the role played by Mme. de Renal as confidante to Elise; however, Stendhal chooses not to exploit it. Mme. de Fervaques confides in Mathilde and asks her advice on how to deal with Julien. Stendhal utilizes chapter division to isolate and put into relief a scene, or part of a scene, as is evidenced by the artificial chapter division between 29 and 30. The latter in fact continues the previous scene, but the dramatic effect inherent in 29 would not have been otherwise achieved. Chapter 30 rounds out Julien's victory. He continues to exert incomparable self-control to the point of hypocritically telling Mathilde that he loves Mme. de Fervaques. Finally, he comes to the conscious awareness of the necessity of maintaining a distance in order to continue to be loved by Mathilde. The reader has long since been aware of this fact. The short scene that concludes Chapter 30 represents a different angle of vision from which to see the situation between Julien and Mathilde. They appear at the opera separately, yet in their separateness they are similarly affected. Both are reduced to tears; both are enjoying their love vicariously by association with the spectacle itself. Julien is permitted to maintain the superiority of the unobserved observer. The glance that the eyes bestow is a means of communication between the elect, believes Stendhal. Thus, he gives much importance to the role of Julien's eyes in his adventures. In Chapter 31, Julien hides his eyes as he sits near Mathilde at the opera lest they betray his true feelings. Note in Stendhal's intervention to express approval of Julien's progress the use of the present tense and "may." These are intended to convince the reader of the veracity of the narrative and is a much abused device to which eighteenth- and nineteenth-century novelists resort. The result is the complicity so vehemently denounced by the "new French novelists": The omniscient novelist would pass off fiction as truth; and in this complicity, the public agrees to pretend that what it is reading is indeed fact. It might be argued that Stendhal in particular needs to establish such a complicity since his practice of withholding proof of his hero's superiority might alienate the reader. Stendhal prefers the garden as a setting for amorous adventures. Julien's affair with Mme. de Renal began and progressed in the garden. The garden scene in Chapter 31 evokes Julien's solitary anguish as he watched for Mathilde when he thought he wasn't loved. It is also the setting of the reversal of a previous meeting between them: Mathilde tortured Julien to maintain her ascendancy by telling him of her past loves; now, Julien, momentarily giving way to an expression of his "past" love for her, uses the same stratagem to maintain his present supremacy over Mathilde. He brutally denies the veracity of the words he has just spoken. Julien is testing Mathilde to ascertain to what degree his unchecked sincerity has dampened her love. His own "guarantee" consists of continuing to write the letters. He realizes that he must keep Mathilde in constant doubt as to whether he loves her. Chapter 32 presents at once the culmination of their conflict, the transformation of Mathilde's love, and it puts into motion the subject matter to be fully developed in the next few chapters. Circumstances somewhat beyond Julien's control seem to give a new direction to their relationship. Things are getting out of hand for Julien. Mathilde has accepted him as her master, it is true. Her proud nature requires that she continue the struggle elsewhere, however. First, by her reckless, almost promiscuous conduct with a social inferior, she flouts respectability. Mathilde's pregnancy is the beginning of the end for Julien. For Mathilde, it is the renewal in a different form of her dream of heroism and martyrdom. Her duty, she informs Julien, is to inform her father of this turn of events, and joyfully, she sees this heroic act as a way of proving her merit in Julien's eyes and as a way to compete with him in bravery. Julien has succeeded in convincing Mathilde that her love for him is stronger than his for her. This satisfies Mathilde, giving her a kind of superiority over him. The letter to her father, her "best friend," is certainly consistent with Mathilde's character. Love is for her so intimately associated with the infliction of pain on herself and others that she logically turns to the person she loves best after Julien to initiate a new conflict. A "great soul" requires that others of the elect participate in a kind of ritualistic sacrifice. Fabrice in The Charterhouse of Parma has a similar demanding relationship with the other elect in that novel. The next three chapters recount a struggle of wills between Mathilde and M. de la Mole.


CHAPTER LXIII

THE HELL OF WEAKNESS

        A clumsy lapidary, in cutting this diamond, deprived
        it of some of its most brilliant facets. In the middle
        ages, nay, even under Richelieu, the Frenchman had
        _force of will_.--_Mirabeau_.

Julien found the marquis furious. For perhaps the first time in his
life this nobleman showed bad form. He loaded Julien with all the
insults that came to his lips. Our hero was astonished, and his
patience was tried, but his gratitude remained unshaken.

"The poor man now sees the annihilation, in a single minute, of all
the fine plans which he has long cherished in his heart. But I owe it
to him to answer. My silence tends to increase his anger." The part of
Tartuffe supplied the answer;

"I am not an angel.... I served you well; you paid me generously.... I
was grateful, but I am twenty-two.... Only you and that charming person
understood my thoughts in this household."

"Monster," exclaimed the marquis. "Charming! Charming, to be sure! The
day when you found her charming you ought to have fled."

"I tried to. It was then that I asked permission to leave for
Languedoc."

Tired of stampeding about and overcome by his grief, the marquis threw
himself into an arm-chair. Julien heard him whispering to himself, "No,
no, he is not a wicked man."

"No, I am not, towards you," exclaimed Julien, falling on his knees.
But he felt extremely ashamed of this manifestation, and very quickly
got up again.

The marquis was really transported. When he saw this movement, he
began again to load him with abominable insults, which were worthy of
the driver of a fiacre. The novelty of these oaths perhaps acted as a
distraction.

"What! is my daughter to go by the name of madame Sorel? What! is my
daughter not to be a duchess?" Each time that these two ideas presented
themselves in all their clearness M. de la Mole was a prey to torture,
and lost all power over the movements of his mind.

Julien was afraid of being beaten.

In his lucid intervals, when he was beginning to get accustomed to his
unhappiness, the marquis addressed to Julien reproaches which were
reasonable enough. "You should have fled, sir," he said to him. "Your
duty was to flee. You are the lowest of men."

Julien approached the table and wrote:

        "I have found my life unbearable for a long time; I am
        putting an end to it. I request monsieur the marquis to
        accept my apologies (together with the expression of my
        infinite gratitude) for any embarrassment that may be
        occasioned by my death in his hotel."

"Kindly run your eye over this paper, M. the marquis," said Julien.
"Kill me, or have me killed by your valet. It is one o'clock in the
morning. I will go and walk in the garden in the direction of the wall
at the bottom."

"Go to the devil," cried the marquis, as he went away.

"I understand," thought Julien. "He would not be sorry if I were to
spare his valet the trouble of killing me....

"Let him kill me, if he likes; it is a satisfaction which I offer
him.... But, by heaven, I love life. I owe it to my son."

This idea, which had not previously presented itself with so much
definiteness to his imagination, completely engrossed him during his
walk after the first few minutes which he had spent thinking about his
danger.

This novel interest turned him into a prudent man. "I need advice as to
how to behave towards this infuriated man.... He is devoid of reason;
he is capable of everything. Fouque is too far away; besides, he would
not understand the emotions of a heart like the marquis's."

"Count Altamira ... am I certain of eternal silence? My request
for advice must not be a fresh step which will raise still further
complications. Alas! I have no one left but the gloomy abbe Pirard. His
mind is crabbed by Jansenism.... A damned Jesuit would know the world,
and would be more in my line. M. Pirard is capable of beating me at the
very mention of my crime."

The genius of Tartuffe came to Julien's help. "Well, I will go and
confess to him." This was his final resolution after having walked
about in the garden for two good hours. He no longer thought about
being surprised by a gun shot. He was feeling sleepy.

Very early the next day, Julien was several leagues away from Paris
and knocked at the door of the severe Jansenist. He found to his great
astonishment that he was not unduly surprised at his confidence.

"I ought perhaps to reproach myself," said the abbe, who seemed more
anxious than irritated. "I thought I guessed that love. My affection
for you, my unhappy boy, prevented me from warning the father."

"What will he do?" said Julien keenly.

At that moment he loved the abbe, and would have found a scene between
them very painful.

"I see three alternatives," continued Julien.

"M. de la Mole can have me put to death," and he mentioned the suicide
letter which he had left with the Marquis; (2) "He can get Count
Norbert to challenge me to a duel, and shoot at me point blank."

"You would accept?" said the abbe furiously as he got up.

"You do not let me finish. I should certainly never fire upon my
benefactor's son. (3) He can send me away. If he says go to Edinburgh
or New York, I will obey him. They can then conceal mademoiselle de la
Mole's condition, but I will never allow them to suppress my son."

"Have no doubt about it, that will be the first thought of that
depraved man."

At Paris, Mathilde was in despair. She had seen her father about seven
o'clock. He had shown her Julien's letter. She feared that he might
have considered it noble to put an end to his life; "and without my
permission?" she said to herself with a pain due solely to her anger.

"If he dies I shall die," she said to her father. "It will be you
who will be the cause of his death.... Perhaps you will rejoice at
it but I swear by his shades that I shall at once go into mourning,
and shall publicly appear as _Madame the widow Sorel_, I shall send
out my invitations, you can count on it.... You will find me neither
pusillanimous nor cowardly."

Her love went to the point of madness. M. de la Mole was flabbergasted
in his turn.

He began to regard what had happened with a certain amount of logic.
Mathilde did not appear at breakfast. The marquis felt an immense
weight off his mind, and was particularly flattered when he noticed
that she had said nothing to her mother.

Julien was dismounting from his horse. Mathilde had him called and
threw herself into his arms almost beneath the very eyes of her
chambermaid. Julien was not very appreciative of this transport. He had
come away from his long consultation with the abbe Pirard in a very
diplomatic and calculating mood. The calculation of possibilities had
killed his imagination. Mathilde told him, with tears in her eyes, that
she had read his suicide letter.

"My father may change his mind; do me the favour of leaving for
Villequier this very minute. Mount your horse again, and leave the
hotel before they get up from table."

When Julien's coldness and astonishment showed no sign of abatement,
she burst into tears.

"Let me manage our affairs," she exclaimed ecstatically, as she clasped
him in her arms. "You know, dear, it is not of my own free will that
I separate from you. Write under cover to my maid. Address it in a
strange hand-writing, I will write volumes to you. Adieu, flee."

This last word wounded Julien, but he none the less obeyed. "It will
be fatal," he thought "if, in their most gracious moments these
aristocrats manage to shock me."

Mathilde firmly opposed all her father's prudent plans. She would
not open negotiations on any other basis except this. She was to be
Madame Sorel, and was either to live with her husband in poverty in
Switzerland, or with her father in Paris. She rejected absolutely the
suggestion of a secret accouchement. "In that case I should begin to
be confronted with a prospect of calumny and dishonour. I shall go
travelling with my husband two months after the marriage, and it will
be easy to pretend that my son was born at a proper time."

This firmness though at first received with violent fits of anger,
eventually made the marquis hesitate.

"Here," he said to his daughter in a moment of emotion, "is a gift of
ten thousand francs a year. Send it to your Julien, and let him quickly
make it impossible for me to retract it."

In order to obey Mathilde, whose imperious temper he well knew, Julien
had travelled forty useless leagues; he was superintending the accounts
of the farmers at Villequier. This act of benevolence on the part of
the marquis occasioned his return. He went and asked asylum of the abbe
Pirard, who had become Mathilde's most useful ally during his absence.
Every time that he was questioned by the marquis, he would prove to him
that any other course except public marriage would be a crime in the
eyes of God.

"And happily," added the abbe, "worldly wisdom is in this instance in
agreement with religion. Could one, in view of Mdlle. de la Mole's
passionate character, rely for a minute on her keeping any secret which
she did not herself wish to preserve? If one does not reconcile oneself
to the frankness of a public marriage, society will concern itself much
longer with this strange mesalliance__. Everything must be said all
at once without either the appearance or the reality of the slightest
mystery."

"It is true," said the marquis pensively.

Two or three friends of M. de la Mole were of the same opinion as the
abbe Pirard. The great obstacle in their view was Mathilde's decided
character. But in spite of all these fine arguments the marquis's soul
could not reconcile itself to giving up all hopes of a coronet for his
daughter.

He ransacked his memory and his imagination for all the variations of
knavery and duplicity which had been feasible in his youth. Yielding to
necessity and having fear of the law seemed absurd and humiliating for
a man in his position. He was paying dearly now for the luxury of those
enchanting dreams concerning the future of his cherished daughter in
which he had indulged for the last ten years.

"Who could have anticipated it?" he said to himself. "A girl of so
proud a character, of so lofty a disposition, who is even prouder than
I am of the name she bears? A girl whose hand has already been asked
for by all the cream of the nobility of France."

"We must give up all faith in prudence. This age is made to confound
everything. We are marching towards chaos."

CHAPTER LXIV

A MAN OF INTELLECT

        The prefect said to himself as he rode along the highway
        on horseback, "why should I not be a minister, a
        president of the council, a duke? This is how I should
        make war.... By these means I should have all the
        reformers put in irons."--_The Globe_.

No argument will succeed in destroying the paramount influence of ten
years of agreeable dreaming. The marquis thought it illogical to be
angry, but could not bring himself to forgive. "If only this Julien
could die by accident," he sometimes said to himself. It was in this
way that his depressed imagination found a certain relief in running
after the most absurd chimaeras. They paralysed the influence of the
wise arguments of the abbe Pirard. A month went by in this way without
negotiations advancing one single stage.

The marquis had in this family matter, just as he had in politics,
brilliant ideas over which he would be enthusiastic for two or three
days. And then a line of tactics would fail to please him because it
was based on sound arguments, while arguments only found favour in his
eyes in so far as they were based on his favourite plan. He would work
for three days with all the ardour and enthusiasm of a poet on bringing
matters to a certain stage; on the following day he would not give it a
thought.

Julien was at first disconcerted by the slowness of the marquis;
but, after some weeks, he began to surmise that M. de La Mole had no
definite plan with regard to this matter. Madame de La Mole and the
whole household believed that Julien was travelling in the provinces
in connection with the administration of the estates; he was in hiding
in the parsonage of the abbe Pirard and saw Mathilde every day;
every morning she would spend an hour with her father, but they would
sometimes go for weeks on end without talking of the matter which
engrossed all their thoughts.

"I don't want to know where the man is," said the marquis to her one
day. "Send him this letter." Mathilde read:

"The Languedoc estates bring in 20,600 francs. I give 10,600 francs to
my daughter, and 10,000 francs to M. Julien Sorel. It is understood
that I give the actual estates. Tell the notary to draw up two separate
deeds of gift, and to bring them to me to-morrow, after this there are
to be no more relations between us. Ah, Monsieur, could I have expected
all this? The marquis de La Mole."

"I thank you very much," said Mathilde gaily. "We will go and settle in
the Chateau d'Aiguillon, between Agen and Marmande. The country is said
to be as beautiful as Italy."

This gift was an extreme surprise to Julien. He was no longer the cold,
severe man whom we have hitherto known. His thoughts were engrossed in
advance by his son's destiny. This unexpected fortune, substantial as
it was for a man as poor as himself, made him ambitious. He pictured
a time when both his wife and himself would have an income of 36,000
francs. As for Mathilde, all her emotions were concentrated on her
adoration for her husband, for that was the name by which her pride
insisted on calling Julien. Her one great ambition was to secure the
recognition of her marriage. She passed her time in exaggerating to
herself the consummate prudence which she had manifested in linking her
fate to that of a superior man. The idea of personal merit became a
positive craze with her.

Julien's almost continuous absence, coupled with the complications of
business matters and the little time available in which to talk love,
completed the good effect produced by the wise tactics which Julien had
previously discovered.

Mathilde finished by losing patience at seeing so little of the man
whom she had come really to love.

In a moment of irritation she wrote to her father and commenced her
letter like Othello:

"My very choice is sufficient proof that I have preferred Julien to all
the advantages which society offered to the daughter of the marquis
de la Mole. Such pleasures, based as they are on prestige and petty
vanity mean nothing to me. It is now nearly six weeks since I have
lived separated from my husband. That is sufficient to manifest my
respect for yourself. Before next Thursday I shall leave the paternal
house. Your acts of kindness have enriched us. No one knows my secret
except the venerable abbe Pirard. I shall go to him: he will marry us,
and an hour after the ceremony we shall be on the road to Languedoc,
and we will never appear again in Paris except by your instructions.
But what cuts me to the quick is that all this will provide the subject
matter for piquant anecdotes against me and against yourself. May not
the epigrams of a foolish public compel our excellent Norbert to pick a
quarrel with Julien, under such circumstances I know I should have no
control over him. We should discover in his soul the mark of the rebel
plebian. Oh father, I entreat you on my knees, come and be present at
my marriage in M. Pirard's church next Thursday. It will blunt the
sting of malignant scandal and will guarantee the life's happiness of
your only daughter, and of that of my husband, etc., etc."

This letter threw the marquis's soul into a strange embarrassment.
He must at last take a definite line. All his little habits: all his
vulgar friends had lost their influence.

In these strange circumstances the great lines of his character,
which had been formed by the events of his youth, reassumed all their
original force. The misfortunes of the emigration had made him into
an imaginative man. After having enjoyed for two years an immense
fortune and all the distinctions of the court, 1790 had flung him into
the awful miseries of the emigration. This hard schooling had changed
the character of a spirit of twenty-two. In essence, he was not so
much dominated by his present riches as encamped in their midst. But
that very imagination which had preserved his soul from the taint of
avarice, had made him a victim of a mad passion for seeing his daughter
decorated by a fine title.

During the six weeks which had just elapsed, the marquis had felt at
times impelled by a caprice for making Julien rich. He considered
poverty mean, humiliating for himself, M. de la Mole, and impossible
in his daughter's husband; he was ready to lavish money. On the next
day his imagination would go off on another tack, and he would think
that Julien would read between the lines of this financial generosity,
change his name, exile himself to America, and write to Mathilde that
he was dead for her. M. de la Mole imagined this letter written, and
went so far as to follow its effect on his daughter's character.

The day when he was awakened from these highly youthful dreams by
Mathilde's actual letter after he had been thinking for along time
of killing Julien or securing his disappearance he was dreaming of
building up a brilliant position for him. He would make him take the
name of one of his estates, and why should he not make him inherit a
peerage? His father-in-law, M. the duke de Chaulnes, had, since the
death of his own son in Spain, frequently spoken to him about his
desire to transmit his title to Norbert....

"One cannot help owning that Julien has a singular aptitude for
affairs, had boldness, and is possibly even brilliant," said the
marquis to himself ... "but I detect at the root of his character a
certain element which alarms me. He produces the same impression upon
everyone, consequently there must be something real in it," and the
more difficult this reality was to seize hold of, the more it alarmed
the imaginative mind of the old marquis.

"My daughter expressed the same point very neatly the other day (in a
suppressed letter).

"Julien has not joined any salon or any coterie. He has nothing to
support himself against me, and has absolutely no resource if I abandon
him. Now is that ignorance of the actual state of society? I have said
to him two or three times, the only real and profitable candidature is
the candidature of the salons.

"No, he has not the adroit, cunning genius of an attorney who never
loses a minute or an opportunity. He is very far from being a character
like Louis XL. On the other hand, I have seen him quote the most
ungenerous maxims ... it is beyond me. Can it be that he simply repeats
these maxims in order to use them as a _dam_ against his passions?

"However, one thing comes to the surface; he cannot bear contempt,
that's my hold on him.

"He has not, it is true, the religious reverence for high birth. He
does not instinctively respect us.... That is wrong; but after all,
the only things which are supposed to make the soul of a seminary
student impatient are lack of enjoyment and lack of money. He is quite
different, and cannot stand contempt at any price."

Pressed as he was by his daughter's letter, M. de la Mole realised the
necessity for making up his mind. "After all, the great question is
this:--Did Julien's audacity go to the point of setting out to make
advances to my daughter because he knows I love her more than anything
else in the world, and because I have an income of a hundred thousand
crowns?"

Mathilde protests to the contrary.... "No, monsieur Julien, that is a
point on which I am not going to be under any illusion.

"Is it really a case of spontaneous and authentic love? or is it just
a vulgar desire to raise himself to a fine position? Mathilde is
far-seeing; she appreciated from the first that this suspicion might
ruin him with me--hence that confession of hers. It was she who took
upon herself to love him the first.

"The idea of a girl of so proud a character so far forgetting herself
as to make physical advances! To think of pressing his arm in the
garden in the evening! How horrible! As though there were not a hundred
other less unseemly ways of notifying him that he was the object of her
favour.

"_Qui s'excuse s'accuse_; I distrust Mathilde." The marquis's reasoning
was more conclusive to-day than it was usually. Nevertheless, force
of habit prevailed, and he resolved to gain time by writing to his
daughter, for a correspondence was being carried on between one wing
of the hotel and the other. M. de la Mole did not dare to discuss
matters with Mathilde and to see her face to face. He was frightened of
clinching the whole matter by yielding suddenly.

        "Mind you commit no new acts of madness; here is
        a commission of lieutenant of Hussars for M. the
        chevalier, Julien Sorel de la Vernaye. You see what I
        am doing for him. Do not irritate me. Do not question
        me. Let him leave within twenty-four hours and present
        himself at Strasbourg where his regiment is. Here is an
        order on my banker. Obey me."

Mathilde's love and joy were unlimited. She wished to profit by her
victory and immediately replied.

        "If M. de la Vernaye knew all that you are good enough
        to do for him, he would be overwhelmed with gratitude
        and be at your feet. But amidst all this generosity, my
        father has forgotten me; your daughter's honour is in
        peril. An indiscretion may produce an everlasting blot
        which an income of twenty thousand crowns could not
        put right. I will only send the commission to M. de la
        Vernaye if you give me your word that my marriage will
        be publicly celebrated at Villequier in the course of
        next month. Shortly after that period, which I entreat
        you not to prolong, your daughter will only be able to
        appear in public under the name of Madame de la Vernaye.
        How I thank you, dear papa, for having saved me from the
        name of Sorel, etc., etc."

The reply was unexpected:

        "Obey or I retract everything. Tremble, you imprudent
        young girl. I do not yet know what your Julien is,
        and you yourself know less than I. Let him leave for
        Strasbourg, and try to act straightly. I will notify him
        from here of my wishes within a fortnight."

Mathilde was astonished by this firm answer. _I do not know Julien_.
These words threw her into a reverie which soon finished in the most
fascinating suppositions; but she believed in their truth. My Julien's
intellect is not clothed in the petty mean uniform of the salons, and
my father refuses to believe in his superiority by reason of the very
fact which proves it.

All the same, if I do not obey this whim of his, I see the possibility
of a public scene; a scandal would lower my position in society, and
might render me less fascinating in Julien's eyes. After the scandal
... ten years of poverty; and the only thing which can prevent marrying
for merit becoming ridiculous is the most brilliant wealth. If I live
far away from my father, he is old and may forget me.... Norbert will
marry some clever, charming woman; old Louis XIV. was seduced by the
duchess of Burgundy.

She decided to obey, but refrained from communicating her father's
letter to Julien. It might perhaps have been that ferocious character
driven to some act of madness.

Julien's joy was unlimited when she informed him in the evening that
he was a lieutenant of Hussars. Its extent can be imagined from the
fact that this had constituted the ambition of his whole life, and
also from the passion which he now had for his son. The change of name
struck him with astonishment.

"After all," he thought, "I have got to the end of my romance, and I
deserve all the credit. I have managed to win the love of that monster
of pride," he added, looking at Mathilde. "Her father cannot live
without her, nor she without me."

CHAPTER LXV

A STORM

        My God, give me mediocrity.--_Mirabeau_.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Julien was intoxicated with ambition, and not with vanity. He
nevertheless devoted a great part of his time to attending to his
external appearance. His horses, his uniform, his orderlies' liveries,
were all kept with a correctness which would have done credit to the
punctiliousness of a great English nobleman. He had scarcely been made
a lieutenant as a matter of favour (and that only two days ago) than
he began to calculate that if he was to become commander-in-chief
at thirty, like all the great generals, then he must be more than a
lieutenant at twenty-three at the latest. He thought about nothing
except fame and his son.

It was in the midst of the ecstasies of the most reinless ambition that
he was surprised by the arrival of a young valet from the Hotel de la
Mole, who had come with a letter.

"All is lost," wrote Mathilde to him: "Rush here as quickly as
possible, sacrifice everything, desert if necessary. As soon as you
have arrived, wait for me in a fiacre near the little garden door,
near No. ---- of the street ---- I will come and speak to you: I shall
perhaps be able to introduce you into the garden. All is lost, and I am
afraid there is no way out; count on me; you will find me staunch and
firm in adversity. I love you."

A few minutes afterwards, Julien obtained a furlough from the colonel,
and left Strasbourg at full gallop. But the awful anxiety which
devoured him did not allow him to continue this method of travel beyond
Metz. He flung himself into a post-chaise, and arrived with an almost
incredible rapidity at the indicated spot, near the little garden door
of the Hotel de la Mole. The door opened, and Mathilde, oblivious of
all human conventions, rushed into his arms. Fortunately, it was only
five o'clock in the morning, and the street was still deserted.

"All is lost. My father, fearing my tears, left Thursday night. Nobody
knows where for? But here is his letter: read it." She climbed into the
fiacre with Julien.

"I could forgive everything except the plan of seducing you because
you are rich. That, unhappy girl, is the awful truth. I give you my
word of honour that I will never consent to a marriage with that man.
I will guarantee him an income of 10,000 francs if he will live far
away beyond the French frontiers, or better still, in America. Read the
letter which I have just received in answer to the enquiries which I
have made. The impudent scoundrel had himself requested me to write to
madame de Renal. I will never read a single line you write concerning
that man. I feel a horror for both Paris and yourself. I urge you to
cover what is bound to happen with the utmost secrecy. Be frank, have
nothing more to do with the vile man, and you will find again the
father you have lost."

"Where is Madame de Renal's letter?" said Julien coldly.

"Here it is. I did not want to shew it to you before you were prepared
for it."

        LETTER

        "My duties to the sacred cause of religion and morality,
        oblige me, monsieur, to take the painful course which I
        have just done with regard to yourself: an infallible
        principle orders me to do harm to my neighbour at the
        present moment, but only in order to avoid an even
        greater scandal. My sentiment of duty must overcome
        the pain which I experience. It is only too true,
        monsieur, that the conduct of the person about whom you
        ask me to tell you the whole truth may seem incredible
        or even honest. It may possibly be considered proper
        to hide or to disguise part of the truth: that would
        be in accordance with both prudence and religion. But
        the conduct about which you desire information has
        been in fact reprehensible to the last degree, and
        more than I can say. Poor and greedy as the man is, it
        is only by the aid of the most consummate hypocrisy,
        and by seducing a weak and unhappy woman, that he has
        endeavoured to make a career for himself and become
        someone in the world. It is part of my painful duty to
        add that I am obliged to believe that M. Julien has no
        religious principles. I am driven conscientiously to
        think that one of his methods of obtaining success in
        any household is to try to seduce the woman who commands
        the principal influence. His one great object, in spite
        of his show of disinterestedness, and his stock-in-trade
        of phrases out of novels, is to succeed in doing what he
        likes with the master of the household and his fortune.
        He leaves behind him unhappiness and eternal remorse,
        etc., etc., etc."

This extremely long letter, which was almost blotted out by tears, was
certainly in madame de Renal's handwriting; it was even written with
more than ordinary care.

"I cannot blame M. de la Mole," said Julien, "after he had finished it.
He is just and prudent. What father would give his beloved daughter to
such a man? Adieu!" Julien jumped out of the fiacre and rushed to his
post-chaise, which had stopped at the end of the street. Mathilde, whom
he had apparently forgotten, took a few steps as though to follow him,
but the looks she received from the tradesmen, who were coming out on
the thresholds of their shops, and who knew who she was, forced her to
return precipitately to the garden.

Julien had left for Verrieres. During that rapid journey he was unable
to write to Mathilde as he had intended. His hand could only form
illegible characters on the paper.

He arrived at Verrieres on a Sunday morning. He entered the shop of the
local gunsmith, who overwhelmed him with congratulations on his recent
good fortune. It constituted the news of the locality.

Julien had much difficulty in making him understand that he wanted a
pair of pistols. At his request the gunsmith loaded the pistols.

The three peals sounded; it is a well-known signal in the villages of
France, and after the various ringings in the morning announces the
immediate commencement of Mass.

Julien entered the new church of Verrieres. All the lofty windows of
the building were veiled with crimson curtains. Julien found himself
some spaces behind the pew of madame de Renal. It seemed to him that
she was praying fervently The sight of the woman whom he had loved so
much made Julien's arm tremble so violently that he was at first unable
to execute his project. "I cannot," he said to himself. "It is a
physical impossibility."

At that moment the young priest, who was officiating at the Mass, rang
the bell for the elevation of the host. Madame de Renal lowered her
head, which, for a moment became entirely hidden by the folds of her
shawl. Julien did not see her features so distinctly: he aimed a pistol
shot at her, and missed her: he aimed a second shot, she fell.

After reading Mathilde's letter, the marquis is beside himself with rage and hurls every insult at Julien. Julien offers to commit suicide or to be killed by the marquis' men. He goes to Pirard for advice. Mathilde learns of Julien's suicide note and resolutely tells her father that if Julien dies, she dies, and that she will appear as Julien's widow to society. When Julien returns to Paris, Mathilde convinces him to leave and to let her manage her father. The latter only shows indecision. Mathilde refuses to negotiate other than on the condition of a marriage with Julien, heedless of what their future might be. In a moment of tenderness, the marquis gives shares worth 10,000 francs to Mathilde for Julien. Julien stays with Pirard, who has become Mathilde's best ally in trying to convince the marquis of the necessity of a public marriage. The marquis cannot bring himself to act. He alternately envisions Julien's accidental death, then entertains the wise counsel of Pirard. Above all, he refuses to believe that his ambition for Mathilde's brilliant future has been thwarted. Mathilde has been seeing Julien almost daily at Pirard's. Finally, the marquis gives the couple an estate in Languedoc as a means to put off making a final decision. By letter, Mathilde begs her father's permission to marry Julien. This causes the marquis to consider the possibility of protecting Julien, of helping him to build a brilliant career. He has a doubt, however, about Julien's sincerity. Has he merely used Mathilde as a means to get ahead in society? Rather than give his permission for the marriage, he gives Julien a title and a commission in the army. Mathilde replies by trying to bargain. She will not communicate news of the title to Julien unless her father agrees to the marriage. The marquis refuses categorically and demands that Julien leave for Strasbourg or all will be rescinded. Julien prepares to leave for Strasbourg. Pirard explains how the marquis has bought Frilair's silence in order to gain acceptance of the fictitious noble ancestry he has devised for Julien. For five days the latter is in Strasbourg, where his calm dignified bearing, elegance, daring, and ability with arms inspire admiration in his men. Then a letter from Mathilde arrives announcing that all is lost and calling for Julien's immediate return to Paris. There Julien learns that the marquis has inquired of Mme. de Renal about Julien's past. The answer she has written confirms the fears of the marquis. The letter accuses Julien of making a practice of insinuating himself into respectable families, of seducing the womenfolk, then of ruining them. Julien leaves immediately for Verrieres, arriving on a Sunday morning. He buys revolvers, goes to the church, and shoots Mme. de Renal.

In a crisis, Julien's women are able to act more efficaciously than he is. Mme. de Renal resolutely initiated the deception of her husband; Mathilde confronts her father successfully. She is more resolute than her father and turns his indecision to her advantage. The passivity that Stendhal bestows on Julien provides the opportunity for enjoyment of maternal affection that the premature death of Stendhal's own mother denied him. Twice in Chapter 33 Stendhal describes Julien's conduct as tartuffian. As a defense against the marquis' anger, Julien tries to justify his action, all the while expressing his gratitude to the marquis. Then, Julien adopts the required air of contrition to confess his situation to Pirard in the hope of getting advice. In Julien's initial confrontation with the marquis, the only solution the former can hit upon is suicide, or letting himself be killed, a solution he doubtlessly offers without reflection. The thought of his "son" comes to him for the first time, however, and this thought checks his willingness to be killed. Julien plays an extremely passive role in Chapters 33 and 34. Chapter 34 narrates the give and take between Mathilde and her father. He sits in irresolution; Mathilde presses him by letter. The marquis grants a concession, and this encourages Mathilde to ask for more. Another concession is forthcoming from her father, rather than a definitive action that would condone their marriage. Although the marquis is more sympathetically treated by Stendhal than was M. de Renal, both have the same role in the author's playing out of his Oedipus complex. The marquis' doubting of Julien's motivation is a preparation for the event that will bring about the latter's downfall. A parallel development to this preparation, however, is the momentary "taste" of success that Stendhal will allow his hero to have. Stendhal will accord a title and a regiment to Julien. This is typical treatment by Stendhal of his superior beings. They are not destined for a permanent, commonplace happiness, which would, in fact, become vile to them. Note that Julien already seems far away from the action. His thoughts are absorbed completely by the future of his child. Stendhal begins attenuating Julien's love for Mathilde, and his ambition is reappearing. Stendhal mentions Julien's ambition twice in this chapter. Julien's joy is boundless at the news that he is an officer of the Hussars. He is aware, however, of the ephemeral nature of this goal attained, as he remarks that his story has reached its climax. Julien still misunderstands situations, however, as he attributes his success to himself alone. He has succeeded in making himself loved by this monster of pride. And he summarizes his present situation astutely when he muses that Mathilde cannot live without him, nor M. de la Mole without her. How many events, and of what moment, Stendhal crowds into Chapter 35. He moves Julien to the pinnacle of success, lets him revel in this glory for the duration of one page, then precipitates events that will divest him of this worldly glory and ultimately destroy him. The marquis has again been Julien's fairy godfather who conjures up the illusion of success and glory, then takes it from him abruptly. The scene sketched by Stendhal of Julien in all his equestrian glory evokes briefly the same scene in Part I where Julien played a role in the honor guard. The scenes have in common their illusory nature: Then, Julien was merely in the costume of a soldier; now, the abrupt ending of the real role makes its very existence seem doubtful. Proof of the fact that Julien himself almost believes in his fictitious nobility is furnished by the letter he sends to Chelan, together with money to be distributed to the poor. This is the noble gesture of an aristocrat. Julien wants to believe in his nobility since he would not consider himself a monster if Sorel, a man whom he despises, were not his father. In this way, the tragic contradiction he has been forced to live -- a superior soul stifled by mediocrity would be reconciled. Happiness, for the superior being, is simply not available except in small, almost unbearable doses. The proximity of Stendhal to his hero is again underlined. Stendhal is self-demanding, almost masochistic, and his hero, to whom he denies happiness, is superior because of the denial. We have noted that Stendhal has already begun to exclude Julien's intimate reactions. This tendency is even more pronounced in Chapter 35 as Julien returns hurriedly to Paris, learns what the catastrophe is, takes to the road again, arrives in Verrieres, arms himself, and shoots Mme. de Renal. It is partially Stendhal's reserve, his timidity, his refusal to let himself be seen that has dictated his attitude in narrating these events almost devoid of reference to the psychology that prompts Julien to act. This ambiguity has given rise to a literary debate that continues to our day. Is this act, the attempted murder of Mme. de Renal, consistent with the character of Julien? Is Stendhal betraying that psychology in an effort to remain faithful to the historical episode that inspired the novel, and is the denouement therefore artificial? Here are some of the critics' views. Emile Faguet, noted nineteenth-century critic, saw Julien as committing a senseless act that contradicts his character as established by Stendhal. Faguet denies Stendhal a great degree of intelligence, moreover. He sees Julien as the ruthless, ambitious man, coldly calculating and of unshakable will. The character thus conceived, continues Faguet, Julien should have realized that within a short time the marquis, already having accepted many compromises, would have reversed his decision and sanctioned the marriage. Julien seems to have forgotten that he is master of the situation. The denouement, concludes Faguet, seems a little more false than is permitted. Another critic, M. Henri Rambaud, defends Faguet's interpretation, seeing Julien simply as the "arriviste" type. These critics would see, therefore, the rapidity and incomplete nature of the narration of these events as evidence of Stendhal's dilemma, his avowal, by omission, of the contradiction he was creating in Julien's character. On the other hand, the critic Henri Martineau sees this act and the dry, sketched narration leading to it as logical given the character of Julien. Here is the extremely sensitive, impetuous hero who has throughout the novel attempted, with varying degrees of success, to submit his spontaneity to the discipline of self-control, to disguise his true feelings by hypocrisy. Such a type is capable, as his past conduct has shown, of seeing his discipline thwarted by the sudden eruption of his passion. When this occurs, the act is but the next movement from its inspiration. Therefore, Stendhal is obliged to reduce the narration to its barest elements, to get Julien there, to have him commit the act. The narration reflects the motivation: Julien is in a semi-somnambulistic state. He has but one idea -- revenge on Mme. de Renal -- and any other detail would be extraneous. And why does Julien want revenge? Herein lies the psychological insight of Stendhal. Julien both hates and loves Mme. de Renal. He has never reached the end of his love for her, yet she has apparently deliberately lied about his conduct. She has ruined his success. His pride and sense of honor have also been wounded. He must avenge himself. Julien's sudden awakening after the act, his long sleep in the jail resulting from excessive tension -- these, argues Martineau, are proof that Julien has acted consistently with his character. Note the scene of the attempted murder. Julien is unable, at first, to fire on Mme. de Renal because he recognizes her. The bell rings at that moment marking the Elevation of the Host. Mme. de Renal bows her head, and he no longer recognizes her so clearly. He fires. Only when she ceases to exist momentarily, as herself, defined as an individual whom he loves, is he capable of the act. The ringing of the bell might be instrumental also in the very commission of the act. Its abrupt occurrence, followed by another action, the bowing of heads, calls for another: the firing of the pistol. This would constitute a sort of demotivation of the act, reminiscent of Gide's attempts to produce the gratuitous act in Les Caves du Vatican and of Camus' scene in L'Etranger, where Meursault through the complicity of things -- -- the sun's reflection, heat -- fires on the Arab. Here, there is a "chain of events," one producing another, an inexorable rhythm created thereby, to which Julien almost involuntarily and mechanically contributes.