7 Constantine I (ca. 275–337), the Roman emperor who converted to Christianity.
The Red and the Black
Julien replied frankly, to the bishop's astonishment, that this author was not to be found in the seminary's library. "That really makes me feel better," said the bishop cheerfully. "You've saved me from an embarrassment: for the past ten minutes I've been trying to think of a way of thanking you for the pleasant evening you've given me, and certainly most unexpectedly. I did not expect a student in my seminary to be an accomplished scholar. Although it may not be a particularly canonical gift, I'd like to give you a Tacitus." The bishop had them bring in eight volumes, beautifully bound, and on the title page of the first he wrote, in his own hand, a Latin inscription for Julien Sorel. He prided himself on his fine command of Latin. And he finished by saying, in a serious manner, totally different from that he had displayed all through the evening: "Young man, if you're sensible, one day you'll have the best parish in my diocese, and it won't be a hundred miles from this palace. But you must be sensible." Burdened with these books, Julien left the palace, still in shock, just as midnight was sounding. His Lordship had not said a word about Father Pirard. Julien was especially startled by the bishop's extraordinary politeness. It had never occurred to him that such formal courtesy could coexist with an equally natural, dignified bearing. This contrast seemed particularly striking, seeing somber Father Pirard, who was waiting for him so impatiently. "Quid tibi dixerunt? What did they say to you?" he called out, loudly, as soon as he saw him, in the distance. Julien got himself rather tangled up, translating the bishop's discourse into Latin. "Speak French, and repeat His Lordship's own words, without adding or omitting a thing," said the former director of the seminary in his harsh way, his manners profoundly inelegant. "What a queer gift for a bishop to give a young seminarian," he said, leafing through the superb Tacitus, the gilt edging of which seemed to fill him with horror. Two o'clock was sounding when, after an exceedingly detailed account had been supplied, he allowed his favorite pupil to return to his room. "Leave me the first volume of your Tacitus, with the inscription from the Lord Bishop," Father Pirard said. "This line in Latin will be your lightning rod, here, after I leave. "Erit tibi, fili mi, successor meus tanquam leo quaerens quem devoret. Because for you, my son, my successor will be like a raging lion, hunting someone to devour." The next morning, Julien noticed something strange in the way his classmates spoke to him. It made him even more reserved. "Here we have," he thought, "the effect of Father Pirard's resignation. They all know it, and I'm supposed to be his favorite. There must be something nasty about this behavior." But he could not see anything of the sort. On the contrary: he saw no hatred in the eyes of those he met, walking through the dormitory. "What does this mean? It must be a trap. Let me play this very close to the vest." Then the little seminarian from Verrières shouted, laughing: " Corneli Taciti opera omnia, the complete works of Tacitus!" Everyone overhead these words, and they began to outdo each other, complimenting Julien not only for the magnificent gift he'd received from His Lordship, but also on the two- hour conversation with which he'd been honored. They knew everything, down to the smallest details. And after this, there was no more jealousy; they all paid him the most servile court; Father Castaneda, who had treated him, the evening before, with the utmost insolence, came and took him by the arm, inviting Julien to have lunch with him.
Chapter Twenty-Nine: The First Forward Step
But there was a fatal flaw in Julien's character. Insolence from these coarse beings had caused him a great deal of pain; their abasement of themselves left him disgusted. There was nothing pleasant about it. Toward midday, Father Pirard left his pupils, but not before making a stern speech: "Is it worldly honors you want?" he said to them. "All the social advantages? The delights of giving orders, of paying no attention to the law and being safely insolent to everyone? Or is it eternal salvation you long for? Even the least advanced among you need only open his eyes, to see the difference between these two paths." He had barely left the building when the devotees of the Sacred Heart chanted a Te Deum8 in the chapel. No one in the seminary paid any attention to the former director's speech. "He's in a sour mood, because he's lost his job," was what most of them said. Not a single seminarian was simple enough to believe in a voluntary resignation, not from a post that offered so many contacts with large suppliers. Father Pirard went to stay at the very best inn in Besançon. Under the pretext of unfinished business, of which he had none whatever, he planned to stay there for two days. The bishop had indeed invited him to dinner: to have fun with his vicar-general, Father de Frilair, he sought to have Father Pirard shown to the best advantage. They were at dessert when the strange news came from Paris: Father Pirard had been named priest to the magnificent parish of N———, six miles from the capital. The good bishop congratulated him most sincerely. He saw in this whole business a capital joke, which put him in a fine mood and gave him the highest opinion of Father Pirard's abilities. He gave him a splendid testimonial of character, in Latin, and, when Father de Frilair ventured to object, ordered him to be silent. That evening, His Lordship brought his news and his admiration to the house of Marquise de Rubempré. This was a great event in Besançon's high society; everyone wondered at such an extraordinary mark of favor. They considered Father Pirard already as good as a bishop. The most subtle among them believed Marquis de La Mole had been made a cabinet minister, and allowed themselves, that day, to smile at the imperial airs put on, in society, by Father de Frilair. The next morning, Father Pirard had something of a following out in the streets, and merchants stood in the doorway of their shops when he went visiting the judges in Marquis de La Mole's lawsuit. For the very first time, they received him politely. The harsh Jansenist, outraged by everything he'd seen, put in a long day's work with the lawyers he'd chosen for the Marquis de La Mole. And then he left for Paris. He was weak enough to tell two or three of his own classmates, who escorted him to the carriage, that after directing the seminary for fifteen years, he was leaving Besançon with savings amounting to five hundred and twenty francs. These friends embraced him, weeping, and said, among themselves: "The good Father might have spared himself this falsehood. It really makes him look foolish." Those of more vulgar minds, blinded by the love of money, simply could not understand that it was his honesty that had given Father Pirard the strength to fight, for six long years, against Marie Alocoque9 and the order she had founded, the Sacred Heart of Jesus, and against the Jesuits, and against his own bishop.