8 This was one of the cherished privileges accorded to the highest nobility of the ancien régime.
The Red and the Black
faces took on an expression of deep seriousness, blended with respect. Usually, their respect carried with it a flavor of condescension. In the midst of such magnificence, and such boredom, Julien concerned himself with nothing but Monsieur de La Mole. He was pleased, one day, to hear the marquis protest that he was in no way involved in poor Le Bourguignon's promotion. This was out of consideration for the marquise: Julien had heard the truth from Father Pirard. One morning, the priest was working with Julien in the marquis's library, on the interminable lawsuit against Father de Frilair: "Sir," Julien asked suddenly. "Is dining every day with madame and the marquis one of my duties, or is it their kindness toward me?" "It's an extraordinary honor!" replied Father Pirard, shocked. "Monsieur N———, the academician, who has paid faithful court for fifteen years, has never succeeded in obtaining such an honor for his nephew, Monsieur Tanbeau." "I find it, sir, the most painful part of my job. The seminary didn't bore me so completely. Sometimes, I've even seen Mademoiselle de La Mole yawning, though she ought to be used to the attentions of the regular guests. I worry about falling asleep. Can you please arrange it so I eat a forty-pence dinner in some out-of-the-way inn?" Father Pirard, a true social climber, was deeply aware of the honor of dining with a great lord. While he was struggling to understand Julien's feelings, a slight noise made them both turn their heads. Julien saw that Mademoiselle de La Mole had been listening. His face reddened. She had come looking for a book and had heard everything. It gave her some reason to think well of Julien. "That one isn't down on his knees," she thought, "like the old priest. God, but the priest's ugly!" At dinner, Julien did not dare look at Mademoiselle de La Mole, but she kindly spoke to him. That day they were expecting many fashionable people, and she urged him to remain. Young Parisian girls have no great liking for people of a certain age, especially when they're not well dressed. Julien did not need much cleverness to realize that Baron Le Bourguignon's colleagues, who remained in the dining room, had the honor of being the butt of Mademoiselle de La Mole's jests. That day, whether she was putting on a show or not, she was savage about bores in general. Mademoiselle de La Mole was at the center of a small group, which came together almost every night behind the marquise's immense easy chair. Among them were the Marquis de Croisenois, Count de Caylus, Vicomte de Luz, and two or three other young officers, friends either of Norbert or of his sister. These gentlemen seated themselves on a great blue sofa. At one end of the sofa, facing gay Mathilde, Julien sat silently on a small, rather low straw chair. His modest position was the envy of all the flatterers. Norbert came to the aid of his father's young secretary, making remarks to him and, once or twice in the course of the evening, mentioning his name. Mademoiselle de La Mole asked Julien, that night, how high the mountain might be, on which stood the Besançon fort. Julien did not know whether it was higher or lower than Montmartre. He often laughed cheerfully at what those around him, in this little group, were saying, but he felt quite unable to say anything of the sort himself. It was like a foreign language that he could understand, but which he could not speak. That day, Mathilde's friends were having great fun, continually mocking those arriving in the huge room. Their preferred targets, initially, were the friends of the house, since they were better known. You can imagine whether Julien was paying close attention: it all interested him, both what they were talking about and their way of poking fun.
Chapter Four: The De La Mole Mansion
"Ah!" said Mathilde. "Here comes Monsieur Descoulis. He's not wearing a wig anymore. Does he think he can get to be a governor by genius alone? He's showing off that bald head, which according to him is stuffed with lofty thoughts." "He's a man who knows everyone," said the Marquis de Croisenois. "My uncle, the cardinal, sees him at his table all the time. He's good at keeping lies about his friends alive for years, and he has two or three hundred friends. He understands how to nourish friendship: it's his special talent. You'll see him just like that, in the wintertime, starting at seven in the morning, in front of a friend's door, splattered with mud just the way he is now. "He gets into quarrels, from time to time, and writes seven or eight angry letters. Then he makes it up, and writes seven or eight letters about the delights of friendship. But he shines to best advantage when he's spewing out stuff about how frank and sincere he is, just an honest man who has no secrets hidden away in his heart. When he's playing that game, you know he has a favor to ask. One of my uncle's vicar-generals is wonderfully good at telling Monsieur Descoulis's life, since the Restoration. I'll bring him here." "Bah!" said Count de Caylus. "I don't trust a word of these tales. It's professional jealousy between unimportant people." "Monsieur Descoulis will have a place in history," replied de Croisenois. "It was he who brought about the Restoration, along with Talleyrand and Pozzo di Borgo, not to mention Father de Pradt."9 "Millions have passed through that man's hands," said Norbert, "and I've never understood why he comes here and lets my father insult him—sometimes very nastily. 'How many times have you betrayed your friends, my dear Descoulis?' he called out to him the other day, from one end of the table to the other." "But has he really betrayed anybody?" asked Mademoiselle de La Mole. "Anyway, who hasn't?" "Ho-ho," said Count de Caylus to Norbert. "That famous liberal, Monsieur Sainclair, is here, and why the devil has he come? I've got to go over and talk to him, make him talk to me. They say he's really got a brain." "But how would your mother like that?" said Monsieur de Croisenois. "His ideas are so extravagant, so bountiful, so independent..." "Look," said Mademoiselle de La Mole, "just see that independent man bowing almost to the ground as he greets Monsieur Descoulis. Look, he's clasping his hand. I almost thought he was going to kiss it." "So Descoulis gets on with the government, and better than we'd thought," replied Monsieur de Croisenois.