2 A fashionable tailor in the rue de Richelieu.
Chapter Six: Pronunciation
The Chevalier de Beauvoisis came down the steps with amusing somberness, repeating in his lordly accent, "What's this? What's this?" He was clearly anxious to know, but diplomatic aloofness did not permit him to show any greater interest. Once he knew what had been going on, hereditary arrogance was still visibly mixed with the cool, casual good humor that ought never to leave a diplomat's face. The lieutenant of the Ninety-sixth understood that Monsieur de Beauvoisis now wanted to fight, and he tried, diplomatically, to preserve for his friend the advantages of taking the initiative. "This time," he exclaimed, "there's cause for a duel!" "More than enough, I should think," replied the diplomat. "This rascal is dismissed," he told his servants. "Let someone else climb up." The carriage door was opened; the chevalier absolutely insisted that Julien and his second precede him. They hunted up one of Monsieur de Beauvoisis's friends, who directed them to a quiet spot. There was a most pleasant conversation, on the way. The only odd aspect was the diplomat's dressing gown. "These gentlemen," thought Julien, "although they're noblemen, are not anything like so boring as those who dine with Monsieur de La Mole. And I see why," he added, a moment later. "They allow themselves indecorous talk." Some dancers were mentioned, who had been honored by the audience, at a ballet given the previous evening. The gentlemen told certain spicy stories that neither Julien nor his second, the lieutenant of the Ninety-sixth, had ever heard. Julien was not so stupid that he pretended to know them; he openly admitted his ignorance. His candor pleased the chevalier's friend; he had told these stories in very substantial detail, and told them extremely well. One thing infinitely astonished Julien. A temporary altar, being erected in the middle of the street, for the Corpus Christi procession, forced the carriage to stop for a moment. The gentlemen permitted themselves several witticisms: the parish priest, as they told it, was an archbishop's son. Nothing of the sort could possibly have been said under the roof of the Marquis de La Mole, who wanted to become a duke. The duel lasted only a moment. Julien had been shot in the arm; they tied it up with handkerchiefs; they moistened it with brandy; and the Chevalier de Beauvoisis very politely requested that he be allowed to bring Julien home, in the same carriage that had brought them. When Julien gave his address as the de La Mole residence, he saw the young diplomat and his friend exchange glances. Julien's cab was still where he had left it, but he found these gentlemen's conversation infinitely more amusing than that of the good lieutenant of the Ninety-sixth. "My God!" thought Julien. "A duel—that's all there is to it! How glad I am to have recognized that coachman! How miserable I'd have been to endure yet another insult in a café!" The amusing conversation went on almost without interruption. Julien realized that diplomatic affectation had some purpose. "So boredom," he told himself, "isn't built into conversation among people of high birth! These two joke about the Corpus Christi procession; they let themselves tell rather scabrous stories, with lots of vivid details. Really, they fall short only when it comes to rationality in political matters, and they more than compensate with their gracious speech and the perfect rightness of what they say." Julien felt a strong liking for them. "How happy I'd be, seeing them often!" They had barely driven away when the Chevalier de Beauvoisis went hurriedly in search of information. There was not much to learn.
The Red and the Black
The chevalier was most anxious to know with whom he had fought a duel. Might it be proper to pay him a call? What little he had learned was not encouraging. "This is perfectly awful!" he said to his second. "How could I possibly admit to having fought a duel with Monsieur de La Mole's secretary, and all because my coachman stole those calling cards." "Certainly, this would offer an opportunity for ridicule." That same evening, the Chevalier de Beauvoisis and his friend began to say, everywhere they went, that Monsieur Sorel, in addition to being an irreproachable young man, was the natural son of one of the Marquis de La Mole's close friends. There was no difficulty having the tale accepted. Once it was properly in place, the young diplomat and his friend could condescend to pay visits to Julien, during the two weeks he spent in his room. Julien admitted to them that he'd never in his life been to the opera. "That's awful," he was told. "There's nowhere else to go. The first time you're allowed out, you must come to Rossini's Count Ory."3 At the opera, Chevalier de Beauvoisis introduced him to the famous singer, Géronimo, who was then having a great success. Julien virtually courted the chevalier. He was enchanted by the young man's self-respect, blended with a mysterious weightiness and foppishness. For example: the chevalier stammered a bit, having often been honored by the company of a very great lord who suffered from this defect. Julien had never known, united in one person, such entertaining ridiculousness and such perfect manners, of the sort a poor provincial could only try to imitate. Julien was seen at the opera with the Chevalier de Beauvoisis; the relationship made people talk about him. "Well!" Monsieur de La Mole said to him, one day. "So now you're the natural son of a wealthy man from Franche-Comté, who happens to be my close friend?" The marquis cut off Julien's reply; our hero wanted to protest that he had not in any way contributed to, or sanctioned, this rumor. "Monsieur de Beauvoisis was not anxious to be known for fighting duels with a carpenter's son." "I realize that, I quite realize that," said Monsieur de La Mole. "Now it's up to me to regularize this tale, which I find useful. But I have a favor to ask of you, and it won't cost you more than a slender half hour of your time. Every day there is to be an opera, go and watch as high society makes its exit. I still see in you some provincial mannerisms, which you need to be rid of. Besides, it's not a bad thing to know, even by sight, some of the important people to whom, some day, I might send you on an errand. Go by the box office so they'll know who you are. They'll admit you without any difficulty."