10 The Charte, or Constitution, of 1815 was a thorn in the side of the ultras despite the fact that they maintained power under it.
Chapter Twelve: Will he be another Danton?
Chapter Twelve: Will he be another Danton? A craving for excitement: that was my aunt's nature, the beautiful Marguerite de Valois, who soon married the King of Navarre, now ruling France as Henry IVth. Gambling was the basic underlying, but secret, force in this likable princess' character, as it had been in all the quarrels and the reconciliations she'd had with her brothers, from the age of sixteen on. Now, with what can a young girl gamble? With her most precious possession, her reputation, the thing she must look after for her entire life. —Duke D'Angouleme, Natural Son of Charles IX, Memoirs1 "There will be no signing a contract, for Julien and me, no lawyers: it's all heroic, everything open to chance. Except for noble status, which he lacks, this is exactly Marguerite de Valois's love for the young de La Mole, the most distinguished man of his time. Is it my fault that the young men of the court are such intense partisans of acceptability, starting to shake at the very idea of anything even a little bit different? To them, a little trip to Greece, or to Africa, is the height of daring, and even then they only know how to march in step with everyone else. The minute they're alone, they're afraid—not of a Bedouin's spear, but of being made to look ridiculous, and that fear drives them crazy. "My little Julien, on the other hand, only likes to act by himself. This privileged creature never so much as thinks of seeking support or assistance from others! He despises everyone, which is why I don't despise him. "If Julien were noble, poor as he is, my love would be nothing but vulgar stupidity, an act of out-and-out miscegenation. I want nothing of the kind; it would have none of the qualities of a grand passion, none of the immense difficulties to be conquered, and the black uncertainty of what might come." Mademoiselle de La Mole was so preoccupied with this fine chain of reasoning that, the next day, not thinking what she was saying, she praised Julien to the Marquis de Croisenois and her brother. Her eloquence soared so high that they grew annoyed. "Watch out for that young fellow, with all that energy," exclaimed her brother. "If the Revolution ever starts up again, he'll have every one of us guillotined." She stopped herself from answering, and quickly began to tease both her brother and the Marquis de Croisenois about how afraid they were of anything or anyone energetic. At bottom, this was simply fear of encountering the unexpected, the terror of falling short in its presence... "Always, gentlemen, always, this same fear of ridicule—a monster which, unluckily, died in 1816." "There is no more ridicule," Monsieur de La Mole liked to say, "not in a country where there are only two parties." His daughter had grasped the idea. "And so, gentlemen," she said to Julien's enemies, "you'll have lived your whole lives in great fear, and afterward they'll tell you: "It wasn't a wolf, but just its shadow." Mathilde soon walked away. Her brother's words had filled her with horror. He'd left her very much worried; but by the next day, she saw it as the most handsome of compliments. "In this nineteenth century, when all energy has died, Julien's makes them afraid. I'll tell him what my brother said; I want to see his response. But I'll pick a moment when his eyes are gleaming. He won't lie to me, then.