13 Stendhal—or the marquis—seems to be blurring the lives of two kings of Sweden. Gustavus IV Adolphus (born 1778, reigned 1792–1809) fought against the French Revolution on monarchic principle, and was deposed by a palace coup in 1809. Gustavus II Adolphus (born 1594, reigned 1611–32) made himself the protector of German Protestant princes against the Catholic Hapsburgs of Austria (and thus in allegiance with the Catholic Louis XIII and the Cardinal de Richelieu) during the Thirty Years War.
Chapter Twenty-Two: The Discussion
"In spite of there being, right now, as you have said, no proven general in all of France, known to and loved by everyone, and our army being organized solely in the interests of the throne and the altar, and all our good old soldiers having been discharged from the ranks, every single Austrian and Prussian regiment contains fifty junior officers who have seen combat. "And there are two hundred thousand young men, petty bourgeois all of them, who long for war..." "Leave off these unpleasant truths," said a sober dignitary, in an imposing voice; he was clearly someone high on the list of ecclesiastical worthies, for Monsieur de La Mole smiled pleasantly, instead of becoming angry. To Julien, this was a very plain sign. "Enough of these unpleasant truths," the dignitary repeated. "Let us sum up, gentlemen: a man, facing amputation of a gangrenous limb, would make a serious mistake, were he to tell his surgeon: 'This sick limb is perfectly healthy.' Forgive me the expression, gentlemen: the noble Duke of ——— is our surgeon." "There's the key word, it's finally been said," thought Julien. "Tonight I'll be galloping toward ———."
The Red and the Black
Chapter Twenty–Three: The Clergy, Their Woodlands, And Freedom The first law of existence is self-preservation, staying alive. You sow hemlock seed and expect to see ripening corn! —Machiavelli The sober dignitary went on. He was clearly knowledgeable; he set forth large verities with a gentle, measured eloquence that Julien found infinitely pleasant: "First: England hasn't got a guinea to help us; thriftiness and Hume1 are all the fashion, there. Even their noncomformist Saints2 will give us nothing, and Mister Henry Brougham3 will only laugh at us. "Second: It will be impossible to obtain more than two campaigns from Europe's kings, absent English money; and two campaigns against the petty bourgeoisie will not be enough. "Third: We must form an armed party in France, without which the chief European monarchies will not risk even those two campaigns. "The fourth point I venture to propose to you, as something quite obvious, is this: "No armed party can be formed in France without the clergy. I tell you this boldly, gentlemen, because I'm going to prove it to you. The clergy must be given everything. "Primarily because the Church conducts its business night and day, and is guided by men of high capacity who are positioned, far from any exposure to storms, nine hundred miles from your frontiers—" "Ah! Rome, Rome!" exclaimed the master of the house. "Yes, my dear sir, Rome!" the cardinal replied proudly. "Whatever witticisms,4 more or less ingenious, may have been fashionable when you were young, I will say to you, emphatically, that in 1830 the clergy, guided by Rome, are the common people's only voice. "Fifty thousand priests say the same things, on the day decreed by their leaders, and the people—who after all supply the soldiers—are more affected by the voices of their priests than by all the little poetry in the world..." (This very personal remark evoked murmurs.) "The Church's genius is superior to yours," the cardinal went on, raising his voice. "Every step already taken toward that central achievement, having an armed party in France, has been accomplished by us." He produced the facts: "Who sent eighty thousand guns to the Vendée?..." etc., etc. "But while the clergy are not in possession of their woodlands,5 they have nothing. As soon as war starts, the minister of finance writes to his agents that no one has any more money, except for the priests. France truly has no faith, and it loves war. Whoever can give her war will be doubly popular, because war—to use the common phrase—means starving the