13 It is actually Desdemona who writes a letter.
The Red and the Black
The fact of my choice sufficiently demonstrates, in itself, that I have preferred Julien to the pleasures society offered to the daughter of Marquis de La Mole. The delights of esteem and rank, and of petty vanity, are as nothing to me. I have lived, separated from my husband, for nearly six weeks. This should be sufficient to demonstrate my filial respect. Before this coming Wednesday, I will have left my father's house. Your benefactions have enriched us. No one knows my secret, except worthy Father Pirard. I will go to him; he will marry us, and an hour after the ceremony we will be en route to Languedoc, and we will not return to Paris unless you so order. But what pierces my heart is that all this will make a juicy story aimed at me, and at you. Might not the witticisms of some public fool compel our excellent Norbert to pick a quarrel with Julien? In that case, I know Julien too well to think I'd have any control over him. We should see that his soul is that of a plebeian in revolt. I beg you on bended knees, oh my father! come and attend our marriage, which will be next Thursday, in Father Pirard's church. The nasty stories will have their spice smoothed away, and the life of your only daughter and her husband will be saved, etc., etc. The marquis's heart was thrown into a strange quandary. Finally, he had to make a choice. All his petty customs, all his coarse friends, had lost their influence. In these unusual circumstances, lofty characteristics, born out of the events of his youth, came once again to the fore. The miseries of forced emigration had made him an imaginative man. For a brief two years he had enjoyed the benefits of a huge fortune and all manner of court distinctions, and then 1790 had thrown him into frightful suffering. It was a hard school and had changed a twenty-two-year-old's soul: he was still encamped in the middle of his wealth, rather than ruled by it. But this same imagination, which had protected his soul from the gangrene of gold, had plunged him into a mad passion to see his daughter dignified by a glorious title. In the past six weeks, which had been dominated by his whims, the marquis first wanted to make Julien rich. Poverty seemed to Monsieur de La Mole unworthy, dishonorable to him personally, utterly impossible in his daughter's husband. He threw money at Julien. The next day, his mind took a different direction: he was sure Julien would come to understand the silent language in which all this gold was speaking, and would change his name, exile himself to America, write to Mathilde, saying he was now dead, as far as she was concerned... Monsieur de La Mole imagined this letter written, received, read; he traced out its effect on his daughter's character... On the day when Mathilde's real letter drew him out of such childish dreams, instead of fancies about killing Julien, or making him disappear, he imagined creating for him a truly brilliant fortune. He would have him take the name of one of his estates, and saw no reason why the de La Mole peerage should not descend to Julien. His own father-in-law, the Duke of Chaulnes, had more than once spoken to him—after the duke's only son was killed in Spain— of his wish that Norbert succeed to the title... "How could we deny Julien his marked aptitude for business, his boldness, perhaps even his brilliance, " the marquis said to himself. "But there is something frightening, deep down in his character. This is the effect he always has on others, so it must stem from something real." (The more difficult it was to be sure just how real, the more the old marquis's imaginative soul took fright.) "The other day, my daughter told me, very cleverly [this letter has been deleted]: 'Julien has not joined any social group, nor any intellectual one.' He hasn't mustered any support against me, not even the smallest resources, were I to turn my back on him...But is this simple ignorance of how things actually work? ... I've said to him, two or three times: 'The only real, the only profitable, society to join is society itself.'...
Chapter Thirty-Four: a Man of Spirit
"No, he lacks the lawyer's fawning shrewdness, which never loses a minute or wastes an opportunity...He's not a bit like someone from Louis XI's14 time. On the other hand, I see in him a most striking lack of generosity. ...I can't fathom him...Does he say such things simply to dam up his passions? "Still, one thing stands out: he cannot tolerate contempt. That gives me a grip on him. "He has no faith in high birth; that's a fact. He has no instinctive respect for us...That's a drawback—yet, ultimately, a seminarian's soul should be impatient only with shortages of pleasure and money. He is totally different, incapable of enduring scorn, no matter what the price." Pressured by his daughter's letter, Monsieur de La Mole saw that he had to make up his mind: "In the end, this is the central question: Was Julien's boldness, his daring in courting my daughter, founded in his knowledge that I love her more than anything in the world—and that I have an income of a quarter of a million francs? "Mathilde directly challenges this...No, my Julien; this is a matter about which I cannot afford to entertain any illusions. "Is what we have here a genuine love, unforeseen, unplanned? Or merely a low desire to rise into a higher social standing? Mathilde sees things very clearly. She knew from the very beginning that, for me, this could be the issue on which he ruins himself, and so she made her confession, saying it was she who was the first to think of love... "A girl of such lofty character, so far forgetting herself that she makes physical advances! Clutching at his arm, in the garden, one night: how ghastly! As if she hadn't a hundred less indecent ways of letting him know she was thinking of him. "He who excuses himself, accuses himself: I don't believe Mathilde." On this day, the marquis's thoughts were more conclusive than usual. But habit prevailed; he decided to gain time by writing to his daughter, since they had been corresponding back and forth, from one part of the house to the other. Monsieur de La Mole did not dare engage in a face-to-face discussion with Mathilde; he would not be able to hold his own. He was afraid of ending it all by some sudden surrender: Beware of any new foolishness. Here is a commission as a cavalry lieutenant, for Chevalier Julien Sorel de La Vernaye. You can see what I'm doing for him. Don't oppose me; don't ask me any questions. Let him leave in twenty-four hours, to report at Strasbourg, where his regiment is stationed. Here too is a draft on my banker. See to it that I am obeyed. Mathilde's love, and her joy, were boundless. She wanted to take due advantage of her victory, and replied immediately: Monsieur de La Vernaye would be at your feet, wild with gratitude, if he knew what you are willing to do for him. But, so immersed has my father been in his generosity, he has forgotten his daughter, whose honor is at risk. One single indiscretion can result in an everlasting stain, which sixty thousand francs of income would never wipe away. I will not send his commission to Monsieur de La Vernaye unless you give me your word that, sometime next month, my marriage will be celebrated in public, at Villequier. Shortly thereafter—and I beg you not to exceed the stipulated period—your daughter will appear in public, under the name Madame de La Vernaye. How grateful I am to you, dear Papa, for having saved me from the name Sorel, etc., etc. The reply was unexpected: