23 In the original French, the word foolish (fou) appears in the masculine form in this quote attributed to Madame Goethe. Many editors have mistakenly replaced "Madame" with "J. W. von Goethe."
Chapter Forty: Tranquillity
than likely his appearance was looked for and watched, every day, through all the telescopes in town. His thoughts were at Vergy. He never mentioned Madame de Rênal to Fouqué, but two or three times his friend told him she was recovering quickly, and the words resounded in his heart. While Julien lived almost completely in his inner world, Mathilde, deeply concerned with reality (as an aristocratic heart ought to be), had brought the correspondence between Madame de Fervaques and Father de Frilair to such a point of direct intimacy that the great words diocese and bishopric had already been pronounced. Madame de Fervaques's elderly uncle, responsible for the assignment of Church preferments, had added, in a footnote to a letter he wrote her, "That poor Sorel is simply a fool; I hope he can be returned to us." Seeing these words, Father de Frilair was incredibly excited. He had no doubts about saving Julien. "Without that Jacobin law, requiring an absolutely endless list of possible jurors, with no other purpose, actually, but to strip away all the influence of well-born people," he told Mathilde, the evening before lots were drawn for the thirty-six jurors, "I could have already told you the verdict. I certainly arranged Father N———'s acquittal..." The next day he was delighted to find, among the names pulled from the lottery box, five Besançon members of the Congregation of the Holy Virgin, and among those from outside the city, Messieurs de Valenod, de Moirod, and De Cholin. —"I can speak for these eight jurors," he told Mathilde. "The first five are no more than machines. Valenod is my agent, Moirod owes me everything, and De Cholin is an idiot and afraid of everyone." Newspapers spread the jurors' names all over the district, and Madame de Rênal, to her husband's inexpressible terror, decided to go to Besançon. Her husband was barely able to convince her that, if she went, she should at least not leave her bed, to save herself the unpleasantness of being called as a witness. "You don't understand my situation," said the former mayor of Verrières. "I have now defected to the liberals. Certainly, that dissolute rascal, de Valenod, and the vicar-general, won't have much trouble getting the prosecutor and the judges to make things unpleasant for me." It was not hard for Madame de Rênal to agree to her husband's request. "If I appear in court," she told herself, "it would look as if I were seeking revenge." But in spite of all the promises she'd made, to her confessor and to her husband, about being cautious and sensible, she had barely reached Besançon when she wrote, in her own hand, to each of the thirty-six jurors: I will not appear at the trial, sir, because my presence might prejudice Monsieur Sorel's case. There is only one thing in the world I passionately desire, which is that he be saved. Please be in no doubt: the frightful idea that, because of me, an innocent man has been consigned to death, would poison the rest of my life and, without any doubt, would shorten it. How could you condemn him to death, while I live on? No, surely society has no right to strip away life, and above all the life of someone like Julien Sorel. Everyone in Verrières has known some of his wilder moments. This poor young man has many powerful enemies, but even among his enemies (and how many of them there are!) is there anyone who doubts his wonderful gifts and his profound learning? This is not an ordinary citizen, sir, the man on whom you will be passing judgment. For nearly eighteen months we have all known him to be pious, wise, hardworking. Yet two or three times a year, he was overtaken by fits of melancholy that approached aberration. The whole town of Verrières, all our neighbors at Vergy, where we spend our summers, our whole family, and the deputy governor of the district himself, will affirm his exemplary piety: he knows the Holy Bible by heart. Would anyone lacking in piety
have worked so hard, over the years, to memorize the holy book? My sons will have the honor of bringing you this letter: they are children. Take the trouble to question them, sir: they will give you whatever details, about this poor young man, that might yet be needed to convince you of how barbarous it would be to convict him. Far from revenging me, you would be killing me. What can his enemies say to contradict me? There is not much danger in the wound, caused by one of those wild moments that even my children noticed in their tutor: after less than two months I have been able to take the mail coach from Verrières to Besançon. Should I learn, sir, that you hesitate in any way whatever to release someone so minimally guilty from the law's barbarity, I will rise from my bed, where I remain only because my husband has so ordered me, and I will come and throw myself at your feet. Determine, sir, that premeditation is not a fixed and unwavering affair, and you will not have the blood of an innocent man on your conscience, etc., etc. The whole region will long remember this celebrated case. Concern for the accused heightened into agitation, because his crime, though astonishing, was not horrible. And even had it been, the young man was so handsome! His immense good fortune, brought to an end so soon, swelled people's pity. Will he be found guilty, women asked the men they knew? And they grew pale as they waited for the answer. —Sainte-Beuve The day finally came, the day so dreaded by Madame de Rênal and Mathilde. The town's strange appearance heightened their terror; even Fouqué's steady soul was troubled. The whole province had come hurrying to Besançon, to see this romantic case tried. For several days, all the inns were filled to the brim. The presiding judge had to deal with a storm of ticket requests; every lady in town wanted to be there; portraits of Julien were being sold in the streets, etc., etc. Mathilde had been holding in reserve, for exactly this moment, a letter written in its entirety in the hand of the Bishop of ———. This prelate, administrator of the Church throughout France, and creator of bishops, took the trouble to ask for Julien's acquittal. The night before the trial, Mathilde brought this letter to the all-powerful vicar-general. When the interview had ended, and she was leaving in tears: "I will vouch for the jury's verdict," said Father de Frilair, finally shedding his diplomatic reserve, and himself almost moved. "Among the dozen persons charged with determining if the crime, alleged to have been committed by the man you have been assisting, has been proven, and above all whether there was premeditation, there are six who are dedicated to my good fortune, and I have informed them that it is up to them whether or not I become a bishop. Baron de Valenod, whom I made mayor of Verrières, has complete control of his two subordinates, Messieurs de Moirod and de Cholin. Admittedly, fate has given us two jurors, in this matter, whose intentions are likely to be exceedingly poor. On the other hand, although they are ultraliberals, on high occasions they are faithful to my orders, and I have asked them to vote with Monsieur de Valenod. I have been informed that a sixth juror, an immensely wealthy manufacturer, and a long-winded liberal, is secretly angling for a Ministry of War contract, and surely he would not want to annoy me. I have told him that Monsieur de Valenod has my final orders." "And just who is this Monsieur de Valenod?" Mathilde asked, concerned. "If you were acquainted with him, you could not doubt our success. He possesses a bold tongue, he is rude, coarse—in short, ideal for leading fools by the nose. He was plucked out of
misery, in 1814, and I intend to make him governor of the district. He is quite capable of striking the other jurors, if they refuse to vote as he wishes." Mathilde was somewhat reassured. She was to have another discussion that evening. In order not to prolong an unpleasant scene, the final result of which was, in his eyes, completely certain, Julien had resolved not to take the witness stand. "My lawyer will speak: that is surely sufficient," he said to Mathilde. "I have no desire to be exposed to all my enemies, as a spectacle, for any longer than necessary. These provincials have been stunned by my rapid rise, which I owe to you, and, believe me, there isn't one of them who doesn't want me convicted, though they'll all weep like idiots as I'm taken to my death." "They want to see you humiliated: that's very true," Mathilde replied, "but I hardly think they're savages. My presence in Besançon, and the sight of my sorrow, has awakened interest in all the women. Your handsome face will do the rest. If you say anything, when you appear before the judges, the whole audience will be on your side, etc., etc." The next day, at nine in the morning, when Julien came down from the tower, on his way to the great hall of the Palace of Justice, the gendarmes almost could not clear away an immense crowd crammed into the courtyard. Julien had slept well; he was very calm, and felt nothing but philosophic compassion for this envious mob that, without the slightest cruelty, would be applauding his death sentence. He was intensely startled, having been detained more than a quarter of an hour, surrounded by the crowd, finding himself forced to admit that his presence stirred the public to affectionate pity. He did not hear a single unpleasant word. "These provincials are not as nasty as I believed," he said to himself. Entering the courtroom, he was struck by the elegant architecture. It was true Gothic, with a host of lovely little columns of carved stone, fashioned with the greatest of care. He felt as if he were in England. But soon his attention was captured by twelve or fifteen pretty women who, seated directly across from the prisoner's bench, filled the three galleries over the judges and jurors. Looking once more at the audience, he saw that the circular gallery all around the hall was full of women. Most were young and seemed to him very pretty; their eyes shone and were filled with concern. In the rest of the auditorium, the crowd was enormous: those outside were beating on the doors, and the guards could not keep them quiet. As all the eyes that had been looking for Julien saw him there, and observed him ascend to the slightly elevated spot designated for the accused, he was greeted by a murmur both surprised and tender. That day, it might have been said he was not yet twenty. His clothing was very simple, but perfectly graceful; his hair and his face were charming: Mathilde had herself presided over his grooming. He was extremely pale. He had hardly taken his seat when he heard, from all sides: "My Lord! How young he is! ... He's nothing but a child...He's even better-looking than his picture." "Defendant," said the policeman sitting to Julien's right, "do you see those six ladies, sitting in the gallery over there?" The policeman pointed out a small gallery, protruding into the hall just above the jurors. "That's the governor's wife," the policeman went on, "next to Marquise de M———, the one who thinks so well of you; I heard her speaking to the chief judge. And next to her is Madame Derville..." "Madame Derville!" Julien exclaimed, blushing fiercely. "When she leaves here," he thought, "she'll go and write to Madame de Rênal." He did not know that Madame de Rênal had come to Besançon.
The witnesses were thoroughly examined. From the very first words of the prosecutor's statement, two of the ladies in the small gallery, directly facing Julien, dissolved in tears. "Madame Derville is not as moved as they are," thought Julien. But he noted that her face had turned quite red. The prosecutor heaped up pathos, in bad French, about the barbarity of the crime. Julien observed that the ladies sitting near Madame Derville looked very disapproving. Several jurors, apparently people known to these women, spoke to them, and they seemed to be reassured. "That cannot help but be a good omen," Julien thought. To that point, he felt himself overwhelmingly, and unmitigatedly, contemptuous of everyone on the prosecution side. The platitudinous eloquence of the prosecutor added to his disgust. But bit by bit Julien's tepid soul quickened, in the face of the signs of interest obviously directed at him. He was pleased by his lawyer's firm bearing. "No fancy phrases," Julien directed, as the lawyer prepared to speak. "All this empty eloquence, stolen from Bossuet and pointed at you, has in fact helped you," the lawyer told Julien as he rose. In fact, Julien's lawyer had not been speaking for five minutes when all the women's handkerchiefs were out. Encouraged, the lawyer made some very emphatic remarks to the jurors. Julien shivered, feeling himself at the point of tears. "Good God! What will my enemies be saying?" He was prepared to yield to the tenderness creeping up on him when, luckily for him, he caught an overbearing glance from Baron de Valenod. "This pig's eyes are blazing," he said to himself. "How victorious his vulgar soul must feel! Even if my crime had produced nothing but this, I'd have to curse it. Lord knows what he'll tell Madame de Rênal about me!" This idea erased everything else from his mind. But not too long afterward, Julien was brought back to himself, hearing the sounds of public approval. His lawyer had just ended his speech. Julien reminded himself that it was proper to shake the lawyer's hand. The time had gone by very quickly. Refreshments were brought to the lawyer and to his client. Only then was Julien struck by something: not a single woman had gotten up and left, in order to have dinner. "Ah, I'm dying of hunger," said the lawyer. "And you?" "Exactly the same," Julien replied. "See? The governor's wife has just had her dinner delivered," said the lawyer, gesturing to the small gallery. "Have courage, everything went well." The trial resumed. As the presiding judge presented his summation, midnight sounded. The judge was forced to interrupt himself: in the midst of a silence born of universal anxiety, the tolling of the clock filled the hall. "This is how my last day on earth begins," thought Julien. And soon he felt himself burning with the idea of duty. He had controlled his emotions, to that point, and his resolve to remain silent had been firm. But when the presiding judge asked him if he had anything to say, he rose. He saw, right opposite him, Madame Derville's eyes; in the light of the many lamps, they seemed unusually brilliant. "Is she by any chance crying?" he wondered. "Gentlemen of the Jury: "My loathing for being disdained, which I thought I could control till the moment of death, now obliges me to speak. Gentlemen, I do not have the honor of belonging to your class. What you see in me is a peasant, in revolt against the barrenness of his fate.
"I ask no mercy of you," Julien continued, his voice growing steadier. "I have absolutely no illusions: what awaits me is death, and it will be a just verdict. I have tried to kill a woman eminently worthy of respect, and of homage. Madame de Rênal was like a mother to me. My crime is atrocious—and it was premeditated. I thoroughly deserve death, gentlemen of the jury. But even were I less guilty, what I see, here, is men who, not stopping to consider whatever pity my youth may merit, wish to punish—in me—and to discourage forever all young people born into an inferior class, and in one way or another oppressed by poverty, who wish for themselves the happiness of a good education, young people who might have the audacity to mingle among those who are labeled, by the arrogance of the rich, 'society.' "There is my crime, gentlemen, and it will be punished even more severely if, in truth, I am not judged by my peers. I do not see, on these jury benches, a single wealthy peasant, but only the angry and indignant bourgeoisie." For twenty minutes, Julien spoke like this, saying everything that had been in his heart. The prosecutor, who longed for aristocratic favor, was bouncing on his bench. But in spite of the somewhat abstract turn of phrase Julien employed, all the women melted in tears. Before he finished, Julien came back to the issue of premeditation, and to his repentance, and to the respect, the adoration—filial and limitless—that he felt for Madame de Rênal. Madame Derville gave a cry and fainted away. One o'clock was sounding as the jurors retired to their room. Not a single woman had left her place; numbers of men had tears in their eyes. Conversation was, at first, very lively, but gradually, as they waited for the jury's decision, universal weariness began to quiet the audience. It was a solemn moment; the lamps were not burning as brightly as before. Julien, very weary indeed, heard people discussing, near him, whether the jury's delay was a good or a bad omen. He saw with pleasure that everyone wished him well. The jury did not return, and still not a single woman left. Two o'clock had just sounded, and much stirring about was heard. The little door to the jury room swung open. Baron de Valenod came forward, walking gravely, theatrically; the other jurors followed him. He coughed, then announced, on his soul and conscience, the jury's unanimous decision that Julien Sorel was guilty of murder, and murder with premeditation. This verdict carried with it the death sentence, which was pronounced a moment later. Julien looked at his watch, and was reminded of Count de Lavalette, who had escaped the guillotine. It was a quarter after two. "Today is Friday," he thought. "Yes, but it's a happy day for that Valenod, who just sentenced me to death...I am far too closely watched; Mathilde can't possibly save me, as de Lavalette's wife saved him. Accordingly, in three days, at this same time, I will know what to think about the great perhaps." At that moment, he heard a cry and was recalled to the things of this world. All the women around him were crying: he saw every face turned toward a small gallery, built into the highest part of a Gothic column. He learned, later, that Mathilde had been hidden there. There being no further cry, everyone turned to look at Julien again: policemen were leading him through the crowd. "Let's give that scoundrel de Valenod nothing he can laugh about," Julien thought. "With what a glib, contrite face he announced his verdict, and the death penalty! And the chief judge, though he's been on the bench I don't know how many years, had tears in his eyes as he said the words. How happy Valenod was, taking revenge for our old rivalry over Madame de Rênal! And now I'll never see her again! It's over...A last farewell is impossible, I know it...But how good it would have been to tell her how horrified I am, for what I did! "And these words only: I've been rightly condemned."
Chapter Forty-Two Returned to prison, Julien was put into a cell meant especially for those sentenced to death. Ordinarily, he took in every small detail of his surroundings, but was not aware he'd not come back to his tower. He was imagining what he'd say to Madame de Rênal, if at the last moment he was fortunate enough to see her. He thought she'd cut him off, and wanted his first words to fully express repentance. Having done what he'd done, how could he persuade her he loved her and her only? "And, really, it was ambition that made me want to kill her, or else it was love for Mathilde." Getting into bed, he realized the sheets were made of coarse cloth. His eyes were opened. "Ah, I'm in solitary confinement," he told himself, "having been sentenced to death. That's quite right... "Count Altamira told me that Danton, the night before he was to die, said in his rough voice: 'How odd: the verb "to guillotine" can't be conjugated in all the tenses. You can say "I will be guillotined, you will be guillotined," but you can't say "I have been guillotined." ' "But why not?" Julien responded, "if there is another life?. .. Oh, if what I find is the Christian God, I'm ruined. He's a despot, so He's obsessed with revenge: all His Bible talks about is atrocious punishments. I've never loved Him; I've never even wanted to believe anyone honestly loved Him. He's utterly devoid of pity (and here Julien remembered several passages from the Bible). He'll punish me with abominations...But if what I find is Fénelon's God!24 He might tell me: 'Much will be forgiven thee, since thou hast loved much...' "Have I loved much? Ah, yes, I loved Madame de Rênal, but I behaved atrociously. There, as I always did, I abandoned simple, modest worthiness in favor of what was brilliant... "And yet, what a future! ... A cavalry colonel, if we had a war—an embassy secretary, in peacetime, and then an ambassador...because I'd have quickly learned all about diplomacy...and if I were an absolute idiot, what rival would the Marquis de La Mole's son-in- law need to be afraid of? All my stupidities would have been forgiven, or more likely thought worthy. A man of high repute, enjoying high life in Vienna or London... "Not exactly, sir: you'll be guillotined in three days." Julien laughed heartily at his own mordant wit. "Really, we all have two personalities," he thought. "What devil thought up that nasty joke? "All right! Yes, my friend, guillotined in three days," he replied to whoever or whatever had interrupted him. "Monsieur de Cholin will rent a window, for watching the show; he'll go halves with Father Maslon. And then, to pay themselves back, which one of these two worthies will rob the other?" Suddenly, he thought of these lines from Rotrou's play, Venceslas:25 LADISLAS : My soul is prepared and ready. THE KING, LADISLAS'S FATHER : So is the scaffold. Bring it your head. "A fine reply!" he thought, and went to sleep. Someone woke him, the next morning, gripping him hard.