33 The Duke de Saint-Simon (see note for p. 388, l. 14, and note for p. 391, Epigraph) was decidedly partisan in all his judgments, and he portrays Fenélon as a weak, obsequious courtier.
The Red and the Black
"Second, I'm forgetting living and loving, though I have so very few hours left to live...Alas, Madame de Rênal is not here. Maybe her husband won't let her come back to Besançon, to continue dishonoring herself. "That's what's isolating me, not any lack of a just God, good, all-powerful, not a bit evil- minded, not at all greedy for revenge... "Ah, but if He existed...Alas, I'd fall at His feet. 'I deserved death,' I'd tell Him. But Almighty God, kind God, indulgent God: give me back the woman I love!" The night was well along. After an hour or two of peaceful sleep, Fouqué arrived. Julien felt as strong and resolved as a man who can see clearly into his soul. Chapter Forty-Five "I can't do such a thing to poor Father Chas-Bernard; it would be a shabby trick to ask him," he told Fouqué. "He wouldn't eat his dinner for three days. But try to find me a Jansenist, some friend of Father Pirard, immune to plots and scheming." Fouqué had been waiting, most impatiently, for this overture. Julien had done decently everything public opinion requires, in the provinces. Thanks to Father de Frilair, and in spite of having chosen the wrong kind of confessor, Julien had been protected, in his cell, by the Congregation of the Holy Virgin: had he behaved with more spirit, he might have been able to escape. But as the damp air of the cell worked on him, his mind seemed to shrink. He was even happier when Madame de Rênal returned. "My primary responsibility is to you," she said, embracing him. "I've escaped from Verrières..." Julien felt no petty vanity: he told her all his weaknesses. She was kind, and she was charming. That evening, as soon as she'd left the prison and gone back to her aunt's house, she summoned the priest who, like a hunting animal, had fastened himself onto Julien. Since all he wanted was to establish a reputation among Besançon's young society women, it was not difficult to hire him for a novena at Upper Bray, in the old abbey. Julien's mad love was beyond anything words can express. Employing gold, and both using and abusing her aunt's influence, Madame de Rênal got permission to see him twice a day. Hearing this, Mathilde's jealousy rose to the point of insanity. Father de Frilair had sworn that all his influence could not so defy the rules that she might see her beloved more than once a day. Mathilde had Madame de Rênal followed, so she could learn everything she did. Father de Frilair expended every ounce of his ingenuity, which was very considerable, trying to persuade her that Julien was not worthy of her. And in the midst of these torments, she had never loved him more; virtually every day she staged a ghastly scene for his benefit. Julien wanted with all his strength to behave, right to the very end, as decently as possible to this young girl he had so strangely compromised. But over and over, his ungovernable love for Madame de Rênal swept him away. When he could not truly persuade Mathilde (the reasons he gave her were not good enough) that her rival's visits were entirely innocent: "Well," he told himself, "the end of the drama isn't very far off: that's the best excuse I have, if I can't think of better ones." Mademoiselle de La Mole learned that de Croisenois had died. The exceedingly rich Monsieur de Thaler had allowed himself some unpleasant comments about Mathilde's disappearance. Monsieur de Croisenois requested that he publicly deny these statements.
Chapter Forty-Five
Monsieur de Thaler showed him certain anonymous letters he had received, full of details so skillfully juxtaposed that poor de Croisenois could not tell what was false and what was true. Monsieur de Thaler then permitted himself some distinctly unsubtle jests. Drunk with misery and anger, de Croisenois demanded such extravagant amends that the millionaire preferred a duel. Stupidity was victorious, and one of the most lovable men in Paris was found dead, at age twenty-four. His death had a strange and morbid effect on Julien's affable soul. "Poor de Croisenois," he said to Mathilde, "was really very reasonable and decent to us. He was obliged to hate me when you behaved so incautiously in your mother's drawing room, and so he wanted a quarrel, since the hate that follows after contempt is usually a furious one." Monsieur de Croisenois's death changed all of Julien's ideas about Mathilde's future. He spent several days proving to himself that, after all, she ought to accept Monsieur de Luz. "He's rather shy, but not too Jesuitical," he told her, "and he'll surely try to marry you. His ambitions are duller than poor de Croisenois's, but they're steadier, and since there's no dukedom in his family, he won't hesitate about marrying Julien Sorel's widow." "And a widow who despises grand passions," Mathilde answered coldly, "since she's lived long enough to have seen, six months later, that her lover prefers another woman, and indeed the very woman who brought about all his misfortunes." "You're not being fair. Madame de Rênal's visits will supply our Paris lawyer, who's trying to win me a pardon, with invaluable information. He'll be able to show the murderer being honored by his victim's attentions. That might work, and maybe, someday, you'll see me the subject of a melodrama, etc., etc." Furious jealousy, which could not be avenged; a continuous, hopeless misery (because even assuming Julien were saved, how would she win back his heart?); the shame and sorrow of loving her unfaithful lover more than ever before—all this had plunged Mademoiselle de La Mole into a mournful silence, from which neither Father de Frilair's eager courtship, nor Fouqué's rough honesty, could help her escape. Aside from time stolen away by Mathilde, Julien lived a life of love in which there did not need to be a future. By a strange working of this passion, now that it was at fever pitch and without the slightest pretense, Madame de Rênal almost shared his jauntiness, his gentle gaiety. "It used to be," Julien told her, "when I was so happy, walking with you in the woods at Vergy, fiery ambition would carry my soul into imaginary places. Instead of clasping to my heart this charming arm, which was so near my lips, the future swept me away from you. I was fighting endless battles, which had to be fought so I could build a colossal fortune...No, I would have died without knowing happiness, if you hadn't come to see me, here in prison." Two things occurred to trouble this peaceful existence. Julien's confessor, even being the devout Jansenist he was, could not help being the screen for a Jesuit scheme, and, without knowing it, becoming the Jesuits' instrument. One day he came to tell Julien that, to avoid the frightful sin of suicide, he needed to do everything he could to secure a pardon. Now, the Church having great influence with the Ministry of Justice, in Paris, there was a singularly open road: he needed to make as big a show as possible about having reformed his sinful soul... "A show!" Julien echoed. "Oh, I see: you're playing the missionary game, Father, just as the others do." "Your youth," the Jansenist answered somberly, "the attractive face with which Providence has blessed you; even the motive for your crime, which remains inexplicable; the prodigious measures Mademoiselle de La Mole has so lavishly engaged in, on your behalf; and,
The Red and the Black
finally, the astonishing friendliness your victim has shown you—all this contributes to the young women of Besançon having made you into a hero. They have forgotten everything else for you, even politics... "Your awakening will find an echo in their hearts and will make a profound impression. You can be of major importance to religion, and the trifling reasoning of the Jesuits, in similar situations, does not give me pause. Even in this special case, which has escaped their rapacity, they would still act destructively. They should not be allowed to...The tears that your awakening will cause to flow will wipe out the corrosive effect of ten editions of Voltaire's impious works." "And what will I have left," Julien responded coldly, "if I turn, contemptuously, against myself? I have been ambitious, but I have no intention of calling that blameworthy: I was simply following the conventions of my time. Now I live from day to day. But as people here see these things, I would be making myself seriously miserable, were I to surrender to such cowardice..." The other episode, which was far more painful to Julien, stemmed from Madame de Rênal. I have no idea, reader, which of her lady friends managed to persuade this naïve and shy soul that it was her duty, now, to go to Saint-Cloud and throw herself on her knees in front of King Charles X. She was prepared to make the sacrifice of tearing herself away from Julien, which was an immense struggle. Her distaste at making a spectacle of herself, which at any other time would have been worse than death itself, was now, in her eyes, of no consequence whatever. "I'll go to the king; I will proclaim loudly that you are my lover. A man's life, and especially such a man as you, must prevail over all other considerations. I will say that it was jealousy which caused you to seek my life. There are many instances where young men have been saved, in such a case, either by the jury's humanity or by the king's—" "I'll never let you in here again. I'll have the door of my cell shut against you," cried Julien, "and without any question I'll kill myself, in despair, the day after you leave, unless you swear you'll do nothing to make the two of us a public spectacle. This notion of going to Paris cannot be your own. Tell me the name of the schemer who proposed it to you... "Let us be happy, in the few days left to this short life. Let's hide our existence; my crime is already too conspicuous. Mademoiselle de La Mole has powerful friends at court: believe me, she's doing what can humanly be done. Here in the provinces, all the rich and respected men are against me. If you go to Saint-Cloud, they'd be bitterer still, and especially the moderates who lead such easy lives...Let's not give an opportunity for mocking laughter to the Maslons, the Valenods, and a thousand better men than them." The cell's foul air had become unbearable. Fortunately, on the day they told him he was to die, the sun was making all of nature rejoice, and Julien was in a courageous mood. Walking in the open air was, for him, a delightful sensation, as walking on the firm ground is for the sailor, long at sea. "Let's go, everything's fine," he said to himself. "I have more than enough courage." Never had that head felt more poetic than now, when it was going to be cut off. The sweetest times he had known, once, in the woods of Vergy, came crowding back into his mind, and with wonderful force. Everything happened simply, decently, and on his part without the slightest affectation.34