The Red and the Black (47 page)

round the door into the second, and there was such a throng that he
was unable to move forward. The décor in this second room represented
the Alhambra palace in Grenada.

'She's the queen of the ball, you must agree,' a young man with a
moustache was saying as his shoulder rammed into Julien's chest.

'M
^lle
Fourmont, who was the prettiest of them all throughout the winter,'
replied the man next to him, 'can tell she's slipping into second
place: look at her strange air.'

'She
really does pull out all the stops to charm us. Just look at that
gracious smile when she's dancing on her own in the quadrille. Word of
honour, it's priceless.'

'M
^lle
de La Mole seems to be in full control of the pleasure she derives
from her victory, which she's well aware of. It's as if she were
afraid of charming the person talking to her.'

'Excellent! That's the art of seduction.'

Julien was making vain attempts to catch a glimpse of this seductive
woman; seven or eight men taller than himself prevented him from
seeing her.

'There's a good deal of coquettishness in her noble restraint,' said the young man with a moustache.

'And those big blue eyes which are lowered so slowly just when you'd
think they were on the verge of giving away their secret,' his
neighbour continued. 'My goodness, there's nothing so crafty.'

'Look how common the beautiful M
^lle
Fourmont seems beside her,' said a third man.

'This air of restraint signifies: what charm I should lay on for you, if you were the man to be worthy of me!'

'And who can be worthy of the sublime Mathilde?' asked the first
speaker: 'some sovereign prince, handsome, witty, well-built, a hero
in war and no older than twenty at the very most.'

'The illegitimate son of the Emperor of Russia... for whom, for the
sake of this marriage, a kingdom would be found; or quite simply the
Comte de Thaler, looking like a peasant dressed up...'

The doorway cleared and Julien was able to go through.

Since she has a reputation of being so remarkable in the eyes

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of these namby-pambys, it'd be worth my while to study her, he
thought. I shall understand what makes perfection for that sort of
person.

As he was looking round for
her, Mathilde glanced at him. My duty calls me, Julien told himself;
but there was no bad temper left except in his expression. Curiosity
drove him forward with a pleasure soon increased by the low cut of
Mathilde's dress round the shoulders--hardly very flattering to his
pride, if the truth be told. There is something youthful about her
beauty, he thought. Five or six young men, among whom Julien
recognized the ones he had overheard by the door, stood between her
and him.

'You, sir, who've been here all winter,' she said to him, 'isn't it true that this ball is the prettiest of the season?'

He made no reply.

'This quadrille of Coulon's
^*
strikes me as admirable; and these ladies are dancing it perfectly.'
The young men turned to see who the fortunate man was whose answer was
so insistently sought. It was not an encouraging one.

'I should hardly qualify as a good judge, Mademoiselle; I spend my
life writing: this is the first ball of such magnificence that I've
ever seen.'

The young men with moustaches were scandalized.

'You are a wise man, Monsieur Sorel,' replied the lady with a greater
show of interest; 'you observe all these balls, all these
festivities, like a philosopher, like Jean-Jacques Rousseau. These
follies amaze you without ensnaring you.'

A single name had just quenched the fire of Julien's imagination and
driven all illusions from his heart. His mouth took on an expression
of disdain that was maybe somewhat exaggerated.

' Jean-Jacques Rousseau', he replied, 'is no more than a fool in my
eyes when he takes it upon himself to judge high society; he didn't
understand it, and brought to it the heart of an upstart lackey.'

'He wrote
The Social Contract
,' said Mathilde in tones of veneration.

'An upstart who, while preaching the republic and the overthrow of the high offices of the monarchy, is over the

-297-

moon if a duke alters the direction of his after-dinner stroll just to accompany one of the upstart's friends.'

'Oh yes! the Duc de Luxembourg at Montmorency accompanying a M. Coindet
^*
on his way to Paris...', M
^lle
de La Mole elaborated, with the pleasure and abandon of the first
sweet taste of pedantry. She was intoxicated with her learning, rather
like the academician who discovered the existence of King
Feretrius.
^*
Julien's eye remained searching and severe. Mathilde had had a moment
of enthusiasm; she was deeply put out by her partner's coldness. She
was all the more astonished as it was she who customarily produced
this effect on others.

At that moment the Marquis de Croisenois was making his way eagerly over towards M
^lle
de La Mole. For a moment he stood three paces away from her without
being able to break through the throng. He looked at her with a smile
at the obstacle in his path. The young Marquise de Rouvray was near
him; she was a cousin of Mathilde's. She was leaning on the arm of her
husband, who had only enjoyed matrimony for a fortnight. The Marquis
de Rouvray, exceedingly young himself, showed all the foolish love that
takes hold of a man who, on making a marriage of convenience entirely
arranged by solicitors, discovers a perfectly lovely woman. M. de
Rouvray was going to become a duke on the death a very old uncle.

While the Marquis de Croisenois, unable to break through the crowd,
was gazing delightedly at Mathilde, she cast her large, heavenly blue
eyes on him and his neighbours. What could be more insipid, she said
to herself, than that whole group! There is Croisenois who has
aspirations to marry me; he's gentle and polite, he has perfect
manners like M. de Rouvray. Were it not for the boredom they inspire,
these gentlemen would be most agreeable. He too will tag along
behind me at the ball with that blinkered, contented expression. A
year after our wedding, my carriage, my horses, my dresses, my château
twenty leagues from Paris, all that sort of thing will be as perfect
as it possibly can, just what's required to make a social climber die
of envy--someone like the Comtesse de Roiville, for instance; and then
what...?

Mathilde was bored in anticipation. The Marquis de Croisenois managed to get near her, and he was talking away, but

-298-

she let her mind wander without listening to him. The sound of his
words merged in her ears with the hum of the ball. Her gaze went
automatically after Julien, who had moved away with a respectful,
though proud and discontented air. In a corner, far from the madding
crowd, she spied Count Altamira, who had been condemned to death in his
country, and is already familiar to the reader. Under Louis XIV a
relative of his had married one of the princes de Conti; the memory of
this gave him some protection from the Congregation police.

The only thing I can think of that distinguishes a man is a death
sentence, Mathilde thought: it's all there is that can't be bought.

Ah! that's a witty saying I've just thought up! What a shame it
didn't come out in such a way as to do me credit! Mathilde had too
much taste to bring into the conversation a piece of wit prepared in
advance; but she also had too much vanity not to be delighted with
herself. A look of happiness replaced the appearance of boredom on her
features. The Marquis de Croisenois, who was still talking to her,
thought he glimpsed success and redoubled his eloquence.

What could an unkind person find objectionable in my witty remark?
Mathilde asked herself. I'd reply to my critic: 'The title of baron or
viscount is something money can buy; a cross is something you are
given; my brother has just got one, and what did he do for it? Rank is
something you can acquire. Ten years in the garrison, or a relative
who is Minister of War, and you're a squadron commander like Norbert. A
huge fortune...! now that's the most difficult of all, and
consequently the most meritorious. Isn't it funny! It's the opposite
of everything the books say... Well now! to get a fortune, you marry
M. Rothschild's daughter.'

My witticism really is profound. A death sentence is the only thing that no one has yet thought of asking for.

'Do you know Count Altamira?' she asked M. de Croisenois.

She looked so much as if she were only just coming back to earth, and
this question had so little bearing on anything the poor marquis had
been saying to her for the past five minutes, that his politeness was
quite thrown by it. Yet he was a man of wit and highly reputed as
such.

-299-

Mathilde is very idiosyncratic, he thought; it's a disadvantage, but
she has such a fine social position to offer her husband! I don't know
how this Marquis de La Mole does it; he has connections with the top
people in every party; he's a man who can't go into eclipse. Besides,
this idiosyncrasy of Mathilde's can pass off as genius. Associated
with high birth and a great deal of wealth, genius isn't a mark of
ridicule, and in that case what a distinction! What's more, when she
wants to she has just the right blend of wit, character and timing
that perfect affability requires... As it is difficult to do two
things well at the same time, the marquis answered Mathilde with a
vacant expression as if he were repeating a lesson:

'Who doesn't know poor Altamira?' And he told her the story of his abortive, ridiculous and absurd conspiracy.

'Quite absurd!' said Mathilde as if talking to herself. 'But he did
act. I want to see a real man; bring him over to me,' she said to the
marquis, who was very shocked.

Count Altamira was one of the most open admirers of M
^lle
de La Mole's haughty and almost impertinent air; she was in his view one of the most beautiful young women in Paris.

'How beautiful she would be on a throne!' he said to M. de
Croisenois; and made no difficulty about allowing himself to be led
over to her.

There is no shortage of
people in society who try to make out that nothing is in quite such
poor taste as a conspiracy--it whiffs of Jacobins. And what could be
more distasteful than an unsuccessful Jacobin?

The look in Mathilde's eyes mocked Altamira's liberalism just as M.
de Croisenois did, but she listened to him with pleasure.

A conspirator at a ball--what a nice contrast, she thought. This one
with his black moustache struck her as having the face of a lion at
rest; but she soon noticed that his mind was fixed on one thing:
utility, admiration for utility
.

The young count did not consider anything worthy of his attention
unless it was capable of giving his country a system of government by
two Chambers. He was glad to leave Mathilde, the most attractive woman
at the ball, because he saw a Peruvian general coming in.

-300-

Despairing of Europe, poor Altamira was reduced to thinking that when
the States of South America are strong and powerful, they will be able
to restore to Europe the liberty sent to them by Mirabeau.
^*
1

A swirl of young men with moustaches had come up to Mathilde. She had
indeed noticed that Altamira had not fallen under the spell, and felt
miffed that he had moved away; she saw his black eyes flashing as he
talked to the Peruvian general. M
^lle
de La Mole gazed at
the young Frenchmen with that look of deep seriousness that none of
her rivals could imitate. Which one of them, she thought, could get
himself sentenced to death, even supposing all the odds were in his
favour?

This strange look flattered
those who did not have much intelligence, but made the others nervous.
They feared the explosion of some caustic witticism that would not be
easy to counter.

High birth
bestows countless qualities whose absence would offend me: I can tell
from the example of Julien, thought Mathilde; but it withers away
those qualities of character that lead a man to be sentenced to death.

At that moment someone near her was
saying: 'This Count Altamira is the second son of the Prince of San
NazaroPimentel; it was a Pimentel who tried to save Conradin,
^*
who was beheaded in 1268. They're one of the noblest families in Naples.'

And that, said Mathilde to herself, proves my maxim very nicely: high
birth takes away the strength of character without which a man
doesn't get sentenced to death! So I'm predestined to think nonsense
this evening. Since I'm just a woman like any other, all right then!
I'll have to dance. She yielded to the entreaties of the marquis, who
had been requesting a
galope
^*
for the past hour. To take her mind off her failure in philosophy,
Mathilde determined to be exemplarily charming. M. de Croisenois was
thrilled.

But neither the dance, nor the desire to be attractive to one of the most comely men at Court, nor anything else could

-301-

distract Mathilde. She could not have been more successful. She was
the queen of the ball, she saw this, but it left her cold.

What a colourless existence I shall lead with a person like
Croisenois! she said to herself as he led her back to her seat an hour
later... Where shall I find pleasure, she added sadly, if after six
months' absence I get none in the midst of a ball that's the envy of
all the women in Paris? And what's more, I'm surrounded here with the
homage of a milieu that I couldn't conceivably imagine being better
constituted. The only middle-class people here are a few peers and
maybe one or two Juliens. And yet, she added with growing sadness,
what advantages fate has given me: dazzling reputation, fortune,
youth! alas, everything except happiness.

The most dubious of my assets are just the ones they've been telling
me about all evening. My intellect I do believe in, for it's obvious
that I scare them all. If they're brave enough to tackle a serious
subject, five minutes of conversation leaves them quite gasping for
breath, and seeming to make a great discovery out of something I've
been telling them repeatedly for a whole hour. I'm beautiful, I do
have the asset M
^me
de Staël
^*
would have sacrificed everything for, and yet it's a fact that I'm
dying of boredom. Is there any reason to think I'll be less bored when
I've exchanged my name for that of the Marquis de Croisenois?

But goodness me! she added, feeling almost like tears, isn't he an
ideal man? He's the masterpiece of this century's upbringing; you only
have to look at him and he finds something pleasant and even witty to
say to you; he's brave... But that Sorel is quite out of the
ordinary, she said to herself, and the look of gloom in her eye became
one of annoyance. I informed him I wanted to speak to him, and he
doesn't deign to come back!

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