The Red and the Black (71 page)

You will have learned with joy, I do not doubt, of the events which
moved my family to make me rich. Here is a sum of five hundred francs
which I beg you to distribute without fuss, or any mention whatsoever
of my name, to the unfortunate souls who are poor now as I once was,
and whom you no doubt help just as you once helped me.

Julien was intoxicated with ambition, not with vanity; he
nevertheless devoted a good deal of his attention to external
appearances. His horses, his uniforms, his servants' livery were
punctiliously maintained in a way which would have been a credit to
the fastidiousness of a great English lord. He was hardly a
lieutenant, promoted through favouritism a mere two days ago, and he
was already calculating that to be a commander-in-chief at thirty at the
very latest, like all great generals, it was essential at
twenty-three to be more than a lieutenant. He thought of nothing but
glory, and his son.

He was in the
throes of the most unbridled ambition when he was surprised by a young
footman from the Hôtel de La Mole, who arrived with a despatch.

'All is lost,' wrote Mathilde:

Come as quickly as possible, sacrifice everything, desert if need be.
Immediately on arrival, wait for me in a cab near the little gate into
the garden, outside n˚ ----- in ----- street. I shall come out and
speak to you; maybe I shall be able to slip you into the garden. All
is lost, and, I fear, irredeemably so; count on me, you will find me
devoted and steadfast. I love you.

In a matter of moments Julien obtained leave from the colonel and
left Strasburg at full gallop; but the terrible anxiety devouring him
did not allow him to continue this form of travel beyond Metz. He
flung himself into a post-chaise; and it was with almost unbelievable
speed that he arrived at the spot indicated to him, near the little
gate into the garden of the Hôtel de La Mole. The gate opened, and at
the same instant Mathilde, forgetting all self-respect, flung herself
into his arms. Fortunately it was only five o'clock in the morning and
the street was still deserted.

'All is lost; my father, fearing my tears, went off during the night
on Thursday. Where to? No one knows. Here's his letter; read it.' And
she stepped up into the cab with Julien.

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I could have forgiven everything, except the scheme to seduce you
because you are rich. There, wretched daughter, you have the terrible
truth. I give you my word of honour that I shall never consent to any
marriage with this man. I shall guarantee him an income of ten
thousand pounds if he is willing to live a long way off, outside the
frontiers of France, or better still in America. Read the letter I have
just received in response to the enquiries I had made. The impudent
wretch had urged me himself to write to Mme de Rênal. I shall never
read a word from you on the subject of this man. I am filled with
loathing for Paris and yourself. I urge you to shroud the impending
event in the deepest secrecy. Renounce in all sincerity a worthless
man, and you will find a father once more.

'Where is the letter from Mme de Rênal?' Julien asked coldly.

'Here it is. I didn't want to show it to you, darling, until you'd been prepared for it.'

What I owe to the sacred cause of religion and morality forces me,
sir, into the painful course of action that I am carrying out in writing
to you now; a precept which cannot err orders me to do injury to my
neighbour at this moment, but in order to avoid a greater scandal.
The suffering which this causes me must be overcome by my sense of
duty. I'm afraid, sir, the conduct of the person about whom you ask me
to tell you the whole truth may well have struck an outsider as
puzzling or perhaps even perfectly decent. This individual may have
thought fit to conceal or disguise part of the real situation--prudence
dictated this as well as religion. But his conduct, which you desire
to be acquainted with, has in fact been extremely blameworthy, much
more so than I can ever express. Being poor and grasping, this man
used the most consummate hypocrisy, and resorted to the seduction of a
weak and unhappy woman in his attempt to acquire status and to turn
himself into a somebody. It is part of my painful duty to add that I
have no choice but to believe that M. J-- has no religious principles.
In all conscience, I am obliged to think that one of his means of
getting on in a household is to try to seduce the woman who wields
most influence. Concealed beneath an appearance of disinterestedness
and shrouded in phrases taken from novels, his one and only great aim
is to succeed in gaining control over the master of the house and his
fortune. He leaves behind him a trail of suffering and eternal
regrets, etc., etc., etc.

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This letter was extremely long and half-obliterated by tears, and it
was indeed in Mme de Rênal's hand; it was even written with more care
than usual.

'I cannot blame M. de La
Mole,' Julien said when he had finished it; he is fair-minded and
prudent. What father would want to give his beloved daughter to such a
man! Farewell!'

Julien leaped down
out of the cab and ran to his post-chaise, which was stopped at the
end of the street. Mathilde, whom he seemed to have forgotten, went
after him for a few steps; but the stares of the shopkeepers who came
out into their doorways, and who all knew her, forced her to go back
in haste into the garden.

Julien
had set off for Verrières. On this swift journey he was unable to
write to Mathilde as he was planning; his hand only made an illegible
scrawl on the paper.

He arrived in
Verrières on a Sunday morning. He sought out the local gunsmith, who
complimented him profusely on his recent fortune. It was the latest
local news.

Julien had great
difficulty in getting him to understand that he wanted a pair of
pistols. At his request the gunsmith loaded the pistols.

The
three chimes
were being sounded on the church bells; in villages throughout France
this is the well-known signal which, after the various peals of the
morning, announces the immediate start of Mass.

Julien made his way into the new church in Verrières. All the high
windows in the building were draped with crimson hangings. Julien
found himself a few paces behind Mme de Rênal's pew. It seemed to him
that she was praying fervently. The sight of this woman who had loved
him so much made Julien's arm tremble to such an extent that he was
unable at first to carry out his design. I can't do it, he told
himself; physically, I just can't do it.

At that moment the young priest who was officiating at the Mass rang the bell for the
Elevation
.
Mme de Rênal lowered her head, which became almost completely hidden
for an instant behind the folds of her shawl. Julien no longer
recognized her so clearly; he fired a shot at her and missed; he fired
a second shot: she fell.

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Do not expect any weakness on my part. I have taken my revenge. I have deserved death and here I am. Pray for my soul.

SCHILLER

JULIEN stood motionless with unseeing eyes. When he came to himself a
little, he observed all the faithful fleeing out of the church; the
priest had left the altar. Julien began to walk away quite slowly
behind a small cluster of women who were making their way out,
screaming and shouting. A woman trying to get away faster than the
others pushed him roughly, and he fell down. His feet had got caught
in a chair knocked over by the crowd; as he was getting up, he felt
himself grasped round the neck; it was a police officer in full
uniform arresting him. Julien made an automatic gesture to reach for
his little pistols, but a second officer was grabbing hold of him by
the arms.

He was led away to the
prison. They went into a room, he was handcuffed and left alone; the
door was shut on him with two turns of the key; all this was carried
out very fast, and he responded with indifference.

'Fancy that, it's all over,' he said out loud when he came back to
this senses... 'Yes, in a fortnight's time the guillotine... or
killing myself between now and then.'

His reasoning did not go beyond this; his head felt as if it were
being gripped with great force. He looked to see if anyone was holding
him. After a few moments he fell into a deep sleep.

M
^me
de Rênal was not mortally wounded. The first bullet had pierced her
hat; as she was turning round, the second shot had been fired. The
bullet had struck her on the shoulder, and, amazingly enough, had
rebounded off the shoulder-blade, fracturing it nevertheless, and had
hit a gothic pillar, chipping a huge piece of stone off it.

When, after a long and painful session dressing the wound, the surgeon, a grave man, told M
^me
de Rênal: 'I can vouch for

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your life as surely as I can for my own', she was deeply distressed.

For a long while now she had sincerely wished for death. Her letter
to M. de La Mole, which she had been forced to write by her present
confessor, had been the final blow for a creature weakened by such
relentless misery. The source of her misery was Julien's absence; her
name for it was
remorse
. Her confessor, a fervent and virtuous young priest newly arrived from Dijon, was not taken in.

To die like this, but not by my own hand, is
not
a sin, Mme de Rênal reflected. God will perhaps forgive me for
rejoicing at my death. She did not dare add: and dying at Julien's
hand is the summit of bliss.

As
soon as she was rid of the presence of the surgeon and all her friends
who had flocked to see her, she summoned Elisa her maid.

'The gaoler', she told her, blushing deeply, 'is a cruel man.

He will no doubt ill-treat him, thinking he is doing me a favour... I
can't bear the thought of it. Couldn't you go to the poler, as if on
your own initiative, and give him this little parcel containing a few
louis? You can tell him that it's against the principles of religion
for him to ill-treat him... The thing is that he mustn't go round
talking about this money he's been sent.'

The incident we have just related was responsible for the humane
treatment Julien received at the hands of the town poler in Verrières;
it was still the same M. Noiroud, that perfect ministry official,
whom we observed in such a fine state of fright at the appearance of
M. Appert.

A judge presented himself at the prison.

'I caused death with premeditation,' Julien told him; 'I bought the
pistols from ----- the gunsmith, and had him load them.
Article 1342 of the Penal Code
^*
is explicit; I deserve death, and I am ready for it.'

Astonished at the tenor of this reply, the judge made a point of questioning the accused repeatedly, to get him to
trip himself up
in his answers.

'But don't you see', Julien said to him with a smile, 'that I am declaring myself to be as guilty as you could wish? Come

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now, sir, you shall not miss the prey you are stalking. You shall
have the pleasure of sentencing me. Please spare me your presence.'

There is one tedious duty left for me to carry out, Julien thought: I must write to M
^lle
de La Mole.

'I have taken my revenge,' he wrote to her:

Unfortunately, my name will appear in the press, and I shall not be
able to escape from this world incognito. I shall die in two months'
time. Vengeance was appalling, as is the pain of being separated from
you. From this moment on, I forbid myself to write or utter your name.
You must never speak of me, even to my son: silence is the only way
to honour me. For the ordinary run of mortals, I shall be a common
murderer... Allow me to speak the truth at this solemn, final moment:
you will forget me. This great catastrophe, which I advise you never
to speak of to any living soul, will have exhausted for several years
to come all the romantic and over-adventurous yearnings I observed in
your character. You were made to live with the heroes of the Middle
Ages; you must show their strength of character. Let the impending
event take place in secret without compromising you. You will assume a
false name and confide in no one. If you are in dire need of a
friend's help, I bequeath you Father Pirard.

Do not speak to anyone else, especially not people of your class: the de Luz's, the Caylus's of this world.

A year after my death, please marry M. de Croisenois; I entreat you, I
order you to as your husband. Do not write to me, I should not answer
you. Far less evil than lago, so it seems to me, I shall none the
less echo his words:
From this time forth I never will speak word
.
^*

I shall not be observed to speak or write further; you will have had my last words together with my last acts of adoration.

J. S.

It was after sending off this letter that Julien, somewhat restored
to his senses, was for the first time extremely unhappy. Each one of
the hopes nurtured by his ambition had to be successively plucked from
his heart by the solemn words: I am going to die. Death in itself was
not
horrendous
in his eyes. His whole life had been nothing
but a lengthy preparation for misfortune, and he had not omitted to
consider the one which passes for the greatest of them all.

Just imagine! he said to himself-. if in sixty days' time I had to
fight a duel with a man of great skill at arms, would I be so

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