Part 23

--This man has handled millions, said Norbert, and I cannot conceive that he should come here to pocket my father's epigrams, often abominable. How many times have you betrayed your friends, my dear Descoulis? he shouted the other day from one end of the table to the other.

--But is it true that he has betrayed? said Mlle de La Mole. Who has not betrayed?

--What! said the Comte de Caylus to Norbert, you have at your house M. Sinclair, that famous liberal, and what the devil does he come here for? I must approach him, speak to him, make him speak; they say he has so much wit.

--But how will your mother receive him? said M. de Croisenois. He has such extravagant ideas, so generous, so independent...

--See, said Mlle de La Mole, there is the independent man, bowing to the ground to M. Descoulis, and seizing his hand. I almost thought he was going to raise it to his lips.

--Descoulis must be better with the powers that be than we believe, resumed M. de Croisenois.

--Sinclair comes here to be elected to the academy, said Norbert; see how he bows to the Baron L..., Croisenois.

--He would be less base on his knees, resumed M. de Luz.

--My dear Sorel, said Norbert, you who have wit, but who arrive from your mountains, try never to bow as this great poet does, were it God the Father.

--Ah! here is the man of wit par excellence, M. le Baron Bâton, said Mlle de La Mole, imitating a little the voice of the lackey who had just announced him.

--I believe even your servants mock him. What a name, Baron Bâton! said M. de Caylus.

--What does the name matter? he was saying to us the other day, resumed Mathilde. Picture to yourself the Duc de Bouillon announced for the first time: The public lacks, with regard to me, but a little habit...

Julien left the vicinity of the sofa. Still little sensitive to the charming finesses of a light mockery, to laugh at a jest, he insisted that it be founded in reason. He saw, in the talk of these young men, only the tone of general denigration, and was shocked by it. His provincial or English prudery went so far as to see envy in it, wherein assuredly he was mistaken.

The Comte Norbert, he said to himself, to whom I have seen make three drafts for a letter of twenty lines to his colonel, would be very happy if he had ever written a page like those of M. Sinclair.

Passing unnoticed because of his little importance, Julien approached successively several groups; he followed from afar the Baron Bâton and wished to hear him. This man of so much wit seemed uneasy, and Julien did not see him recover a little until he had found three or four piquant phrases. It seemed to Julien that this kind of wit needed space.

The Baron could not utter mere words; he needed at least four sentences of six lines each to be brilliant.

--_This man dissertates_, he does not converse, said someone behind Julien.

He turned and blushed with pleasure when he heard the name of the Comte Chalvet. This is the finest man of the century. Julien had often found his name in the _Mémorial de Sainte-Hélène_ and in the historical pieces dictated by Napoleon. The Comte Chalvet was brief in speech; his remarks were lightning, just, lively, sometimes profound. If he spoke of a matter, at once one saw the discussion advance a step. He brought facts to it; it was a pleasure to hear him. Otherwise, in politics, he was a shameless cynic.

--I am independent, myself, he said to a gentleman wearing three medals, and of whom apparently he made fun. Why should I be of the same opinion today as six weeks ago? In that case, my opinion would be my tyrant.

Four grave young men, who surrounded him, made faces; these gentlemen do not like the joking kind. The Count saw he had gone too far. Happily, he caught sight of the honest M. Balland, a tartuffe of honesty. The Count began to speak to him: one drew near, one understood that poor Balland was about to be immolated. By dint of morality and respectability, though horribly ugly, and after first steps in the world difficult to relate, M. Balland married a very rich woman, who died; then a second very rich woman, whom one never saw in society. He enjoys in all humility sixty thousand livres of income, and has flatterers of his own. The Comte Chalvet spoke to him of all this without pity. Soon there was around them a circle of thirty persons. Everyone smiled, even the grave young men, the hope of the age.

Why does he come to M. de La Mole, where he is evidently the butt? thought Julien. He drew near the Abbé Pirard, to ask him.

M. Balland slipped away.

--Good! said Norbert, there is one of my father's spies gone; only the little lame Napier remains.

Would that be the key to the enigma? thought Julien. But in that case, why does the Marquis receive M. Balland?

The severe Abbé Pirard was making faces in a corner of the salon, on hearing the lackeys announce.

--This is a den, said he like Basile, I see arriving only tainted persons.

For the severe abbé did not know what belongs to high society. But, through his Jansenist friends, he had very exact notions of those men who arrive in salons only by their extreme finesse in the service of all parties, or their scandalous fortune. For some minutes, that evening, he answered abundantly and from the heart the eager questions of Julien, then stopped short, distressed at always finding it hard to speak well of everyone, and imputing it to himself as a sin. Bilious, Jansenist, and believing in the duty of Christian charity, his life in the world was a combat.

--What a face that Abbé Pirard has! said Mlle de La Mole, as Julien drew near the sofa.

Julien felt irritated, but yet she was right. M. Pirard was unquestionably the most honest man in the salon, but his pockmarked face, agitated by the stirrings of his conscience, made him hideous at that moment. Believe after that in physiognomies, thought Julien; it is at the moment when the delicacy of Abbé Pirard reproaches itself for some peccadillo, that he looks atrocious; whereas on the face of this Napier, a spy known to all, one reads a pure and tranquil happiness. The Abbé Pirard had nevertheless made great concessions to his party; he had taken a servant, he was very well dressed.

Julien noticed something singular in the salon: it was a movement of all eyes toward the door, and a sudden half-silence. The lackey was announcing the famous Baron de Tolly, on whom the elections had just fixed all eyes. Julien advanced and saw him very well. The Baron presided over a college: he had the luminous idea of filching the little squares of paper bearing the votes of one of the parties. But, by way of compensation, he replaced them as he went along with other little bits of paper bearing a name agreeable to him. This decisive maneuver was noticed by some voters who hastened to compliment the Baron de Tolly. The good man was still pale from this great affair. Ill-disposed spirits had announced the word galleys. M. de La Mole received him coldly. The poor Baron slipped away.

--If he leaves us so quickly, it is to go to M. Comte's, said the Comte Chalvet, and they laughed.

Amid some great silent lords and the intriguers, mostly tainted, but all men of wit who, that evening, arrived successively in the salon of M. de La Mole (they spoke of him for a ministry), the little Tanbeau was making his first campaign. If he did not yet have the finesse of insight, he compensated for it, as will be seen, by the energy of his words.

--Why not condemn this man to ten years in prison? he was saying at the moment Julien approached his group; it is in the depths of a dungeon that reptiles must be confined; they should be made to die in the shade, otherwise their venom grows exalted and becomes more dangerous. What is the use of condemning him to a thousand écus fine? He is poor, so much the better; but his party will pay for him. There should have been five hundred francs fine and ten years in a dungeon.

Eh good God! what then is the monster they speak of? thought Julien, who admired the vehement tone and jerky gestures of his colleague. The thin, drawn little face of the favorite nephew of the academician was hideous at that moment. Julien soon learned that it was a question of the greatest poet of the age.

--Ah, monster! cried Julien half aloud, and generous tears came to moisten his eyes. Ah, little scoundrel! thought he, I will repay you this remark.

And yet, thought he, these are the forlorn hopes of the party of which the Marquis is one of the chiefs! And this illustrious man whom he calumniates, what crosses, what sinecures would he not have accumulated, had he sold himself, I do not say to the flat ministry of M. de Nerval, but to one of those passably honest ministers we have seen succeed one another?

The Abbé Pirard signaled Julien from afar; M. de La Mole had just said a word to him. But when Julien, who at that moment was listening, eyes lowered, to the lamentations of a bishop, was free at last, and could approach his friend, he found him monopolized by that abominable little Tanbeau. This little monster hated him as the source of Julien's favor, and came to pay court to him.

_When shall death deliver us from this old rottenness?_ It was in these terms, of biblical energy, that the little man of letters was speaking at that moment of the respectable Lord Holland. His merit was to know very well the biography of living men, and he had just made a rapid review of all the men who might aspire to some influence under the reign of the new King of England.

The Abbé Pirard passed into an adjoining salon; Julien followed him:

--The Marquis does not like scribblers, I warn you; it is his only antipathy. Know Latin, Greek if you can, the history of the Egyptians, the Persians, etc., he will honor and protect you as a scholar. But do not go and write a page in French, and especially on serious matters above your position in the world, he would call you a scribbler, and take a dislike to you. How, living in the hotel of a great lord, do you not know the saying of the Duc de Castries on d'Alembert and Rousseau: He wants to reason about everything, and has not a thousand écus of income!

Everything is known, thought Julien, here as at the seminary! He had written eight or ten rather emphatic pages: it was a sort of historical eulogy of the old surgeon-major who, he said, had made him a man. And this little notebook, said Julien to himself, has always been locked up! He went up to his room, burned his manuscript, and returned to the salon. The brilliant rogues had left; only the medaled men remained.

Around the table, which the servants had just brought in fully set, were seven or eight women very noble, very devout, very affected, aged thirty to thirty-five years. The brilliant Maréchale de Fervaques entered, apologizing for the late hour. It was past midnight; she went to take her place near the Marquise. Julien was deeply moved; she had the eyes and the gaze of Mme de Rênal.

The group of Mlle de La Mole was still peopled. She was occupied with her friends in mocking the unhappy Comte de Thaler. He was the only son of that famous Jew, renowned for the riches he had acquired by lending money to kings to make war on peoples. The Jew had just died, leaving his son a hundred thousand écus of income per month, and a name, alas! too well known. This singular position would have required simplicity of character, or much strength of will.

Unfortunately, the Count was only a good fellow furnished with all sorts of pretensions which awoke successively at the voice of his flatterers.

M. de Caylus claimed that he had been given the will to ask for the hand of Mlle de La Mole (to whom the Marquis de Croisenois, who was to be Duke with a hundred thousand livres of income, paid court).

--Ah! do not accuse him of having a will, said Norbert piteously.

What perhaps was most lacking to this poor Comte de Thaler was the faculty of willing. In this side of his character he would have been worthy to be king. Taking counsel constantly of everyone, he had the courage to follow no advice to the end.

His physiognomy alone would suffice, said Mlle de La Mole, to inspire her with eternal joy. It was a singular mixture of uneasiness and disappointment; but from time to time one distinguished very well bursts of importance and that cutting tone which the richest man in France must have, especially when he is fairly well made and not yet thirty-six years old. He is timidly insolent, said M. de Croisenois. The Comte de Caylus, Norbert and two or three young men with mustaches bantered him as much as they wished, without his suspecting it, and finally sent him away as one o'clock struck:

--Are those your famous Arabian horses waiting for you at the door in this weather? said Norbert.

--No, it is a new team much less costly, answered M. de Thaler. The left horse cost me five thousand francs, and the right one is worth only a hundred louis, but I beg you to believe he is harnessed only at night. That is because his trot is perfectly similar to the other's.

Norbert's remark made the Count think that it was decent for a man like him to have a passion for horses, and that he must not let his get wet. He departed, and these gentlemen went out a moment later, mocking him.

Thus, thought Julien, hearing them laugh on the staircase, it has been given me to see the other extreme of my situation! I have not twenty louis of income, and I found myself side by side with a man who has twenty louis of income per hour, and they mocked him... Such a sight cures of envy.

CHAPTER V

SENSIBILITY AND A GREAT DEVOUT LADY

A somewhat lively idea looks like a grossness, so accustomed are they to words without relief. Woe to him who invents in speaking!

FAUBRAS

After several months of trial, here is where Julien stood on the day the steward of the house handed him the third quarter of his salary. M. de La Mole had charged him with overseeing the administration of his estates in Brittany and Normandy. Julien made frequent journeys there. He was chiefly in charge of the correspondence relating to the famous lawsuit with the Abbé de Frilair; M. Pirard had instructed him.

From the short notes the Marquis scribbled in the margin of the papers of all kinds addressed to him, Julien composed letters, almost all of which were signed.

At the theology school, his professors complained of his lack of assiduity, but nevertheless regarded him as one of their most distinguished pupils. These different labors, seized with all the ardor of suffering ambition, had quickly taken from Julien the fresh colors he had brought from the province. His paleness was a merit in the eyes of the young seminarians his comrades; he found them much less wicked, much less on their knees before a crown than those of Besançon; they believed him afflicted in the chest. The Marquis had given him a horse.

Fearing to be met on his horseback rides, Julien had told them that this exercise was prescribed by the doctors. The Abbé Pirard had taken him to several Jansenist houses. Julien was astonished; the idea of religion was invincibly linked in his mind to that of hypocrisy and hope of making money. He admired these pious and severe men who think not of the budget. Several Jansenists had taken him into friendship and gave him advice. A new world opened before him. He made the acquaintance, among the Jansenists, of a Comte Altamira, who was nearly six feet tall, a liberal condemned to death in his country, and devout. This strange contrast, devotion and love of liberty, struck him.

Julien was on cold terms with the young Count. Norbert had found that he answered too sharply to the jests of some of his friends. Julien, having failed once or twice in the proprieties, had prescribed for himself never to address Mlle Mathilde. He was always perfectly polite toward him at the Hôtel de La Mole, but he felt deposed. His provincial good sense explained this effect by the vulgar proverb, _all new is fair_.

Perhaps he was a little more clear-sighted than the first days, or else the first enchantment produced by Parisian urbanity had passed.

As soon as he ceased working, he was prey to a deadly boredom; it is the drying effect of the admirable politeness, but so measured, so perfectly graduated according to positions, which distinguishes high society. A somewhat sensitive heart sees the artifice.

No doubt, one may reproach the province with a common or impolite tone. But they become a little passionate in answering you. Never at the Hôtel de La Mole was Julien's self-love wounded; but often, at the end of the day, taking his candle in the anteroom, he felt the desire to weep. In the province, a café waiter takes interest in you, if some accident befalls you on entering his café. But if this accident offers something disagreeable to self-love, in pitying you, he will repeat ten times the word that tortures you. In Paris, they have the attention to hide to laugh, but you are always a stranger.

We pass over in silence a host of little adventures, which would have given Julien ridicules, if he had not been in some sort beneath ridicule. A foolish sensibility made him commit thousands of awkwardnesses. All his pleasures were of precaution: he fired the pistol every day, he was one of the good pupils of the most famous fencing masters. As soon as he could dispose of an instant, instead of employing it in reading as before, he ran to the riding school and asked for the most vicious horses. In the rides with the master of the school, he was almost regularly thrown to the ground.

The Marquis found him convenient because of his obstinate work, his silence, his intelligence, and little by little entrusted him with the sequel of all affairs a little difficult to unravel. In the moments when his high ambition left him some relaxation, the Marquis conducted business with sagacity; within reach of news, he had luck on the Exchange. He bought houses, woods; but he easily took umbrage. He gave hundreds of louis and pleaded for hundreds of francs. Rich men who have a high heart seek in business amusement and not results. The Marquis needed a chief of staff who should put a clear and easily grasped order into all his money matters.

Mme de La Mole, though of so measured a character, sometimes mocked Julien. The unforeseen produced by sensibility is the horror of great ladies; it is the antipode of propriety. Two or three times the Marquis took his part: If he is ridiculous in your salon, he triumphs in his office. Julien, for his part, believed he had seized the secret of the Marquise. She deigned to interest herself in everything as soon as the Baron de La Joumate was announced. He was a cold being, with impassive physiognomy. He was small, thin, ugly, very well dressed, passed his life at the Château, and, in general, said nothing about anything. Such was his way of thinking. Mme de La Mole would have been passionately happy for the first time in her life, if she could have made him the husband of her daughter.

CHAPTER VI

MANNER OF PRONOUNCING

Their high mission is to judge with calm the small events of daily life among peoples. Their wisdom must prevent great angers for small causes, or for events which the voice of renown transfigures in carrying them afar.

GRATIUS.

For a new arrival, who, out of pride, never asked questions, Julien did not fall into too great follies. One day, pushed into a café on the rue Saint-Honoré by a sudden downpour, a big man in a beaver coat, surprised at his dark look, looked at him in turn, absolutely as formerly, at Besançon, the lover of Mlle Amanda.

Julien had too often reproached himself for having let pass that first insult, to bear this look. He demanded an explanation of it. The man in the coat at once addressed him the filthiest insults; all who were in the café surrounded them; passersby stopped before the door. By a provincial precaution, Julien always carried small pistols; his hand clutched them in his pocket with a convulsive movement. However, he was wise, and confined himself to repeating to his man, minute by minute: _Sir, your address? I despite you._

The constancy with which he attached himself to these six words ended by striking the crowd.

Indeed! the other who speaks alone must give his address. The man in the coat, hearing this often-repeated decision, threw at Julien's nose five or six cards. None happily hit him in the face; he had promised himself to make use of his pistols only in case he was touched. The man went off, not without turning from time to time to threat him with his fist and address him insults.

Julien found himself bathed in sweat. So it is in the power of the last of men to move me to this point! he said to himself with rage. How to kill this sensibility so humiliating?

He would have wished to fight on the instant. But a difficulty stopped him. In all this great Paris, where to find a witness? he had not a friend. He had had several acquaintances; but all, regularly, after six weeks of relations, drew away from him. I am unsociable, and am cruelly punished for it, thought he. Finally, he had the idea of seeking an old lieutenant of the 96th, named Liévin, a poor devil with whom he often fenced. Julien was sincere with him.

--I am willing to be your witness, said Liévin, but on one condition: if you do not wound your man, you shall fight with me, then and there.

--Agreed, said Julien, pressing his hand with enthusiasm; and they went to seek M. C. de Beauvoisis at the address indicated by his cards, at the end of the faubourg Saint-Germain.

It was seven in the morning. It was only on having himself announced at his house that Julien thought that this might well be the young relative of Mme de Rênal, formerly employed at the embassy in Rome or Naples, and who had given a letter of recommendation to the singer Geronimo.

Julien had handed to a great valet de chambre one of the cards thrown the day before, and one of his own.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”