Part 37

Mathilde looked at him; he met her gaze, or at least he hoped his face had not betrayed him. He felt himself permeated with love to the most intimate recesses of his heart. Never had he adored her to such a degree; he was almost as mad as Mathilde. Had she possessed enough composure and courage to maneuver, he would have fallen at her feet, renouncing all vain pretense. He found strength enough to continue speaking. Ah! Korasoff, he cried inwardly, would that you were here! how I should need a word to guide my conduct! Meanwhile his voice was saying:

--Failing all other feeling, gratitude alone would suffice to attach me to the marshal's lady; she has shown me indulgence, she consoled me when I was despised... I may lack unlimited faith in certain appearances extremely flattering no doubt, but perhaps also quite fleeting.

--Ah! great God! cried Mathilde.

--Well! what guarantee will you give me? resumed Julien with a lively and firm accent, which seemed for an instant to abandon the prudent forms of diplomacy. What guarantee, what god will answer for me that the position you seem disposed to restore to me at this moment will live more than two days?

--The excess of my love and my unhappiness, if you no longer love me, she said to him, taking his hands and turning toward him.

The violent movement she had just made had displaced her cape a little; Julien caught sight of her charming shoulders. Her slightly disordered hair reminded him of a delicious memory...

He was about to yield. A rash word, he told himself, and I shall make this long succession of days passed in despair begin again. Mme de Rênal found reasons for doing what her heart dictated: this young lady of high society lets her heart be moved only when she has proven to herself by good reasons that it ought to be moved.

He saw this truth in a flash, and in a flash also recovered his courage.

He withdrew his hands, which Mathilde pressed in hers, and with marked respect moved a little away from her. A man's courage can go no further. He then occupied himself with gathering together all the letters from Mme de Fervaques scattered on the sofa, and it was with an appearance of extreme politeness, and so cruel at that moment, that he added:

--Mademoiselle de La Mole will deign to permit me to reflect upon all this.

He withdrew rapidly and left the library; she heard him close the doors one after another.

The monster is not troubled, she said to herself.

But what do I say, monster! he is wise, prudent, good; it is I who am more to blame than could be imagined.

This way of seeing things lasted. Mathilde was almost happy that day, for she was wholly given up to love; one would have said that never had this soul been agitated by pride—and what pride!

She shuddered with horror when, in the evening in the salon, a lackey announced Mme de Fervaques; the voice of this man seemed sinister to her. She could not bear the sight of the marshal's lady and withdrew quickly. Julien, little elated by his painful victory, had feared his own eyes, and had not dined at the Hôtel de La Mole.

His love and his happiness increased rapidly as he moved away from the moment of battle; he was already blaming himself. How could I resist her! he said to himself; if she were to love me no more! a moment may change that haughty soul, and one must admit I treated her in an awful way.

In the evening, he felt that he absolutely must appear at the Bouffes, in Mme de Fervaques' box. She had expressly invited him: Mathilde would not fail to learn of his presence or his impolite absence. Despite the obviousness of this reasoning, he had not the strength, at the beginning of the evening, to plunge into society. In speaking, he would have lost half his happiness.

Ten o'clock struck; he absolutely had to show himself.

Happily, he found the marshal's lady's box full of women and was relegated near the door, and quite hidden by the hats. This position saved him from ridicule; the divine accents of Caroline's despair in the *Matrimonio segreto* moved him to tears. Mme de Fervaques saw these tears; they made such a contrast with the manly firmness of his habitual countenance that this great lady's soul, long since satiated with all that is most corrosive in the pride of a parvenu, was touched by them. The little that remained in her of a woman's heart led her to speak. She wished to enjoy the sound of his voice at that moment.

--Have you seen the ladies of La Mole, she said to him; they are in the third tier. At once Julien leaned out into the house, leaning rather impolitely on the front of the box: he saw Mathilde; her eyes were brilliant with tears.

And yet it is not their opera day, thought Julien; what eagerness!

Mathilde had decided her mother to come to the Bouffes, despite the impropriety of the rank of the box which a complaisant friend of the house had hastened to offer them. She wished to see whether Julien would spend this evening with the marshal's lady.

CHAPTER XXXI

TO FRIGHTEN HER

So this is the fine miracle of your civilization! Out of love you have made an ordinary matter.

BARNAVE.

Julien ran to Mme de La Mole's box. His gaze met first Mathilde's tearful eyes: she wept without restraint; there were only subordinate persons there, the friend who had lent the box and men known to her. Mathilde placed her hand upon Julien's; she seemed to have forgotten all fear of her mother. Almost stifled by her tears, she said to him only this single word:

--Guarantees!

At least, let me not speak to her, Julien said to himself, much moved himself, and hiding his eyes as best he could with his hand, under pretext of the chandelier which dazzled the third tier of boxes. If I speak, she can no longer doubt the excess of my emotion, the sound of my voice will betray me, all may yet be lost.

His struggles were far more painful than in the morning; his soul had had time to be moved. He feared to see Mathilde take offense at vanity. Drunk with love and voluptuousness, he constrained himself not to speak to her.

This is, in my view, one of the finest traits of his character; a being capable of such effort over himself may go far, *si fata sinant*.

Mlle de La Mole insisted on bringing Julien back to the hôtel. Happily it rained heavily. But the marchioness had him placed opposite her, spoke to him constantly, and prevented him from saying a word to her daughter. One would have thought the marchioness was tending Julien's happiness; no longer fearing to lose all through excess of emotion, he gave himself up to it with folly.

Dare I say that on entering his room, Julien threw himself on his knees and covered with kisses the love letters given him by Prince Korasoff?

O great man! how much do I not owe you! he cried in his folly.

By degrees some coolness returned to him. He compared himself to a general who has just half won a great battle. The advantage is certain, immense, he said to himself; but what will happen tomorrow? An instant may lose all.

He opened with a passionate gesture the *Memoirs* dictated to Sainte-Hélène by Napoleon, and for two long hours forced himself to read them, his eyes alone reading, no matter, he forced himself to it. During this singular reading his head and heart, raised to the level of all that is greatest, worked unawares. This heart is quite different from Mme de Rênal's, he said to himself; but he went no further.

TO FRIGHTEN HER, he suddenly cried, throwing the book far off. The enemy will obey me only insofar as I frighten her; then she will not dare despise me.

He walked in his little room drunk with joy. To be sure, this happiness was more of pride than of love.

To frighten her! he repeated proudly, and he had reason to be proud. Even in her happiest moments, Mme de Rênal always doubted that my love equaled hers. Here, it is a demon I subjugate; therefore it must be subjugated.

He knew well that the next day from eight in the morning Mathilde would be in the library; he appeared there only at nine, burning with love, but his head dominated his heart. Perhaps not a single minute passed without his repeating to himself: keep her always occupied with this great doubt, does he love me? Her brilliant position, the flatteries of all who speak to her, carry her a little too far toward reassuring herself.

He found her pale, calm, seated on the sofa, but apparently incapable of making a single movement. She held out her hand to him:

--Friend, I have offended you, it is true; you may be angry with me.

Julien did not expect so simple a tone. He was on the point of betraying himself.

--You want guarantees, my friend, she added after a silence which she had hoped he would break; it is just. Carry me off, let us leave for London... I shall be lost forever, dishonored...

She had the courage to withdraw her hand from Julien's to cover her eyes with it. All sentiments of reserve and feminine virtue had returned to that soul...

--Well! dishonor me, she said at last with a sigh; it is a guarantee.

Yesterday I was happy, because I had the courage to be severe with myself, thought Julien. After a little silence, he had enough command over his heart to say in a icy tone:

--Once on the road to London, once dishonored, to use your expressions, who answers to me that you will love me? that my presence in the post-chaise will not seem importunate to you? I am not a monster; your being lost in opinion will be for me but one more misfortune. It is not your position with the world that is the obstacle; it is, unhappily, your character. Can you answer to yourself that you will love me eight days?

Ah! that she love me eight days, eight days only, Julien said softly to himself, and I shall die of happiness. What is the future to me, what is life? and this divine happiness may begin this instant if I wish; it depends only on me!

Mathilde saw him pensive.

--Then I am quite unworthy of you, she said, taking his hand.

Julien kissed her, but instantly the iron hand of duty seized his heart. If she sees how I adore her, I lose her. And, before leaving her arms, he had resumed all the dignity befitting a man.

That day and the following ones, he knew how to hide the excess of his felicity; there were moments when he refused himself even the pleasure of holding her in his arms.

At other instants, the delirium of happiness prevailed over all the counsels of prudence.

It was near a bower of honeysuckle arranged to hide the ladder, in the garden, that he was accustomed to place himself to look from afar at Mathilde's blind, and weep for her inconstancy. A very large oak was close by, and the trunk of this tree kept him from being seen by the indiscreet.

Passing with Mathilde through this same place which recalled so vividly to him the excess of his unhappiness, the contrast of past despair and present felicity was too strong for his character; tears flooded his eyes, and, bearing to his lips the hand of his friend:

--Here, I lived thinking of you; here, I looked at that blind, I waited whole hours for the fortunate moment when I should see this hand open it...

His weakness was complete. He painted for her, with those true colors one does not invent, the excess of his despair then. Short interjections testified to his present happiness which had made that atrocious pain cease...

What am I doing, great God! Julien said to himself, coming suddenly to himself. I am losing myself.

In the excess of his alarm, he already thought he saw less love in Mlle de La Mole's eyes. It was an illusion, but Julien's face changed rapidly and was covered with deathly pallor. His eyes went out for an instant, and the expression of a pride not exempt from malice soon succeeded that of the truest and most abandoned love.

--What is the matter, my friend? said Mathilde with tenderness and unease.

--I lie, said Julien with ill humor, and I lie to you. I reproach myself for it, and yet God knows I esteem you enough not to lie. You love me, you are devoted to me, and I have no need to make phrases to please you.

--Great God! are all those ravishing things you have been saying to me for ten minutes but phrases?

--And I reproach myself for them vividly, dear friend. I composed them once for a woman who loved me and bored me... It is the defect of my character; I denounce myself to you, forgive me.

Bitter tears flooded Mathilde's cheeks.

--As soon as by some nuance that shocked me, I have a moment of forced reverie, Julien continued, my execrable memory, which I curse at this moment, offers me a resource and I abuse it.

--Then I have unwittingly fallen into some action that displeased you, said Mathilde with a charming naïveté.

--One day, I remember, passing near these honeysuckles, you picked a flower; M. de Luz took it from you, and you let him have it. I was two steps away.

--M. de Luz? impossible, replied Mathilde, with the haughtiness so natural to her: I have not those ways.

--I am sure of it, replied Julien quickly.

--Well! it is true, my friend, said Mathilde, lowering her eyes sadly.

She knew positively that, for many months past, she had not permitted such an action to M. de Luz.

Julien looked at her with inexpressible tenderness: No, he told himself, she loves me no less.

She reproached him in the evening, laughing, for his taste for Mme de Fervaques:

--A bourgeois loving a parvenu! Courts of that sort are perhaps the only ones my Julien cannot drive mad. She had made a true dandy of you, she said, playing with his hair.

At the time when he believed himself despised by Mathilde, Julien had become one of the best-dressed men in Paris. But still he had one advantage over men of that sort; once his toilet was arranged, he thought of it no more.

One thing piqued Mathilde: Julien continued to copy the Russian letters, and to send them to the marshal's lady.

CHAPTER XXXII

THE TIGER

Alas! why these things and not others?

BEAUMARCHAIS.

An English traveler relates the intimacy in which he lived with a tiger; he had raised it and caressed it, but always kept on his table a loaded pistol.

Julien abandoned himself to the excess of his happiness only in instants when Mathilde could not read its expression in his eyes. He discharged with exactitude the duty of saying to her from time to time some harsh word.

When Mathilde's sweetness, which he observed with astonishment, and the excess of her devotion were about to deprive him of all command over himself, he had the courage to leave her abruptly.

For the first time Mathilde loved.

Life, which always for her had crawled at a tortoise's pace, now flew.

As, however, pride had to find some outlet, she wished to expose herself with temerity to all the dangers her love might make her run.

It was Julien who had the prudence, and it was only when danger was in question that she did not yield to his will; but submissive and almost humble with him, she showed only the more haughtiness toward all in the house who approached her, relations or servants.

In the evening in the salon, amid sixty persons, she called Julien to speak to him in private and at length.

Little Tanbeau one day settling himself beside them, she asked him to go find for her in the library the volume of Smollett where the revolution of 1682 is found; and as he hesitated:

--Let nothing hurry you, she added with an expression of insulting haughtiness which was a balm to Julien's soul.

--Have you noticed that little monster's look? he said to her.

--His uncle has ten or twelve years' service in this salon, otherwise I should have him turned off this instant.

Her conduct toward MM. de Croisenois, de Luz, etc., perfectly polite in form, was scarcely less provocative at bottom. Mathilde vividly reproached herself for all the confidences formerly made to Julien, and the more so as she dared not avow to him that she had exaggerated the marks of interest, almost wholly innocent, of which these gentlemen had been the object.

Despite the finest resolutions, her woman's pride prevented her every day from saying to Julien:

--It is because I was speaking to you that I found pleasure in describing the weakness I had of not withdrawing my hand, when M. de Croisenois, placing his upon a marble table, came to brush it slightly.

Today, scarcely had one of these gentlemen spoken to her a few instants, than she found herself with a question to put to Julien, and it was a pretext for keeping him near her.

She found herself pregnant and told Julien with joy.

--Now will you doubt me? Is not this a guarantee? I am your wife forever.

This announcement struck Julien with profound astonishment. He was on the point of forgetting the principle of his conduct. How to be voluntarily cold and offensive toward this poor young girl who is ruining herself for me? Did she look a little unwell, even on days when wisdom made its terrible voice heard, he no longer found the courage to address to her one of those cruel words so indispensable, according to his experience, to the duration of their love.

--I wish to write to my father, she said to Julien one day; he is more than a father to me, he is a friend: as such, I should find it unworthy of you and of me to seek to deceive him, were it but an instant.

--Great God! what are you going to do? said Julien, frightened.

--My duty, she answered with eyes brilliant with joy.

She found herself more magnanimous than her lover.

--But he will drive me out with ignominy!

--It is his right, it must be respected. I shall give you my arm and we shall go out by the carriage gate, at broad noon.

Julien, astonished, begged her to delay a week.

--I cannot, she replied; honor speaks, I have seen the duty, it must be followed, and at once.

--Well! I order you to delay, Julien finally said. Your honor is covered, I am your husband. Our state, both of us, will be changed by this capital step. I too am within my right. Today is Tuesday; next Tuesday is the day of the Duc de Retz; in the evening, when M. de La Mole returns, the porter will hand him the fatal letter... He thinks of nothing but making you a duchess, I am certain, judge of his unhappiness!

--Do you mean: judge of his vengeance?

--I may pity my benefactor, be grieved to harm him; but I fear and shall never fear anyone.

Mathilde submitted. Since she had announced her new state to Julien, it was the first time he spoke to her with authority; never had he loved her more. It was with happiness that the tender part of her soul seized the pretext of Mathilde's condition to excuse itself from addressing cruel words to him. The avowal to M. de La Mole agitated him profoundly. Was he to be separated from Mathilde? and with whatever pain she saw him leave, a month after his departure, would she think of him?

He had an almost equal horror of the just reproaches the marquis might address to him.

In the evening, he confessed this second subject of grief to Mathilde, and then, bewildered by his love, made avowal of the first.

She changed color.

--Truly, she said to him, six months passed far from me would be a misfortune for you!

--Immense, the only one in the world I see with terror.

Mathilde was very happy. Julien had followed his role with such application that he had succeeded in making her think she was the one of the two who had the most love.

The fatal Tuesday arrived all too soon. At midnight, on returning, the marquis found a letter with the address necessary for him to open it himself, and only when he should be without witnesses.

"My father,

"All social bonds are broken between us, only those of nature remain. After my husband, you are and will always be the being dearest to me. My eyes fill with tears, I think of the pain I cause you; but so that my shame may not be public, and to leave you time to deliberate and act, I could not delay longer the avowal I owe you. If your friendship, which I know to be extreme for me, will grant me a small pension, I shall go and settle where you wish, in Switzerland for example, with my husband. His name is so obscure that no one will recognize your daughter in Mme Sorel, daughter-in-law of a carpenter of Verrières. There is a name which pained me sorely to write. I dread your anger against Julien, so just in appearance. I shall not be a duchess, father; but I knew it in loving him, for it is I who loved him first, it is I who seduced him. I inherit from you and our ancestors a soul too lofty to fix my attention on what is or seems to me vulgar. It is in vain that, with the design of pleasing you, I thought of M. de Croisenois. Why had you placed true merit before my eyes? you told me yourself on my return from Hyères: that young Sorel is the only being who amuses me; the poor boy is as afflicted as I, if possible, by the pain this letter causes you. I cannot prevent you from being irritated as a father; but love me always as a friend.

"Julien respected me. If he spoke to me sometimes, it was solely because of his deep gratitude toward you: for the natural haughtiness of his character leads him never to answer otherwise than officially to all that is so far above him. He has a vivid and innate sense of the difference of social positions. It is I, I confess, blushing, to my best friend, and never shall such an avowal be made to another; it is I who one day in the garden pressed his arm.

"After twenty-four hours, why should you be irritated against him? My fault is irreparable. If you require it, it is through me that assurances of his profound respect and his despair at displeasing you shall pass. You shall never see him, but I shall go to rejoin him where he wishes. It is his right, it is my duty, he is the father of my child. If your kindness will grant us six thousand francs to live, I shall receive them with gratitude; failing that, Julien plans to settle at Besançon where he will begin the trade of master of Latin and literature. However low his starting point, I am certain he will rise. With him, I fear not obscurity. If there is a revolution, I am sure of a first role for him. Could you say as much of any of those who have asked for my hand? They have fine estates! I cannot find in this single circumstance a reason to admire. My Julien would attain a high position even under the present regime, had he a million and the protection of my father..."

Mathilde, who knew that the marquis was a man of pure first impulse, had written eight pages.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”