Part 39
After all, he thought, my novel is finished, and to me alone all the credit. I knew how to make myself loved by that monster of pride, he added, looking at Mathilde; her father cannot live without her, and she without me.
CHAPTER XXXV
A STORM
My God, grant me mediocrity!
MIRABEAU.
His soul was absorbed; he answered only half-heartedly the lively tenderness she showed him. He remained silent and gloomy. Never had he appeared so great, so adorable in Mathilde's eyes. She dreaded some subtlety of his pride that would come to disturb the whole situation.
Almost every morning she saw Abbé Pirard arrive at the hôtel. Through him, might not Julien have penetrated something of his father's intentions? Might not the marquis himself, in a moment of caprice, have written to him? After so great a happiness, how explain Julien's severe air? She dared not question him.
She dared not! she, Mathilde! From that moment, there was in her feeling for Julien something vague, unforeseen, almost terror. That dry soul felt all that passion can be in a being raised amid that excess of civilization which Paris admires.
The next day at dawn, Julien was at Abbé Pirard's presbytery. Post horses arrived in the courtyard with a battered traveling chaise, hired from the neighboring post station.
"Such an equipage is no longer in season," the severe abbé said to him with a sullen air. "Here are twenty thousand francs, a gift to you from M. de La Mole; he urges you to spend them within the year, but trying to give yourself as few absurdities as possible." (In so large a sum thrown to a young man, the priest saw only an occasion for sin.)
The marquis adds: M. Julien de La Vernaye shall have received this money from his father, whom it is useless to designate otherwise. M. de La Vernaye may perhaps judge it fitting to make a gift to M. Sorel, carpenter at Verrières, who cared for his childhood... I may charge myself with that part of the commission, added the abbé; I have at last determined M. de La Mole to come to terms with that Abbé de Frilair, a Jesuit if ever there was one. His influence is decidedly too strong for ours. The implicit acknowledgment of your high birth by this man who governs Besançon will be one of the tacit conditions of the arrangement.
Julien could no longer master his emotion; he embraced the abbé; he saw himself recognized.
"Fie!" said M. Pirard, pushing him away. "What means this worldly vanity?... As for Sorel and his sons, I shall offer them, in my own name, an annual pension of five hundred francs, to be paid to each, so long as I am satisfied with them."
Julien was already cold and haughty. He thanked him, but in very vague terms that committed him to nothing. Can it really be possible, he said to himself, that I am the natural son of some great lord exiled to our mountains by the terrible Napoleon? At every instant this idea seemed less improbable to him... My hatred for my father would be a proof... I should no longer be a monster!
A few days after this monologue, the Fifteenth Regiment of Hussars, one of the most brilliant in the army, was drawn up on the parade ground at Strasbourg. The Chevalier de La Vernaye rode the finest horse in Alsace, which had cost him six thousand francs. He was received as lieutenant, without ever having been but a sub-lieutenant on the rolls of a regiment of which he had never heard speak.
His impassive air, his severe and almost wicked eyes, his pallor, his unalterable coolness began his reputation from the first day. Soon after, his perfect and measured politeness, his skill with pistol and sword, which he displayed without too much affectation, removed the idea of joking aloud about him. After five or six days of hesitation, the regiment's public opinion declared in his favor. There is everything in this young man, said the mocking old officers, except youth.
From Strasbourg, Julien wrote to M. Chélan, the former curé of Verrières, now approaching the limits of extreme old age.
* * * * *
"You will have learned with a joy of which I do not doubt the events which have led my family to enrich me. Here are five hundred francs which I beg you to distribute quietly, without any mention of my name, to the unfortunate, now poor as I once was, and whom no doubt you aid as formerly you aided me."
* * * * *
Julien was drunk with ambition, and not with vanity, however; he gave great attention to outward appearance. His horses, his uniforms, the liveries of his servants were kept with a correctness that would have done honor to the punctuality of a great English lord. Scarcely lieutenant, by favor and for two days, he already calculated that, to command in chief at thirty at the latest, as all the great generals had, he must at twenty-three be more than lieutenant. He thought only of glory and of his son.
It was in the midst of the transports of the most unbridled ambition that he was surprised by a young footman from the Hôtel de La Mole, who arrived posthaste.
* * * * *
"All is lost," Mathilde wrote him, "come as fast as possible, sacrifice everything, desert if need be. Scarcely arrived, wait for me in a cab, near the small garden gate, at No.... of the Rue... I will come speak to you, perhaps I can get you into the garden. All is lost, and I fear, beyond remedy; count on me, you will find me devoted and firm in adversity. I love you."
* * * * *
In a few minutes Julien obtained leave from the colonel and left Strasbourg at full gallop; but the dreadful anxiety that devoured him did not allow him to continue that manner of traveling beyond Metz. He threw himself into a post chaise; and with an almost incredible rapidity he arrived at the indicated spot, near the small garden gate of the Hôtel de La Mole. The gate opened, and instantly Mathilde, forgetting all human respect, threw herself into his arms. Happily it was only five in the morning, and the street was still deserted.
"All is lost; my father, fearing my tears, left during the night of Thursday. For where? no one knows. Here is his letter, read it." And she got into the cab with Julien.
* * * * *
"I could pardon all, except the plan of seducing you because you are rich. There, unhappy girl, is the frightful truth. I give you my word of honor that I shall never consent to a marriage with this man. I assure him ten thousand livres of income if he will live far off, beyond the frontiers of France, or better still in America. Read the letter I receive in answer to the inquiries I had requested. The shameless fellow had himself urged me to write to Mme de Rênal. Never shall I read a line from you relating to this man. I take horror at Paris and at you. I urge you to cover with the greatest secrecy what must happen. Renounce frankly a vile man, and you will find a father."
* * * * *
"Where is Mme de Rênal's letter?" said Julien coldly.
"Here it is. I would not show it to you until you had been prepared."
LETTER
"What I owe to the sacred cause of religion and morality obliges me, sir, to the painful step I now take with you; a rule that cannot fail commands me to harm my neighbor at this moment, but in order to avoid a greater scandal. The sorrow I feel must be overcome by the sense of duty. It is but too true, sir, that the conduct of the person concerning whom you ask me the whole truth may have seemed inexplicable or even honest. It may have been thought fitting to hide or disguise a part of the reality; prudence demanded it as much as religion. But this conduct which you wish to know was in fact extremely blameworthy and more than I can say. Poor and greedy, it is by means of the most consummate hypocrisy, and by the seduction of a weak and unhappy woman, that this man has sought to make himself a position and to become somebody. It is part of my painful duty to add that I am obliged to believe M. J... has no principles of religion. In conscience I am constrained to think that one of his means to succeed in a household is to seek to seduce the wife who has the chief credit. Covered by an appearance of disinterestedness and by phrases from novels, his great and only object is to contrive to dispose of the master of the house and of his fortune. He leaves behind him unhappiness and eternal regrets," etc., etc., etc.
This letter, extremely long and half effaced by tears, was indeed in Mme de Rênal's hand; it was even written with more care than usual.
"I cannot blame M. de La Mole," said Julien after finishing it; "he is just and prudent. What father would wish to give his beloved daughter to such a man! Farewell."
Julien jumped down from the cab and ran to his post chaise stopped at the end of the street. Mathilde, whom he seemed to have forgotten, took a few steps to follow him; but the looks of the shopkeepers advancing to their doorways, and by whom she was known, forced her to re-enter the garden hastily.
Julien had set out for Verrières. On that rapid journey he could not write to Mathilde as he had intended; his hand formed only illegible marks on the paper.
He arrived at Verrières on a Sunday morning. He entered the local gunsmith's, who overwhelmed him with compliments on his recent fortune. It was the news of the country.
Julien had much trouble making him understand that he wanted a pair of pistols. At his request the gunsmith loaded the pistols.
The *three strokes* were ringing; a well-known signal in the villages of France, which, after the various morning peals, announces the immediate beginning of mass.
Julien entered the new church of Verrières. All the high windows of the building were draped with crimson curtains. Julien found himself a few steps behind Mme de Rênal's pew. It seemed to him that she prayed with fervor. The sight of this woman who had loved him so much made Julien's arm tremble so that he could not at first execute his design. "I cannot," he said to himself; "physically, I cannot."
At that moment the young clerk serving the mass rang for the *elevation*. Mme de Rênal bowed her head, which for an instant was almost entirely hidden by the folds of her shawl. Julien no longer recognized her so well; he fired a pistol shot at her and missed; he fired a second shot, and she fell.
CHAPTER XXXVI
SAD DETAILS
Expect no weakness from me. I have avenged myself. I have deserved death and here I am. Pray for my soul.
SCHILLER
Julien remained motionless; he saw no more. When he came a little to himself, he perceived all the faithful fleeing the church; the priest had left the altar. Julien began to follow at a rather slow pace several women who were leaving crying out. A woman who wished to flee faster than the others pushed him roughly; he fell. His feet had become entangled in a chair overturned by the crowd; as he rose, he felt his neck seized; it was a gendarme in full dress who arrested him. Mechanically Julien sought to have recourse to his small pistols; but a second gendarme seized his arms.
He was taken to prison. They entered a room, put irons on his hands, left him alone, the door closed upon him with a double turn; all this was done very quickly, and he was insensible to it.
"Upon my word, all is over," he said aloud, coming to himself. "Yes, in fifteen days the guillotine... or kill myself before then."
His reasoning went no further; he felt his head as if violently compressed. He looked to see if someone held him. After some moments, he fell into a deep sleep.
Mme de Rênal was not mortally wounded. The first ball had pierced her hat; as she turned, the second shot was fired. The ball had struck her at the shoulder and, astonishingly, had been deflected by the shoulder bone, which nevertheless it broke, against a Gothic pillar, from which it detached an enormous splinter of stone.
When, after a long and painful dressing, the surgeon, a grave man, said to Mme de Rênal: "I answer for your life as for my own," she was deeply afflicted.
For a long time she had sincerely desired death. The letter imposed on her by her present confessor, and which she had written to M. de La Mole, had given the final blow to this being weakened by too constant misfortune. That misfortune was Julien's absence; she called it remorse. The director, a virtuous and fervent young ecclesiastic recently arrived from Dijon, was not mistaken about it.
To die thus, but not by my own hand, is not a sin, thought Mme de Rênal. God will perhaps forgive me for rejoicing at my death. She dared not add: And to die by Julien's hand is the height of felicity.
Scarcely was she rid of the surgeon's presence and of all the friends who had flocked in, than she sent for Élisa her chambermaid.
"The jailer," she said, blushing deeply, "is a cruel man. No doubt he will maltreat him, thinking thereby to do something agreeable to me... That idea is insupportable to me. Could you not go, as of your own accord, give the jailer this small packet containing some louis? You will tell him that religion does not permit him to maltreat him... Above all, he must not speak of this sending of money."
It was to the circumstance we have just related that Julien owed the humanity of the jailer of Verrières; it was still that same M. Noiroud, perfect ministerial creature, whom we have seen so badly frightened by M. Appert's presence.
A judge appeared in the prison.
"I gave death with premeditation," Julien told him; "I bought and had loaded the pistols at such-and-such a gunsmith's. Article 1342 of the penal code is clear; I deserve death and I await it."
The petty mind of the judge, not understanding this frankness, multiplied questions to make the accused contradict himself in his answers.
"But do you not see," Julien said to him, smiling, "that I make myself as guilty as you could wish? Go, sir, you will not miss the prey you pursue. You will have the pleasure of condemning. Spare me your presence."
I have an annoying duty to fulfill, thought Julien; I must write to Mlle de La Mole.
* * * * *
"I have avenged myself," he told her; "unhappily, my name will appear in the newspapers, and I cannot escape this world incognito. I ask your pardon for it. I shall die in two months. The vengeance was atrocious, as is the pain of being separated from you. From this moment I forbid myself to write or pronounce your name. Never speak of me, not even to my son: silence is the only way to honor me. To common men I shall be a vulgar assassin... Allow me the truth at this supreme moment: you will forget me. This great catastrophe, of which I advise you never to open your mouth while living, will have exhausted for several years all that I saw of romantic and too adventurous in your character. You were made to live with the heroes of the middle ages; show on this occasion their firm character. Let what must happen be accomplished in secret and without compromising yourself. Take a false name, and have no confidant. If you absolutely need a friend's help, I bequeath you Abbé Pirard.
"Speak to no other, above all not to those of your class: the de Luz, the Caylus.
"A year after my death, marry M. de Croisenois, I pray you, I order you as your husband. Write me not, I shall not answer. Less wicked than Iago, it seems to me, I shall say like him: *From this time forth I never will speak word.*
"You shall see me neither speak nor write; you will have had my last words as my last adorations.
"J. S."
* * * * *
It was after sending off this letter that, for the first time, Julien, somewhat returned to himself, was very unhappy. Each of the hopes of ambition had to be torn successively from his heart by that great word: I shall die, I must die. Death in itself was not horrible in his eyes. His whole life had been but a long preparation for misfortune, and he had taken care not to forget that which passes for the greatest of all.
What then, he said to himself, if in sixty days I were to fight a duel with a man very strong with weapons, should I have the weakness to think of it constantly, and terror in my soul? He spent more than an hour seeking to know himself well on this point.
When he had seen clearly into his soul, and truth appeared before his eyes as nettly as one of the pillars of his prison, he thought of remorse.
Why should I have any? I was offended in an atrocious manner; I killed, I deserve death, but that is all. I die after having settled my account with humanity. I leave no unfulfilled obligation, I owe nothing to anyone; my death has nothing shameful but the instrument: that alone, it is true, suffices richly for my shame in the eyes of the bourgeois of Verrières, but intellectually, what more contemptible! I have one means of being considerable in their eyes: to throw gold pieces to the people as I go to the scaffold. My memory, linked to the idea of gold, will be resplendent for them.
After this reasoning, which in a minute seemed evident to him: "I have nothing more to do on earth," said Julien, and he fell into a deep sleep.
Toward nine in the evening the jailer woke him, bringing his supper.
"What is said in Verrières?"
"M. Julien, the oath I took before the crucifix, at the royal court, the day I was installed in my post, binds me to silence."
He was silent, but remained. The sight of this vulgar hypocrisy amused Julien. I must make him wait a long time for the five francs he wants to sell me his conscience, he thought.
When the jailer saw the meal end without any attempt at seduction:
"The friendship I have for you, M. Julien," he said with a false and gentle air, "obliges me to speak, though they say it is against the interest of justice, because it may serve you to arrange your defense... M. Julien, who is a good fellow, will be well pleased if I tell him that Mme de Rênal is better."
"What! she is not dead?" cried Julien, rising from the table beside himself.
"What! you knew nothing?" said the jailer with a stupid air which soon became happy cupidity. "It will be quite just that monsieur give something to the surgeon who, by law and justice, ought not to have spoken; but to please monsieur, I went to him, and he told me everything..."
"In short, the wound is not mortal," Julien said impatiently, advancing toward him; "you answer for it on your life?"
The jailer, a giant six feet tall, grew afraid and drew back toward the door. Julien saw he was taking a wrong road to arrive at the truth; he sat down again and tossed a napoleon to M. Noiroud.
As the man's account proved to Julien that Mme de Rênal's wound was not mortal, he felt himself overcome by tears.
"Leave!" he said abruptly.
The jailer obeyed. Scarcely was the door closed: "Great God! she is not dead!" cried Julien, and he fell to his knees, weeping hot tears.
At this supreme moment he was a believer. What matter the hypocrisies of priests? can they take anything from the truth and sublimity of the idea of God?
Only then did Julien begin to repent of the crime committed. By a coincidence that spared him despair, only at this instant had ceased the state of physical irritation and half-madness in which he had been plunged since his departure from Paris for Verrières.
His tears had a generous source; he had no doubt of the condemnation awaiting him.
So she will live! he said to himself... She will live to forgive me and to love me...
The next day very late in the morning, when the jailer woke him:
"You must have a famous heart, M. Julien," this man told him; "twice I came and made a scruple of waking you. Here are two bottles of excellent wine sent you by M. Maslon our curé."
"What! that scoundrel is still here?" said Julien.
"Yes, monsieur," answered the jailer, lowering his voice; "but do not speak so loud, it could compromise you."
Julien laughed heartily.
"At the point I am at, my friend, you alone could harm me if you ceased to be gentle and humane... You shall be well paid," said Julien, interrupting himself and resuming his imperious air.
That air was justified instantly by the gift of a coin.
M. Noiroud recounted again and in the greatest detail all he had learned of Mme de Rênal, but he said nothing of Mlle Élisa's visit.
This man was base and submissive as much as possible. An idea crossed Julien's mind: This sort of deformed giant could earn three or four hundred francs, for his prison is little frequented; I could assure him ten thousand francs if he would flee to Switzerland with me... The difficulty will be to persuade him of my good faith. The idea of the long colloquy to have with so vile a being inspired disgust in Julien; he thought of something else.
In the evening it was no longer time. A post chaise came for him at midnight. He was very content with the gendarmes, his traveling companions. In the morning, when he arrived at the prison of Besançon, they had the kindness to lodge him in the upper story of a Gothic donjon. He judged the architecture of the beginning of the nineteenth century; he admired its grace and piquant lightness. Through a narrow interval between two walls beyond a deep courtyard, he had a superb outlook.
The next day there was an interrogation, after which, for several days, he was left in peace. His soul was calm. He found nothing but simplicity in his affair: I wished to kill, I must be killed.
“Stories of the world, in your language.”