Part 41

On Fouqué's advice, she had had the prudence not to speak to Julien of her steps. His presence troubled him enough as it was. More of an honest man as death approached than he had been during his life, he felt remorse not only toward M. de La Mole but also toward Mathilde.

What then! he said to himself, I find moments of distraction near her, and even of boredom. She is ruining herself for me, and this is how I reward her! Am I then a wicked man? That question would have occupied him very little when he was ambitious; then, not succeeding was the only shame in his eyes.

His moral discomfort near Mathilde was all the more decided in that she inspired in him at that moment the most extraordinary and mad passion. She spoke only of the strange sacrifices she wished to make to save him.

Exalted by a sentiment of which she was proud and which overcame all her pride, she would have wished not to let a single instant of her life pass without filling it with some extraordinary step. The strangest, most perilous projects for herself filled her long conversations with Julien. The jailers, well paid, let her reign in the prison. Mathilde's ideas were not limited to the sacrifice of her reputation; she cared little to make her condition known to all society. To throw herself on her knees to beg for Julien's pardon, before the king's carriage going at a gallop, to attract the prince's attention, at the risk of being crushed a thousand times over, was one of the least chimeras dreamed by that exalted and courageous imagination. Through her friends employed near the king, she was sure to be admitted to the reserved parts of the Saint-Cloud park.

Julien found himself little worthy of so much devotion; in truth, he was tired of heroism. He would have been touched by a simple, naive, and almost timid tenderness, whereas, on the contrary, the idea of a public and of others was always needed by Mathilde's haughty soul.

In the midst of all her anguish, of all her fears for the life of this lover, whom she did not wish to survive, Julien felt that she had a secret need to astonish the public by the excess of her love and the sublimity of her undertakings.

Julien grew irritable at not finding himself moved by all this heroism. What would it have been had he known all the follies with which Mathilde overwhelmed the devoted but eminently reasonable and limited mind of good Fouqué?

He did not quite know what to blame in Mathilde's devotion; for he too would have sacrificed all his fortune and exposed his life to the greatest hazards to save Julien. He was stupefied by the quantity of gold thrown about by Mathilde. The first days, the sums thus spent impressed Fouqué, who had all the veneration of a provincial for money.

At last, he discovered that Mlle de La Mole's projects often varied, and, to his great relief, found a word to blame her character, so wearying to him: she was changeable. From that epithet to that of wrong-headed, the greatest anathema in the provinces, is but a step.

It is strange, Julien said to himself one day as Mathilde left his prison, that so vivid a passion, and of which I am the object, leaves me so indifferent! And I adored her two months ago! I had read rightly that the approach of death disinterests one of everything, but it is horrible to feel oneself ungrateful and to be unable to change. Am I then an egoist? He made himself the most humiliating reproaches on this subject.

Ambition was dead in his heart; another passion had risen from its ashes; he called it remorse for having assassinated Mme de Rênal.

In fact, he was madly in love with her. He found a singular happiness when left absolutely alone and without fear of interruption, he could give himself wholly to the memory of the happy days he had once spent at Verrières or at Vergy. The slightest incidents of those too rapidly flown times had for him an irresistible freshness and charm. Never did he think of his successes in Paris; he was bored by them.

These dispositions, which rapidly increased, were in part divined by Mathilde's jealousy. She perceived quite clearly that she had to struggle against the love of solitude. Sometimes she pronounced with terror the name of Mme de Rênal. She saw Julien shudder. Her passion henceforth had neither bounds nor measure.

If he dies, I die after him, she said to herself with all possible good faith. What will the salons of Paris say in seeing a girl of my rank adore to such a point a lover destined to death? To find such sentiments, one must go back to the time of the heroes; it was loves of that kind that made the hearts of the century of Charles IX and Henri III beat.

In the midst of the most vivid transports, when she pressed Julien's head against her heart: What! she said to herself with horror, this charming head would be destined to fall! Well! she added, inflamed by a heroism not without happiness, my lips, which press against these pretty hairs, will be frozen less than twenty-four hours after.

The memories of those moments of heroism and awful voluptuousness bound her with an invincible grip! The idea of suicide, so occupying in itself, and until then so remote from that haughty soul, entered it, and soon reigned there with absolute empire. No, the blood of my ancestors has not grown tepid in descending to me, Mathilde said with pride.

—I have a favor to ask of you, her lover said to her one day: put your child out to nurse at Verrières; Mme de Rênal will oversee the nurse.

—What you say to me is very hard...

And Mathilde grew pale.

—It is true, and I ask your pardon a thousand times over, cried Julien, coming out of his reverie and clasping her in his arms.

After drying her tears, he returned to his thought, but with more skill. He had given the conversation a turn of melancholy philosophy. He spoke of that future which was so soon to close for him.

—One must admit, dear friend, that passions are an accident in life, but this accident is met with only in superior souls... The death of my son would in truth be a happiness for the pride of your family; that is what the subordinates will divine. Neglect will be the lot of this child of misfortune and shame... I hope that at an epoch which I do not wish to fix, but which yet my courage glimpses, you will obey my last recommendations: you will marry M. le marquis de Croisenois.

—What, dishonored!

—Dishonor cannot take hold of a name such as yours. You will be a widow, and the widow of a madman, that is all. I shall go further: my crime having not money for its motive will not be dishonoring. Perhaps at that epoch, some philosopher legislator will have obtained, from the prejudices of his contemporaries, the abolition of the death penalty. Then some friendly voice will say, as an example: See, the first husband of Mlle de La Mole was a madman, but not a wicked man, a scoundrel. It was absurd to make that head fall... Then my memory will not be infamous; at least after a certain time... Your position in the world, your fortune, and, allow me to say it, your genius, will make M. de Croisenois, become your husband, play a role to which alone he could not attain. He has only birth and bravery, and these qualities alone, which made a finished man in 1729, are an anachronism a century later, and give only pretensions. Something else is needed to place oneself at the head of French youth.

You will bring the support of a firm and enterprising character to the political party into which you will throw your husband. You may succeed the Chevreuse and the Longueville of the Fronde... But then, dear friend, the celestial fire that animates you at this moment will be a little cooled.

Allow me to tell you, he added after many preparatory phrases, in fifteen years you will regard as an excusable folly, but yet as a folly, the love you have had for me...

He stopped suddenly and became dreamy. He found himself again before that idea so shocking to Mathilde:

—In fifteen years, Mme de Rênal will adore my son, and you will have forgotten him.

CHAPTER XL

TRANQUILLITY

It is because then I was mad that today I am wise. O philosopher who sees nothing but the instantaneous, how short are your views! Your foot-rule is not made to follow the underground work of the passions.

Mme GOETHE.

This interview was cut short by an interrogation, followed by a conference with the lawyer charged with the defense. These moments were the only absolutely unpleasant ones of a life full of carelessness and tender reveries.

—There is murder, and murder with premeditation, Julien said to the judge as to the lawyer. I am sorry for it, gentlemen, he added smiling; but this reduces your task to very little.

After all, Julien said to himself when he had managed to rid himself of those two beings, I must be brave, and apparently braver than those two men. They regard as the height of evils, as the king of terrors, that unhappy duel, of which I shall think seriously only on the very day.

It is that I have known a greater misfortune, Julien continued, philosophizing with himself. I suffered far more during my first journey to Strasbourg, when I thought myself abandoned by Mathilde... And to be able to say that I desired with such passion that perfect intimacy which today leaves me so cold!... In fact, I am happier alone than when that beautiful girl shares my solitude...

The lawyer, a man of rule and formality, believed him mad and thought with the public that it was jealousy which had put the pistol in his hand. One day he ventured to let Julien understand that this allegation, true or false, would be an excellent means of pleading. But the accused became again in a flash an impassioned and incisive being.

—On your life, sir, cried Julien beside himself, remember not to utter that abominable lie again.

The prudent lawyer was afraid for a moment of being assassinated.

He was preparing his plea, because the decisive instant was approaching rapidly. Besançon and the whole department spoke of nothing but this celebrated cause. Julien was ignorant of this detail; he had begged that one never speak to him of such things.

That day, Fouqué and Mathilde having wished to tell him certain public rumors quite fit, according to them, to give hopes, Julien had stopped them at the first word.

—Leave me my ideal life. Your little worries, your details of real life, more or less wounding to me, would draw me from heaven. One dies as one can; I wish to think of death only in my own way. What are others to me? My relations with others are about to be abruptly severed. For mercy's sake speak to me no more of those people: it is quite enough to be still degraded at the sight of the examining magistrate and the lawyer.

In fact, he said to himself, it appears that my destiny is to die dreaming. An obscure being, such as I, sure to be forgotten within fifteen days, would indeed be a dupe, it must be owned, to play comedy...

It is strange, however, that I knew the art of enjoying life only since I see its term so near me.

He spent these last days walking on the narrow terrace at the top of the donjon, smoking excellent cigars that Mathilde had sent for in Holland by a courier, and without suspecting that his appearance was awaited each day by all the telescopes of the town. His thought was at Vergy. Never did he speak of Mme de Rênal to Fouqué, but two or three times this friend told him that she was recovering rapidly, and that word resounded in his heart.

While Julien's soul was almost always wholly in the land of ideas, Mathilde, occupied with real things, as befits an aristocratic heart, had known how to advance to such a point the intimacy of the direct correspondence between Mme de Fervaques and M. de Frilair, that already the great word bishopric had been pronounced.

The venerable prelate charged with the list of benefices added in a postscript to a letter from his niece: *This poor Sorel is but a scatterbrain; I hope they will return him to us.*

At the sight of these lines, M. de Frilair was beside himself. He did not doubt that he would save Julien.

—But for that Jacobin law which prescribed the formation of an innumerable list of jurors, and which has no other real aim than to strip all influence from well-born people, he said to Mathilde on the eve of the drawing of the thirty-six jurors of the session, I would have answered for the verdict. I had the curate N... acquitted.

It was with pleasure that, the next day, among the names drawn from the urn, M. de Frilair found five congregationalists of Besançon, and among those foreign to the town, the names of MM. Valenod, de Moirod, de Cholin.

—I answer first for these eight jurors, he said to Mathilde. The first five are machines. Valenod is my agent, Moirod owes me everything, de Cholin is an imbecile who fears everything.

The journal spread the names of the jurors through the department, and Mme de Rênal, to the inexpressible terror of her husband, wished to come to Besançon. All that M. de Rênal could obtain was that she should not leave her bed, so as not to have the unpleasantness of being called as a witness.

—You do not understand my position, said the former mayor of Verrières; I am now a liberal of the defection, as they say; no doubt that little rascal Valenod and M. de Frilair will easily obtain from the prosecutor general and the judges whatever can be disagreeable to me.

Mme de Rênal yielded without difficulty to her husband's orders. If I appeared at the assizes, she said to herself, I should seem to ask for vengeance.

Despite all the promises of prudence made to her director of conscience and to her husband, scarcely arrived at Besançon she wrote with her own hand to each of the thirty-six jurors:

* * * * *

"I shall not appear on the day of the trial, sir, because my presence might cast discredit upon M. Sorel's cause. I desire but one thing in the world, and with passion, that he be saved. Doubt it not; the awful idea that through me an innocent man has been brought to death would poison the rest of my life and no doubt shorten it. How could you condemn him to death, while I live? No, surely, society has not the right to tear life away, and above all from a being such as Julien Sorel. All the world at Verrières knew him to have moments of aberration. This poor young man has powerful enemies; but even among his enemies (and how many has he not!) which is the one who doubts his admirable talents and his profound learning? It is no ordinary subject that you are about to judge, sir. During nearly eighteen months, we all knew him pious, wise, diligent; but two or three times a year he was seized by fits of melancholy that went as far as aberration. The whole town of Verrières, all our neighbors of Vergy where we spend the fine season, my whole family, M. the sub-prefect himself, will do justice to his exemplary piety; he knows the whole holy Bible by heart. Would an impious man have applied himself for years to learning the holy book? My sons will have the honor of presenting you this letter: they are children. Deign to question them, sir; they will give you all the details still necessary to convince you of the barbarity there would be in condemning him. Far from avenging myself, you would give me death.

"What can his enemies oppose to this fact? The wound, which was the result of one of those moments of madness that my children themselves remarked in their tutor, is so little dangerous, that after less than two months it permitted me to come post from Verrières to Besançon. If I learn, sir, that you hesitate in the least to withdraw from the barbarity of the laws a being so little guilty, I shall leave my bed, where I am kept only by my husband's orders, and go throw myself at your feet.

"Declare, sir, that premeditation is not established, and you will not have to reproach yourself with the blood of an innocent man, etc., etc."

CHAPTER XLI

THE TRIAL

The country will long remember this celebrated trial. Interest in the accused was carried to agitation: it is that his crime was astonishing and yet not atrocious. Had it been so, this young man was so handsome! His high fortune so soon ended increased the tenderness. Will they condemn him? the women asked the men they knew, and one saw them pale, awaiting the answer.

SAINTE-BEUVE.

At last appeared that day, so dreaded by Mme de Rênal and by Mathilde.

The strange aspect of the town redoubled their terror, and did not leave without emotion even the firm soul of Fouqué. The whole province had hurried to Besançon to see this romantic cause judged.

For several days, there had been no room in the inns. M. the president of the assizes was assailed by requests for tickets; all the ladies of the town wished to attend the trial; Julien's portrait was cried in the streets, etc., etc.

Mathilde held in reserve for this supreme moment a letter written entirely in the hand of Mgr the bishop of ***. This prelate, who directed the Church of France and made bishops, deigned to ask for Julien's acquittal. The eve of the trial, Mathilde carried this letter to the all-powerful grand vicar.

At the end of the interview, as she went away in floods of tears:

—I answer for the jury's declaration, M. de Frilair said to her, finally emerging from his diplomatic reserve, and almost moved himself. Among the twelve persons charged with examining whether your protégé's crime is established, and above all whether there was premeditation, I count six friends devoted to my fortune, and I have made them understand that it depended on them to raise me to the episcopate. Baron Valenod, whom I have made mayor of Verrières, disposes entirely of two of his administrators, MM. de Moirod and de Cholin. To be sure, chance has given us for this affair two jurors of very bad opinions; but, though ultra-liberal, they are faithful to my orders on great occasions, and I have had them asked to vote as M. Valenod. I have learned that a sixth juror, an industrialist, immensely rich and talkative liberal, secretly aspires to a supply contract with the ministry of war, and no doubt he would not wish to displease me. I have had him told that M. de Valenod has my last word.

—And who is this M. Valenod? said Mathilde, uneasy.

—If you knew him, you could not doubt the success. He is a bold, impudent, coarse talker, made to lead fools. 1814 took him from misery, and I am going to make a prefect of him. He is capable of beating the other jurors, if they will not vote to his liking.

Mathilde was a little reassured.

Another discussion awaited her in the evening. To not prolong a disagreeable scene, and whose result, in her eyes, was certain, Julien was resolved not to speak.

—My lawyer will speak, that is quite enough, he said to Mathilde. I shall be only too long exposed as a spectacle to all my enemies. These provincials have been shocked by the rapid fortune I owe you, and, believe me, there is not one of them who does not desire my condemnation, saving to weep like a fool when they lead me to death.

—They desire to see you humiliated, it is but too true, replied Mathilde; but I do not believe them cruel. My presence at Besançon and the spectacle of my grief have interested all the women; your pretty face will do the rest. If you say a word before your judges, the whole audience is for you, etc., etc.

The next day at nine o'clock, when Julien descended from his prison to go into the great hall of the palace of justice, it was with much difficulty that the gendarmes managed to clear the immense crowd massed in the courtyard. Julien had slept well, he was very calm and felt no other sentiment than a philosophical pity for that crowd of envious men who, without cruelty, were about to applaud his death sentence. He was much surprised when, held more than a quarter of an hour in the midst of the crowd, he was obliged to recognize that his presence inspired in the public a tender pity. He heard not a single disagreeable remark. These provincials are less wicked than I thought, he said to himself.

On entering the hall of judgment, he was struck by the elegance of the architecture. It was a neat Gothic, and a host of pretty little columns cut in stone with the greatest care. He thought himself in England.

But soon all his attention was absorbed by twelve or fifteen pretty women, placed opposite the accused's dock, who filled the three balconies above the judges and jurors. On turning toward the public, he saw that the circular tribune which runs above the amphitheater was filled with women; most were young and seemed to him very pretty; their eyes were bright and full of interest. In the rest of the hall, the crowd was enormous; they fought at the doors, and the sentinels could not obtain silence.

When all the eyes that sought Julien perceived his presence, on seeing him occupy the slightly raised place reserved for the accused, he was greeted by a murmur of astonishment and tender interest.

It would have been said, that day, that he was not twenty years old; he was very simply dressed, but with perfect grace, his hair and his brow were charming; Mathilde had wished to preside herself over his toilette. Julien's pallor was extreme. Scarcely seated on the dock, he heard it said on all sides:

—God, how young he is! But it is a child... He is much better than his portrait.

—My accused, said the gendarme seated at his right, do you see those six ladies who occupy that balcony? The gendarme indicated to him a small tribune projecting above the amphitheater where the jurors are placed. It is Mme the prefect, continued the gendarme, next to her Mme the Marquise de N***, that one likes you well; I heard her speak to the examining magistrate. After, it is Mme Derville...

—Mme Derville! cried Julien, and a vivid redness covered his brow. On leaving here, he thought, she will write to Mme de Rênal. He was ignorant of Mme de Rênal's arrival at Besançon.

The witnesses were heard; this took several hours. From the first words of the accusation sustained by the attorney general, two of those ladies placed in the small balcony, quite facing Julien, melted into tears. Mme Derville did not grow tender thus, thought Julien. However he remarked that she was very red.

The attorney general made pathos in bad French upon the barbarity of the crime committed; Julien observed that Mme Derville's neighbors seemed to disapprove him vividly. Several jurors, apparently acquainted with those ladies, spoke to them and seemed to reassure them. That is not without being of good omen, thought Julien.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”