The Red and the Black: A Chronicle of the Nineteenth Century

by Stendhal

The king had no sooner reached the church than Julien galloped off in the direction of M. de Rênal's house. There, with much regret, he exchanged his lovely sky-blue outfit, his sabre and his epaulettes for the familiar shabby black suit. He climbed on to his horse again and a short while later he was at Bray-le-Haut, which crowns the top of a very fine hill. Enthusiasm makes these peasants proliferate, thought Julien. You can't move for them in Verrières, and there are more than ten thousand of them here around this ancient abbey. Halfruined by vandalism under the Revolution, * it had been magnificently restored since the Restoration, * and there was beginning to be talk of miracles. Julien joined Father Chélan, who scolded him roundly and handed him a cassock and a surplice. He dressed in haste, and followed Father Chélan who was off to find the young Bishop of Agde * --a nephew of M. de La Mole who had been recently appointed, and had been entrusted with showing the relic to the king. But the bishop was nowhere to be found.

  The clergy were getting impatient. They were waiting for their spiritual head in the gloomy gothic cloisters of the ancient abbey. Twenty-four priests had been gathered together to represent the original chapter of Bray-le-Haut, composed before 1789 of twenty-four canons. After spending threequarters of an hour deploring the bishop's youth, the priests thought it fitting that the Reverend Dean should withdraw to warn Monsignor that the king was about to arrive, and that it was exceedingly urgent to take their places in the chancel. Father Chélan had been made dean in virtue of his great age; despite his annoyance at him, he beckoned Julien to follow him. Julien looked very good in his surplice. By some mysterious trick of ecclesiastical toilette he had smoothed his lovely curly hair down flat; but by an oversight which increased Father Chélan's rage, beneath the long folds of his cassock could be seen his guard of honour's spurs.

  When they arrived at the bishop's lodgings, tall, richly dressed footmen scarcely deigned to reply to the old priest that Monsignor was not at home to visitors. They scoffed at him when he tried to explain that in his capacity as dean of the

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  noble chapter of Bray-le-Haut he was privileged to be received at any time by the officiating bishop.

  Julien's haughty temperament was shocked by the footmen's insolence. He set off at a run through the dormitories of the ancient abbey, rattling all the doors he passed. A very small one yielded to his efforts, and he found himself in a cell in the midst of Monsignor's valets, dressed in black with chains round their necks. His hurried look made these gentlemen believe that he had been summoned by the bishop, and they let him pass. He went on a few steps and found himself in an immense and extremely dark gothic hall, panelled throughout in dark oak; all but one of the ogive windows had been bricked up. The crudeness of this masonry was not disguised in any way, and contrasted sadly with the ancient magnificence of the woodwork. Richly carved wooden stalls adorned the two long sides of this haft so renowned among Burgundian antiquaries, which Charles the Bold had built in about 1470 in expiation for some sin or other. On these stalls you could see all the mysteries of the Apocalypse worked in wood of different colours.

  Julien was touched by this melancholy magnificence spoilt by the sight of the bare bricks and fresh white plaster. He stood still in silence. At the far end of the hall, near the only window which let in the light, he saw a hinged mirror on a mahogany stand. A young man in a purple robe and a lace surplice, but with nothing on his head, was standing three paces from the mirror. It seemed a strange piece of furniture to have in such a place, and it had probably been brought from the town. Julien thought the young man looked exasperated; his right hand was solemnly giving blessings in the direction of the mirror.

  What can this mean? he wondered. Is this young priest carrying out some preparatory ceremony? Perhaps he's the bishop's secretary... he'll be insolent just like the footmen... oh well, never mind, let's have a try.

  He moved forward and walked fairly slowly down the length of the hall, his gaze firmly directed towards the solitary window and fixed on the young man, who continued to give blessings

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  which were slowly executed but indefinitely repeated, without a moment's respite.

  As he approached, Julien was better able to make out his look of annoyance. The richness of the surplice adorned with lace caused him to stop involuntarily a few paces from the magnificent mirror.

  It's my duty to speak, he told himself at length; but the beauty of the hall had stirred his emotions, and he was ruffled in advance by the harsh words that were going to be spoken to him.

  The young man saw him in the glass, turned round, and suddenly dropping his angry look said to him in the gentlest of tones:

  'Well, sir! Has it been fixed at last?'

  Julien was flabbergasted. As the young man turned towards him Julien saw the pectoral cross on his chest: he was the Bishop of Agde. So young, thought Julien; seven or eight years older than me at the very most!...

  And he felt ashamed of his spurs.

  'Monsignor,' he replied timidly, 'I've been sent by the dean of the chapter, Father Chélan.'

  'Ah! He's been most warmly recommended to me,' said the bishop in polite tones which added to Julien's delight. 'But I do beg your pardon, sir, I mistook you for the person who is supposed to be bringing me back my mitre. It was carelessly packed in Paris; the silver brocade is horribly damaged at the top. It'll look really most dreadful,' added the young bishop with a sorrowful expression, 'and to crown it all they're making me wait.'

  'Monsignor, I'll go and fetch the mitre, if your lordship allows.'

  Julien's lovely eyes did the trick.

  'Please do, sir,' the bishop replied with engaging politeness. 'I need it right away. I'm terribly sorry to keep the Reverend Fathers of the chapter waiting.'

  When Julien reached the middle of the hall he turned back to look at the bishop and saw that he had started giving blessings again. What on earth is all this? Julien wondered. It's no doubt some necessary ecclesiastical preparation for the

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  ceremony about to take place. On reaching the cell where the valets were, he saw the mitre in their hands. These gentlemen yielded in spite of themselves to Julien's imperious look, and handed him Monsignor's mitre.

  He felt proud to be carrying it: his pace as he walked across the hall was slow, and he held it with respect. He found the bishop seated in front of the mirror; but from time to time his right hand would still give another blessing in spite of its fatigue. Julien helped him put on his mitre. The bishop shook his head from side to side.

  'Ah! It'll stay put,' he said to Julien with an air of satisfaction. 'Would you mind stepping back a bit?'

  The bishop then went quickly to the middle of the hall and, as he walked back with slow steps towards the mirror, he resumed his expression of annoyance, and solemnly gave out blessings.

  Julien was rooted to the spot with astonishment; he was tempted to draw conclusions, but didn't dare. The bishop stopped and, looking at him with an air which rapidly lost some of its solemnity, said:

  'What do you think of my mitre, sir? Does it look good?'

  'Very good, Monsignor.'

  'It isn't too far back? That would look a bit silly; but nor must it be worn pulled down over the eyes like an officer's shako.'

  'It looks very good to me.'

  'The King of ----- is accustomed to clergy who are venerable and no doubt extremely solemn. I shouldn't wish, particularly in view of my age, to look insufficiently serious.'

  And the bishop began to pace up and down again giving out blessings.

  It's clear, said Julien, at last daring to draw the right conclusion; he's practising giving the blessing.

  A few moments later:

  'I'm ready,' said the bishop. 'Kindly go, sir, and inform the Reverend Dean and Fathers of the chapter.

  Soon Father Chélan, followed by the two most senior priests, entered by a very large, magnificently carved door that Julien had not noticed. But this time he remained in his place, right
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  at the back, and could only see the bishop over the shoulders of the clergy who were crowding round the door.

  The bishop made his way slowly across the hall; when he reached the threshold the priests lined up in procession. After a brief moment of confusion the procession set off, striking up a psalm. The bishop walked last, between Father Chélan and another very old priest. Julien slipped in right next to Monsignor as Father Chélan's attendant. They went down the long corridors of Bray-le-Haut abbey, gloomy and damp in spite of the brilliant sunshine. At length they reached the portico of the cloisters. Julien was struck dumb with admiration at such a beautiful ceremony. The ambition reawakened in him by the bishop's extreme youth and the sensitivity and exquisite politeness of this prelate were all warring to win his heart. This politeness was quite another matter from M. de Rênal's, even on his good days. The higher you rise towards the first rank in society, Julien thought, the more examples you find of these delightful manners.

  As the procession entered the church by a side door, a fearful din suddenly shook the ancient vaulting: Julien thought it was collapsing. It was the little cannon again; it had just arrived, pulled by eight galloping horses, and it had hardly arrived and been lined up by the cannoneers who had fought at Leipzig before it was firing five shots a minute as if it were pointing at the Prussians.

  But this splendid noise had no more effect on Julien; he had no thoughts for Napoleon and military glory. So young, he thought, and bishop of Agde! Where is Agde anyway? And how much is the income? Maybe two or three hundred thousand francs.

  Monsignor's footmen appeared with a magnificent canopy; Father Chélan took one of the poles, but in fact it was Julien who carried it. The bishop took up his station beneath it. He really had managed to make himself look old; our hero's admiration knew no bounds, Anything can be done with a bit of skill! he thought.

  The king entered. Julien had the good fortune to see him from very close up. The bishop addressed him with unction,

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  adding just a shade of emotion that was very flattering to his majesty.

  We shall not repeat the description of the ceremonies at Bray-le-Haut; they filled the columns of all the newspapers in the département for a fortnight afterwards. Julien heard from the bishop's address that the king was descended from Charles the Bold.

  Later it was one of Julien's duties to check all the accounts relating to expenditure on the ceremony. M. de La Mole, who had obtained a bishopric for his nephew, had determined to pay him the compliment of taking care of all the expenses. The ceremony at Bray-le-Haut alone cost three thousand eight hundred francs.

  After the bishop's address and the king's reply, his majesty stationed himself under the canopy and then knelt very piously on a hassock near the altar. The chancel was lined with stalls, and these stalls were raised two steps above the stone floor. The last of these steps provided a seat for Julien at Father Chélan's feet, rather like a trainbearer next to his cardinal in the Sistine Chapel in Rome. There was a Te Deum, clouds of incense, and endless volleys of musket and artillery fire; the peasants were intoxicated with happiness and piety. A day like that undoes the work of a hundred issues of the Jacobin press.

  Julien was six paces away from the king, who was praying with real fervour. He noticed for the first time a short man with a lively expression wearing a suit that was virtually unadorned. But he had a sky-blue sash * over this very plain garb. He was closer to the king than many other nobles whose costumes were so heavily embroidered with gold that, as Julien put it, you couldn't see the cloth. He learned a few moments later that this was M. de La Mole. He thought he looked haughty and even insolent.

  This marquis wouldn't be polite like my handsome bishop, he thought. Ah! the priesthood makes a man gentle and wise. But the king has come to venerate the relic, and I see no relic. Where has St Clement got to?

  A little cleric next to him informed him that the venerable relic was in the upper part of the building in an ardent chapel * permanently lit by candles.

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  What's an ardent chapel? wondered Julien.

  But he was unwilling to ask for an explanation of the expression. His attention increased.

  On the occasion of a visit by a sovereign prince, etiquette has it that the canons do not accompany the bishop. But as he set off for the chapel of rest the Bishop of Agde summoned Father Chélan; Julien was bold enough to follow him.

  After climbing a long flight of stairs, they reached a door which although very small had magnificent gilding all round its gothic frame. The work looked as if it had been carried out the previous day.

  In front of the door knelt a group of twenty-four girls belonging to the most distinguished families in Verrières. Before opening the door, the bishop knelt down in the midst of these very pretty young girls. While he prayed out loud, they seemed overwhelmed with admiration for his fine lace, his gracious manner and his young and gentle countenance. This spectacle caused our hero to lose the last vestiges of his reason. At that moment he would have fought for the Inquisition, and in all sincerity too. Suddenly the door opened. The little chapel was revealed, ablaze with light. On the altar you could see more than a thousand candies, divided into eight rows separated from one another by sprays of flowers. The sweet smell of the purest incense billowed out of the sanctuary door. The freshly gilded chapel was very small but extremely high. Julien noticed that on the altar there were candles more than fifteen foot tall. The girls could not restrain their cries of admiration. The only people to be let into the little vestibule of the chapel were the twenty-four girls, the two priests and Julien.

  Soon the king arrived, followed only by M. de La Mole and his grand chamberlain. The guards themselves remained outside on their knees, presenting arms.

  His majesty positively hurled rather than flung himself on to the prie-dieu. Only then did Julien, who was wedged against the gilded door, catch a glimpse--from under the bare arm of one of the girls--of the charming statue of St Clement. * He was hidden beneath the altar, in the garb of a young Roman soldier. He had a gaping wound in his neck which seemed to

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  be oozing blood; the artist had surpassed himself. His dying eyes, still full of grace, were half closed. The beginnings of a moustache adorned his charming mouth which, half closed too, still seemed to be in prayer. At this sight the girl next to Julien shed copious tears; one of her tears fell onto Julien's hand.

  After a moment of prayer in the most profound silence, broken only by the distant sound of bells from all the villages in a radius of ten leagues, the Bishop of Agde asked the king's permission to speak. He ended a brief, very moving speech with some simple words which were all the more effective.

  'Never forget, young Christians,' he said, addressing the girls, 'that you have seen one of the greatest kings on earth kneeling before the servants of this dread and almighty God. These servants are weak, persecuted and put to death on earth, as you can see from St Clement's ever-bleeding wound, but theirs is the triumph in heaven. You will, young Christians, 'won't you, always remember this day? You will abhor the ungodly. You will be ever faithful to this God who is so mighty, so dread, and yet so loving.'

  At these words the bishop rose authoritatively.

  'Do you promise me you will?' he said, holding out his arm as one inspired.

  'We promise we will,' said the girls, breaking down in tears.

  'I receive your promise in the name of the dread and mighty God!' added the bishop in a thundering voice. And the ceremony was ended.

  The king himself was weeping. Not until much later did Julien feel composed enough to ask where the saint's bones were that had been sent from Rome to Philip the Good, * Duke of Burgundy. He learned that they were concealed in the charming wax statue.

  His Majesty deigned to allow the maidens who had waited on him in the chapel to wear a red ribbon embroidered with the words: HATRED TO THE UNGODLY, ETERNAL ADORATION.

  M. d
e La Mole had ten thousand bottles of wine given out to the peasants. That evening in Verrières the liberals found a pretext for laying on infinitely better illumination than the royalists. Before leaving, the king paid a visit to M. de Moirod.

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  CHAPTER 19

  Thinking brings suffering

  The grotesque side of day-to-day events stops you seeing the real misery of passions.

  BARNAVE

  As he was putting back the everyday furniture in the room that M. de La Mole had used, Julien found a sheet of very stiff paper folded in four. He read at the bottom of the first page:

  'To the Most Hon. the Marquis de La Mole, Peer of France, Knight of the King's orders' etc., etc.

  It was a petition in large handwriting, like a cook's.

  My Lord Marquis,

  All my life I have had religious principles. I faced the bombs at Lyon when it was under siege in '93 of cursed memory. * I take communion; I go to Mass every Sunday at the parish church. I have never failed in my paschal duty, even in '93 of cursed memory. My cook, before the Revolution I had servants, my cook uses no meat or fat on Fridays. In Verrières I enjoy widespread and, if I may say so, deserved respect. I walk under the canopy at processions, next to our Reverend Father and his worship the mayor. I carry a big candle on grand occasions bought with my own money, for all of which there are certificates in Paris at the Ministry of Finance. I ask your lordship to grant me the lottery office * in Verrières, which cannot fail to fall vacant soon one way or another, as the present holder is very ill, and anyway votes the wrong way at elections, etc.

  DE CHOLIN

  In the margin of this petition was a note of support signed De Moirod, which began with this line:

  'I had the honour of speaking to you yesserdy * about the worthy citizen making this request', etc.