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

by Stendhal

  IT was no use Julien making himself small and foolish, he could not get anyone to like him, he was too different. And yet, he said to himself, all these teachers are discriminating people chosen from among thousands; how come they don't appreciate my humility? Only one of them seemed to take advantage of his readiness to believe anything and to appear to be completely gullible. This was Father Chas-Bernard, precentor at the cathedral where for the past fifteen years he had been led to expect the office of canon; while waiting, he taught sacred rhetoric at the seminary. During the period before his enlightenment, this was one of the classes where Julien most regularly came top. Father Chas had followed this up with marks of friendship towards him, and at the end of his class he would readily link arms with him to take one or two turns round the garden together.

  What's he working round to? Julien wondered. He was amazed to see that Father Chas would spend hours on end talking to him about the cathedral vestments. It possessed seventeen braided chasubles in addition to the mourning vestments. Great hopes were placed on the aged wife of the President de Rubempré for over seventy years this ninetyyear-old lady had preserved her wedding dresses made of sumptuous fabrics from Lyon interwoven with gold. 'Just imagine, dear fellow,' said Father Chas stopping in his tracks and opening his eyes wide, 'these fabrics stand up by themselves, there's so much gold in them. It's widely believed in Besançon that in her will the président's wife increases the cathedral treasure by more than ten chasubles, not to mention

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  four or five capes for high feasts. I'll go further,' added Father Chas lowering his voice, 'I have reason to suppose that the président's wife will leave us eight magnificent torches in silver-gilt that are presumed to have been bought in Italy by the Duke of Burgundy, Charles the Bold, to whom one of her ancestors was favourite minister.'

  But what's this man working round to with all this stuff about old clothes? Julien wondered. This skilful preparation has been going on for ages, and nothing is coming of it. He must mistrust me a lot! He's more skilful than all the rest of them--you can guess their secret aims as easily as anything in a couple of weeks. I get it, this fellow's ambition has been suffering for fifteen years!

  One evening, in the middle of their instruction on the use of arms, * Julien was summoned to see Father Pirard, who said to him:

  'Tomorrow is the feast of Corpus Christi. Father ChasBernard needs you to help him adorn the cathedral; go and obey.'

  Father Pirard called him back and added with an air of commiseration:

  'It's up to you to see if you want to exploit the opportunity to wander off into the town.'

  'Incedo per ignes,' * Julien replied (I have hidden enemies).

  On the following morning, as soon as it was full daylight, Julien made his way to the cathedral with lowered gaze. The sight of the streets and the bustle beginning to take over the town did him some good. On all sides people were adorning the house-fronts for the procession. All the time he had spent at the seminary seemed now like a mere moment to him. His thoughts were on Vergy and on pretty Amanda Binet whom he might well meet, as her café was not far off. He caught sight of Father Chas-Bernard from a distance, standing in the door of his beloved cathedral; he was a portly man with a radiant face and an open expression. That day he was in jubilation: 'I was waiting for you, my dear son,' he exclaimed as soon as he caught sight of Julien, 'I bid you welcome. Today's task will be long and arduous; let us fortify ourselves with a first

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  breakfast; the second will come at ten o'clock during High Mass.'

  'It is my wish, Father,' Julien said to him gravely, 'not to be alone for a single instant; may I beg you to note', he went on, pointing to the clock above their heads, 'that my time of arrival is one minute to five.'

  'Ah! those nasty little wretches in the seminary are making you afraid! You're a bit silly to think about them,' said Father Chas. 'Is a path any the less beautiful for having thorns in the hedges bordering it? Travellers go on their way and leave the nasty thorns to fester where they are. But anyway, to work, dear boy, to work.'

  Father Chas was right to say the task would be arduous. On the previous evening there had been a grand funeral ceremony at the cathedral; no one had been able to prepare anything, so it was necessary in the space of a single morning to deck all the gothic pillars which form the three naves with a sort of draping of red damask rising to a height of thirty feet. The bishop had had four decorators brought from Paris by mail-coach, but these gentlemen could not cope with everything, and far from encouraging their clumsy Besançon workmates, they made matters worse by laughing at them.

  Julien saw he would have to go up the ladder himself, and his agility served him well. He took upon himself to direct the efforts of the local decorators. Father Chas watched in delight as he leaped from ladder to ladder. When all the pillars were decked in damask, it was a matter of going to position five enormous bunches of feathers on top of the great canopy above the high altar. An elaborate centrepiece of gilded wood is supported by eight spiralling columns in Italian marble. However, to reach the centre of the canopy above the tabernacle, the only access was along an old wooden ledge possibly riddled with woodworm and forty feet from the ground.

  The sight of this difficult climb had extinguished the Parisian decorators' gaiety which had sparkled so conspicuously till then; they looked up from below, argued a lot, and did not go up. Julien seized hold of the bunches of feathers and ran up the ladder. He positioned them perfectly on top of the crownshaped decoration in the centre of the canopy. As he came

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  down the ladder, Father Chas-Bernard clasped him in his arms:

  'Optime,' exclaimed the kindly priest, 'I shall tell Monsignor.'

  Breakfast at ten was very jolly. Father Chas had never seen his church looking so beautiful.

  'Dear disciple,' he said to Julien, 'my mother hired out chairs in this venerable basilica, so I was nurtured in this great edifice. Robespierre's Terror ruined us; but although only eight at the time, I was already serving Masses in private houses, and I was fed on days when Mass was celebrated. No one could fold a chasuble better than I, the braid never got creased. Since Napoleon's reinstatement of religious worship, I have had the good fortune to be in charge of everything in this venerable basilica. Five times a year my eyes behold it bedecked with these lovely adornments. But it has never been so resplendent, never have the widths of damask been so beautifully hung as today, so closely moulded to the pillars.'

  At last he's going to tell me his secret, thought Julien, here he is talking to me about himself; he's feeling expansive. But nothing rash was said by this man for all his signs of exaltation. And yet he has worked hard, he's happy, Julien said to himself, there's been no stinting on the good wine. What a man! What an example to me! He gets the gong. (This was a vulgar expression he had picked up from the old surgeon.)

  As the Sanctus from the High Mass rang out, Julien made as if to put on a surplice to follow the bishop in the magnificent procession.

  'What about thieves, dear fellow, what about thieves!' exclaimed Father Chas. 'You're not thinking. The procession is about to go out; the church will be left deserted; we'll watch over it, just the two of us. We'll be very lucky if all that goes missing is a couple of lengths of that fine braid encircling the base of the pillars. That's yet another gift from Mme de Rubempré; it comes from the famous count her great-grandfather; it's pure gold, dear boy,' added the priest into his ear, with an air of obvious excitement, 'nothing is fake! I'm putting you in charge of inspecting the north aisle, don't leave it. I'll do the south aisle and the main nave. Watch out for the

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  confessionals; that's where the thieves plant their ladies to keep an eye open for the moment our backs are turned.'

  As he finished speaking, the third quarter after eleven struck, and the great bell at once pealed out. It rang full swing; these solemn, resonant peals moved Julien. His imagination was no longer on earth
.

  The smell of incense and of the rose leaves scattered in front of the holy sacrament by little children dressed up as St John brought his exaltation to full pitch.

  The deep tones of this bell ought not to have aroused in Julien anything other than the thought of twenty men labouring for fifty centimes each, maybe assisted by fifteen or twenty of the faithful. He ought to have been thinking of the wear on the ropes, on the beam, and of the danger from the bell itself, which falls every other century; thinking of ways of reducing the wages of the bellringers, or of paying them with some indulgence or other grace drawn from the Church's treasure trove without shrinking her purse.

  Instead of such wise reflections, Julien's soul, uplifted by the great masculine resonance of the pealing bell, had wandered off in flights of fantasy. He will never make a good priest, or a great administrator. Souls which are moved like that are fit at the very most to produce an artist. Here, Julien's presumption breaks forth in its full glory. As many as fifty, maybe, of his fellow seminarists, made attentive to the nitty gritty of life by public hatred and Jacobinism, depicted to them as lying in wait behind every hedge, would only have thought, on hearing the great cathedral bell, of the wages of the ringers. They would have considered with Barême's * genius whether the degree of emotion aroused in the public was worth the money paid to the beuringers. If Julien had wished to think of the material interests of the cathedral, his imagination would have overshot the target, and fixed upon economizing forty francs in manufacturing, thereby missing the opportunity of saving an expenditure of twenty-five centimes.

  While the procession moved slowly through Besançon on one of the loveliest days you can imagine, stopping at the resplendent altars of repose * put up by each official body in a

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  bid to outshine the others, the church remained plunged in deep silence. It was pleasantly cool in the half-light; the smell of flowers and incense still lingered there.

  The silence, the deep solitude, the cool of the long naves made Julien's dreaming all the sweeter. He did not fear disturbance from Father Chas, who was busy in another part of the church. His soul had almost cut free from its mortal body, which was walking slowly up and down the north aisle that had been entrusted to Julien's guard. He was all the more at ease since he had made sure that the confessionals only contained a few pious women; his eyes looked without seeing.

  However, he was half recalled from his absent state by the sight of two strikingly well dressed women kneeling down, one in a confessional, and the other, right next to the first, against a chair. He looked without seeing; but whether from a vague sense of duty, or whether out of admiration for the noble and simple dress of these ladies, he noticed that there was no priest in the confessional. How odd, he thought, that these beautiful ladies are not kneeling in front of one of the altars of repose, if they are pious; or stationed to their advantage in the front row of a balcony, if they belong to high society. How shapely that dress is! How graceful! He slackened his pace to get a better view of them.

  The one who was kneeling in the confessional turned her head a little to one side on hearing the noise of Julien's footsteps in the depths of this great silence. All of a sudden she gave a little cry and began to feel faint.

  As her strength left her, this lady fell backwards from her kneeling position; her friend, who was close by, rushed foward to come to her aid. At the same moment, Julien saw the shoulders of the lady who was falling backwards. A twisted necklace of large natural pearls that was very familiar to him caught his gaze. Imagine his feelings on recognizing the hair: it was Mme Rênal! The lady who was trying to support her friend's head and prevent her from falling right over backwards was Mme Derville. Julien rushed forward, quite beside himself; Mme de Rênal's fall might well have brought her friend down too if Julien had not supported them both. He saw Mme de Rênal's head, pale and totally inert, lolling on her shoulder.

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  He helped Mme Derville to rest this charming head against a wicker chair; he was on his knees.

  Mme Derville turned round and recognized him.

  'Be off with you, sir, be off!' she said to him in tones of the utmost fury. 'It's vital she doesn't see you again. The sight of you must indeed be appalling to her, she was so happy before you came along! Your behaviour is atrocious. Be off with you; go away if you have any shame left.'

  These words were spoken with such authority, and Julien felt so weak at that moment, that he did go away. She's always hated me, he said to himself, thinking about Mme Derville.

  At the same moment, the nasal chanting of the first priests in the procession echoed round the church; it was coming back in. Father Chas-Bernard called Julien several times without his hearing to begin with: he finally came over, and finding Julien behind a pillar where he had taken refuge more dead than alive, took him by the arm. He wanted to present him to the bishop.

  'You're not feeling too good, my boy,' said the priest to him on seeing him so pale and scarcely in a fit state to walk. 'You've been working too hard.' The priest gave him his arm. 'Come along, sit you down on the holy water clerk's little bench behind me; I'll hide you.' They found themselves next to the main door. 'Take it easy, we've a good twenty minutes yet before Monsignor appears. Try to gather your strength together; when he passes, I'll lift you up: I'm strong and sturdy in spite of my age.'

  But when the bishop passed by, Julien was trembling so much that Father Chas gave up the idea of presenting him.

  'Don't be too upset,' he said to him, 'I'll find another opportunity.'

  That evening he arranged for ten pounds of candles to be sent over to the seminary chapel, 'candles that had been thrifted by Julien's care, and the speed with which he had had them extinguished.' Nothing could have been further from the truth. The poor man was totally extinguished himself; he had not had a single idea in his head since seeing Mme de Rênal.

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  CHAPTER 29

  First promotion

  He knew his times, he knew his département, and he is now rich.

  THE PRECURSOR *

  JULIEN had not yet emerged from the trance-like state into which he had been plunged by the incident in the cathedral, when he was summoned one morning by the stern Father Pirard.

  'I have just had a letter from Father Chas-Bernard speaking well of you. I am reasonably pleased with your behaviour in general. You are extremely rash and even scatterbrained-despite appearances; however so far, your heart has been in the right place, and it's even a generous one; you have a superior mind. All in all, I detect a spark in you that mustn't be neglected.

  'After fifteen years' toil, I am on the point of leaving this establishment: my crime is to have let the seminarists go their own way, and to have neither protected nor worked against the secret society you spoke to me about in the confessional. Before leaving, I want to do something for you; I should have acted two months ago, for you deserve it, had you not been denounced on account of Amanda Binet's address that was found in your room. I am making you an instructor for the New and the Old Testament.'

  Overwhelmed with gratitude, Julien did think of flinging himself to his knees and thanking God; but he yielded to a more spontaneous impulse. He went up to Father Pirard, took his hand and raised it to his lips.

  'What's all this?' exclaimed the master, looking displeased; but Julien's eyes spoke even more revealingly than his gesture.

  Father Pirard looked at him in astonishment, like a man who for many a long year has been out of the habit of encountering delicate emotions. This attention betrayed the master; his voice altered.

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  'Well yes, there it is, my boy, I've grown attached to you. Heaven knows that it really is in spite of myself. I should be just, and have neither hatred nor love for anyone. Your career will be difficult. I detect in you something offensive to the vulgar. You will be dogged by jealousy and slander. Wherever Providence may put you, your companions will never see you without hating you; and if they
pretend to like you, it will be to betray you all the more surely. There's only one remedy for this: have no recourse to anyone but God, who has made it necessary for you to be hated as a punishment for your presumption; let your conduct be pure; it's the only resource I can see for you. If you hold fast to the truth with an invincible embrace, sooner or later your enemies will be confounded.'

  It was so long since Julien had heard a friendly voice that he must be forgiven for an act of weakness: he broke down in tears. Father Pirard held out his arms to him; it was a truly comforting moment for both of them.

  Julien was wild with delight; this promotion was the first to come his way; the benefits were immense. To have any conception of them, you have to have been condemned to spend months on end without a moment to yourself, in direct contact with contemporaries who are importunate at the very least and for the most part intolerable. Their shouts alone would have been enough to unsettle a delicate constitution. The rowdy glee of these well-fed, well-dressed peasants was incapable of expressing itself unassisted, and did not consider itself complete unless they were shouting with all the lungpower they could muster.

  Now Julien dined alone, or virtually so, an hour later than the other seminarists. He had a key to the garden and could go for walks there at times when it was deserted.

  To his great astonishment, Julien observed that the others hated him less; he was expecting, quite on the contrary, that the hatred would increase. His secret desire not to be spoken to, which was only too apparent and won him so many enemies, was no longer a mark of ridiculous disdain. In the eyes of the boorish creatures who surrounded him, it was a rightful sense of his own dignity. The hatred grew noticeably less, especially among his younger fellow seminarists who had