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

by Stendhal

  In spite of so much kindness Julien soon felt himself totally isolated in the midst of this family. All their customs struck him as peculiar, and he was always getting things wrong. His blunders were the delight of the valets.

  Father Pirard had gone off to his parish. If Julien is a frail reed, let him perish, he thought; if he's a man of character, let him manage on his own.

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  CHAPTER 4

  The Hôtel de la Mole

  What is he doing here! could he be enjoying himself? might he be aiming to be liked?

  RONSARD *

  IF everything seemed strange to Julien in the noble drawingroom of the Hôtel de La Mole, the pale young man dressed in black seemed in his turn most peculiar to the individuals who deigned to notice him. Mme de La Mole suggested to her husband that he send him out on business on days when they had important people to dine.

  'I'd like to persevere to the end with this experiment,' the marquis replied. 'Father Pirard claims that we are wrong to shatter the self-respect of the people we take into our household. You can only lean on something that offers resistance, * etc. This fellow is only out of place because he cuts such an unfamiliar figure, and anyway, he's a deaf-mute.'

  To get things straight for myself, Julien reflected, I must write down the names of the people I observe coming to this salon, and make a note of their characters.

  At the top he put five or six hangers-on who made a point of being nice to him on the off-chance, believing him to be in favour through a whim of the marquis's. They were pathetic creatures, more or less spineless; but it must be said in praise of this class of men to be found nowadays in the salons of the aristocracy: they were not equally spineless to everyone. You might well see one of them letting himself be put down by the marquis, but taking exception to a harsh word addressed to him by Mme de La Mole.

  The masters of the house had too much pride and too much boredom ingrained in their characters; they were too accustomed to behaving outrageously in order to dispel boredom for there to be any hope of their making real friends. But except on rainy days and in moments of ferocious boredom, which were rare, they were always deemed to be exquisitely polite.

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  If the five or six hangers-on who showed such paternal friendship to Julien had deserted the Hôtel de La Mole, the marquise would have been exposed to long bouts of solitude; and in the eyes of women of this rank, solitude is frightful: it is the emblem of disgrace.

  The marquis behaved perfectly towards his wife; he made sure that her salon was adequately adorned; not with peers-he felt his new colleagues * were not noble enough to come to the house as friends, and not amusing enough to be admitted as inferiors.

  It was only much later that Julien got to the bottom of these secrets. High politics, which is a talking point in middle-class establishments, is only touched upon in those of the marquis's class in times of distress.

  Even in this weary century, the need to be entertained still holds such sway that even on days of grand dinners, no sooner had the marquis left the drawing-room than everyone else fled. Provided there was no joking at the expense of God, the clergy, the king, the powers that be, artistic and literary figures currently enjoying favour at Court, or indeed any part of the establishment; provided that no good word was spoken for Béranger, * the opposition press, Voltaire, Rousseau, or anything venturing to be in any way outspoken; provided above all that there was never any mention of politics, it was permissible to discourse freely on any subject. *

  Not even an income of a hundred thousand crowns or a Blue Sash gives licence to contest a salon charter of this kind. An idea with the slightest spark in it seemed like a piece of rudeness there. In spite of the refined taste, the exquisite politeness, the desire to be agreeable, boredom was stamped on every brow. Young men who came out of duty, fearful of talking about anything which might arouse the suspicion that they were thinking, or again of betraying some forbidden reading-matter, fell silent after one or two elegant remarks about Rossini and the weather.

  Julien observed that the conversation was usually kept alive by two viscounts and five barons whom M. de La Mole had known during the Emigration. These gentlemen enjoyed incomes of between six and eight thousand pounds; four of

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  them supported La Quotidienne * and three La Gazette de France. One of them had a daily anecdote to relate from the Court in which the word admirable was not spared. Julien noticed that he wore five decorations, while the others on the whole only had three.

  On the other hand there were ten footmen in livery to be seen in the antechamber; and throughout the evening ices or tea were served every quarter of an hour, and at midnight there was a kind of supper with champagne.

  This was the reason why Julien sometimes stayed on until the end; in point of fact, he could scarcely understand how anyone could listen seriously to the usual conversation in this magnificently gilded drawing-room. Sometimes he looked at the participants to see whether they mightn't actually be talking tongue in cheek. Good old Joseph de Maistre, whom I know off by heart, said it all infinitely better, he thought, and yet he's boring enough.

  Julien was not the only one to notice the mental asphyxia. Some found consolation in consuming quantities of ice-cream; others in the pleasure of being able to say for the rest of the evening: 'I've just come from the Hôtel de La Mole, where I heard that Russia... etc.'

  Julien learned from one of the faithful that less than six months ago Mme de La Mole had rewarded assiduous attendance for over twenty years by making poor Baron Le Bourguignon into a prefect, after he had been a sub-prefect since the Restoration.

  This great event had retempered the zeal of all these gentlemen; they would have taken offence at trifles before, from now on they never took offence at anything. Only rarely was the lack of courtesy blatant, but Julien had already overheard two or three brief little exchanges at table between the marquis and his wife that were extremely hurtful to those seated near them. These noble personages did not conceal their sincere contempt for anyone unconnected with people who rode in the king's carriages. * Julien observed that the word Crusade was the only one which brought to their faces an expression of deep seriousness mingled with respect. Ordinary respect was always tinged with condescension.

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  In the midst of this magnificence and this boredom Julien was interested in nothing but M. de La Mole; he was pleased to hear him protest one day that he had had nothing to do with the promotion of poor Le Bourguignon. This was a way of paying respect to the marquise: Julien knew the truth from Father Pirard.

  One morning when the priest was working with Julien in the marquis's library on the never-ending Frilair lawsuit:

  'Father,' said Julien suddenly, 'is it one of my duties to dine with her ladyship, or is it a kindness they are showing me?'

  'It's a signal honour!' answered the priest, scandalized. 'Not once has M. N-----the academician, who has been assiduous in his attentions for the past fifteen years, been able to obtain it on behalf of his nephew M. Tanbeau.'

  'For me, Father, it's the most irksome part of my job. I was less bored at the seminary. I sometimes even see Mlle de La Mole herself yawning, and she at any rate ought to be accustomed to the civility of the family's friends. I'm afraid of falling asleep. I beg you, get permission for me to go and dine for forty sous in some obscure inn.'

  Father Pirard, a genuinely self-made man, was highly appreciative of the honour of dining with a great lord. While he was attempting to make Julien understand this sentiment, a slight noise made them look round. Julien saw Mlle de La Mole listening. He blushed. She had come to fetch a book and had heard everything; Julien went up in her esteem. There's a man who wasn't born on his knees, she thought, like that old priest. God, he's ugly!

  At dinner Julien did not dare look at Mlle de La Mole, but she was good enough to speak to him. That day they were expecting a large party, and she entreated him to stay. Young ladies in Paris are not very fo
nd of middle-aged company, particularly if badly dressed. Julien had not needed much sagacity to discern that M. Le Bourguignon's colleagues who stayed on in the drawing-room had the distinction of being the usual butt of Mlle de La Mole's quips. That day, whether or not she was putting it on, she was merciless to the bores.

  Mlle de La Mole was the centre of a little group which gathered almost every evening behind the marquise's enor-

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  mous wing chair. Among them was the Marquis de Croisenois, the Comte de Caylus, the Vicomte de Luz and two or three other young officer friends of Norbert's or his sister's. These gentlemen sat on a large blue sofa. At the other end of the sofa from where the brilliant Mathilde sat, Julien would be stationed in silence on a small, rather low wicker chair. This modest post was envied by all the hangers-on; Norbert made it acceptable to seat his father's young secretary there by speaking to him or mentioning his name once or twice in an evening. That day Mlle de La Mole asked him how high the hill was on which the citadel at Besançon is built. Julien was utterly incapable of saying whether this hill was higher or lower than Montmartre. He often laughed with all his heart at the things that were said in this little group; but he felt incapable of thinking up anything comparable. It was like a foreign language that he understood but could not speak.

  Mathilde's friends were doing running battle that day against the people arriving in the vast drawing-room. Friends of the family were given preference, being better known. You can just imagine how attentive Julien was: everything interested him, both the substance of the matter and the way it was joked about.

  'Ah! here's M. Descoulis,' said Mathilde, 'he isn't wearing his wig any more; is he wishing to get the post of prefect through sheer genius? He's putting that bald forehead of his on show, which he says is full of lofty thoughts.'

  'He's a man who knows the whole world,' said the Marquis de Croisenois; 'he also frequents my uncle the cardinal. He's capable of keeping up a lie with each one of his friends for years on end, and he's got two or three hundred friends. He knows how to nurture friendship, it's his special talent. As sure as you see him there, by seven in the morning in winter he's already covered in filth from standing on the doorstep of some friend or other.

  'He has a quarrel from time to time, and writes seven or eight letters for this tiff. Then he makes it up, and does seven or eight letters for his effusions of friendship. But where he really excels is in the frank and sincere outpourings of the gentleman who bears no grudges. This ploy surfaces when he

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  has some service to request. One of my uncle's vicars-general is wonderful when he describes M. Descoulis's life since the Restoration. I'll bring him along for you.'

  'Bah! I wouldn't believe that sort of thing; it's professional jealousy among the lower orders,' said the Comte de Caylus. 'M. Descoulis will go down in history,' went on the marquis; 'he took part in the Restoration with the Abbé de Pradt, * M. de Talleyrand and M. Pozzo di Borgo.'

  'The man has had millions passing through his hands,' said Norbert, 'and I can't imagine he comes here to rake in my father's witticisms, which are often abominable. "How many times have you betrayed your friends, my dear Descoulis?" he shouted to him the other day from the far end of the table.'

  'But is it true that he's betrayed people?' said Mlle de La Mole. 'Who hasn't?'

  'What's this?' said the Comte de Caylus to Norbert, 'you're entertaining M. Sainclair in your house, the notorious liberal; and what the devil does he come here for? I must go over and speak to him, and get him talking; they say he's so witty.'

  'But how will he go down with your mother?' said M. de Croisenois. 'His ideas are so extravagant, so generous, so independent...'

  'Just look,' said Mlle de La Mole, 'there's the independent fellow bowing and scraping to M. Descoulis, and grasping his hand. I almost thought he was going to raise it to his lips.'

  ' Descoulis must be more in with the Government than we thought,' M. de Croisenois replied.

  ' Sainclair comes here to get into the Academy,' said Norbert; 'look at him, Croisenois, look at him greeting the Baron L-----.'

  'He'd be less base going down on his knees,' added M. de Luz.

  'My dear Sorel,' said Norbert, 'you who have wits, but have only just come up to Paris from your mountains: try never to greet anyone the way that great poet * does, were he God the Father himself.'

  'Ah! here's the man of wit to end all wit, his lordship the Baron Bâton,' said Mlle de La Mole, lightly mimicking the footman who had just announced him.

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  'I think even your servants make fun of him. What a name, the Baron Bâton! * ' said M. de Caylus.

  ' "What's in a name?" he said to us the other day,' went on Mathilde. '"Imagine the Duc de Bouillon * announced for the first time; all the public needs, where I'm concerned, is a little familiarity..."'

  Julien left the vicinity of the sofa. With little appreciation as yet of the delightful subtleties of lighthearted banter, if he was to laugh at a joke he expected it to have some rational basis. All he saw in the exchanges of these young people was the tone of universal denigration, and he was shocked by it. With the straitlaced outlook of a provincial or an Englishman, he went so far as to detect envy in it, and he was certainly quite wrong there.

  Count Norbert, he thought, whom I've seen writing three rough copies of a twenty-line letter to his colonel, would be happy indeed if he had written a page like one of M. Sainclair's in his whole life.

  Moving unnoticed because of his insignificance, Julien went over to several groups in succession; he was following the Baron Bâton at a distance, and wanted to hear him speak. This man with such great wit wore a worried look, and Julien only saw him recover a little composure once he had thought up three or four clever remarks. It struck Julien that this kind of wit needed breathing space.

  The baron was unable to say anything punchy; he needed at least four sentences of six lines in order to sparkle.

  'This man holds forth, he doesn't converse,' someone was saying behind Julien. He turned round and flushed with pleasure when he heard the Comte Chalvet's name mentioned. He's the most subtle man of this century. * Julien had often seen his name in the St Helena Chronicle and the fragments of history dictated by Napoleon. The Comte Chalvet expressed himself tersely; his sallies were lightning flashes, well-aimed, brilliant and profound. If he spoke on some matter, the discussion was instantly seen to be advanced. He adduced facts, it was a pleasure to listen to him. What is more, in politics he was a shameless cynic.

  'I'm an independent,' he was saying to a gentleman wearing

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  three medals, whom he appeared to be making fun of. 'Why do people expect me to be of the same opinion today as I was six weeks ago? In that case, my opinion would rule me like a tyrant.'

  Four solemn young men standing round him pulled faces; these gentlemen don't appreciate flippancy. The count saw that he had gone too far. Luckily he caught sight of honest M. Balland, like Tartuffe * in his honesty. The count began talking to him: the group closed in, realizing that poor Balland was going to be slaughtered. By dint of moralizing and morality, in spite of being horribly ugly, and after a début in society that it is delicate to relate, M. Balland married an exceedingly rich woman who died; then another exceedingly rich woman, who is never seen in society. He enjoys an income of sixty thousand pounds in all humility, and has his own flatterers. The Comte Chalvet spoke to him of all this and showed no mercy. There was soon a circle of some thirty people gathered round them. Everyone was smiling, even the solemn young men, the bright hopes of the century.

  Why does he come to M. de La Mole's salon, where he is clearly a sitting target, Julien wondered. He went over to Father Pirard to ask him.

  M. Balland made his escape.

  'Good!' said Norbert, 'that's one of my father's spies gone; there's only the little cripple Napier left.'

  Could that be the answer to the riddle? thought Julien. But in that case why
does the marquis entertain M. Balland?

  The stern Father Pirard was scowling in a corner of the drawing-room as he listened to the footmen announcing guests.

  'This must be a thieves' den,' he said like Bazilio, * 'I only see suspect individuals arriving.'

  For the stern priest was unfamiliar with the workings of high society. But through his friends the Jansenists, he had very precise notions about the kind of men who only make their way into salons by putting their great finesse at the service of all parties, or thanks to their scandalous fortunes. For a few minutes that evening he replied out of the abundance of his heart to Julien's pressing questions; then he stopped short, disturbed at always having to speak ill of everyone, and

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  reproaching himself with it like a sin. A bilious Jansenist who believed in the duty of Christian charity, his life in society was a struggle.

  'What a face that Abbé Pirard has!' Mlle de La Mole was saying as Julien approached the sofa.

  Julien felt irritated, and yet she was right. Father Pirard was undeniably the most upright man in the salon, but his blotchy red face twitching from the torments of his conscience made him look hideous at that moment. And now go and believe in physiognomy, thought Julien; it's at the very moment when Father Pirard's delicacy reproaches him with some peccadillo that he looks atrocious; whereas the face of that Napier, who is a spy known to everyone, is stamped with pure, serene happiness. Father Pirard had nevertheless made great concessions to the party of his allegiance; he had taken on a servant, he was very well dressed.

  Julien noticed something strange in the salon: all eyes turned to the door, and there was a sudden hush. The footman was announcing the notorious Baron de Tolly, on whom the elections had recently fixed everyone's gaze. Julien moved forward and saw him very clearly. The baron was president of one of the electoral colleges: * he had the bright idea of doing a vanishing trick with the little squares of paper bearing votes for one of the parties. But to compensate for this, he replaced them as he went along by other little pieces of paper bearing a name that was to his liking. This decisive manœuvre * was noticed by some of the voters who hastened to compliment the Baron de Tolly on it. The fellow was still pale from this great affair. Uncharitable souls had uttered the term 'hard labour'. M. de La Mole gave him a cold reception. The poor baron made his escape.