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

by Stendhal

  While the Marquis de Croisenois, unable to break through the crowd, was gazing delightedly at Mathilde, she cast her large, heavenly blue eyes on him and his neighbours. What could be more insipid, she said to herself, than that whole group! There is Croisenois who has aspirations to marry me; he's gentle and polite, he has perfect manners like M. de Rouvray. Were it not for the boredom they inspire, these gentlemen would be most agreeable. He too will tag along behind me at the ball with that blinkered, contented expression. A year after our wedding, my carriage, my horses, my dresses, my château twenty leagues from Paris, all that sort of thing will be as perfect as it possibly can, just what's required to make a social climber die of envy--someone like the Comtesse de Roiville, for instance; and then what...?

  Mathilde was bored in anticipation. The Marquis de Croisenois managed to get near her, and he was talking away, but

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  she let her mind wander without listening to him. The sound of his words merged in her ears with the hum of the ball. Her gaze went automatically after Julien, who had moved away with a respectful, though proud and discontented air. In a corner, far from the madding crowd, she spied Count Altamira, who had been condemned to death in his country, and is already familiar to the reader. Under Louis XIV a relative of his had married one of the princes de Conti; the memory of this gave him some protection from the Congregation police.

  The only thing I can think of that distinguishes a man is a death sentence, Mathilde thought: it's all there is that can't be bought.

  Ah! that's a witty saying I've just thought up! What a shame it didn't come out in such a way as to do me credit! Mathilde had too much taste to bring into the conversation a piece of wit prepared in advance; but she also had too much vanity not to be delighted with herself. A look of happiness replaced the appearance of boredom on her features. The Marquis de Croisenois, who was still talking to her, thought he glimpsed success and redoubled his eloquence.

  What could an unkind person find objectionable in my witty remark? Mathilde asked herself. I'd reply to my critic: 'The title of baron or viscount is something money can buy; a cross is something you are given; my brother has just got one, and what did he do for it? Rank is something you can acquire. Ten years in the garrison, or a relative who is Minister of War, and you're a squadron commander like Norbert. A huge fortune...! now that's the most difficult of all, and consequently the most meritorious. Isn't it funny! It's the opposite of everything the books say... Well now! to get a fortune, you marry M. Rothschild's daughter.'

  My witticism really is profound. A death sentence is the only thing that no one has yet thought of asking for.

  'Do you know Count Altamira?' she asked M. de Croisenois.

  She looked so much as if she were only just coming back to earth, and this question had so little bearing on anything the poor marquis had been saying to her for the past five minutes, that his politeness was quite thrown by it. Yet he was a man of wit and highly reputed as such.

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  Mathilde is very idiosyncratic, he thought; it's a disadvantage, but she has such a fine social position to offer her husband! I don't know how this Marquis de La Mole does it; he has connections with the top people in every party; he's a man who can't go into eclipse. Besides, this idiosyncrasy of Mathilde's can pass off as genius. Associated with high birth and a great deal of wealth, genius isn't a mark of ridicule, and in that case what a distinction! What's more, when she wants to she has just the right blend of wit, character and timing that perfect affability requires... As it is difficult to do two things well at the same time, the marquis answered Mathilde with a vacant expression as if he were repeating a lesson:

  'Who doesn't know poor Altamira?' And he told her the story of his abortive, ridiculous and absurd conspiracy.

  'Quite absurd!' said Mathilde as if talking to herself. 'But he did act. I want to see a real man; bring him over to me,' she said to the marquis, who was very shocked.

  Count Altamira was one of the most open admirers of Mlle de La Mole's haughty and almost impertinent air; she was in his view one of the most beautiful young women in Paris.

  'How beautiful she would be on a throne!' he said to M. de Croisenois; and made no difficulty about allowing himself to be led over to her.

  There is no shortage of people in society who try to make out that nothing is in quite such poor taste as a conspiracy--it whiffs of Jacobins. And what could be more distasteful than an unsuccessful Jacobin?

  The look in Mathilde's eyes mocked Altamira's liberalism just as M. de Croisenois did, but she listened to him with pleasure.

  A conspirator at a ball--what a nice contrast, she thought. This one with his black moustache struck her as having the face of a lion at rest; but she soon noticed that his mind was fixed on one thing: utility, admiration for utility.

  The young count did not consider anything worthy of his attention unless it was capable of giving his country a system of government by two Chambers. He was glad to leave Mathilde, the most attractive woman at the ball, because he saw a Peruvian general coming in.

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  Despairing of Europe, poor Altamira was reduced to thinking that when the States of South America are strong and powerful, they will be able to restore to Europe the liberty sent to them by Mirabeau. * 1

  A swirl of young men with moustaches had come up to Mathilde. She had indeed noticed that Altamira had not fallen under the spell, and felt miffed that he had moved away; she saw his black eyes flashing as he talked to the Peruvian general. Mlle de La Mole gazed at the young Frenchmen with that look of deep seriousness that none of her rivals could imitate. Which one of them, she thought, could get himself sentenced to death, even supposing all the odds were in his favour?

  This strange look flattered those who did not have much intelligence, but made the others nervous. They feared the explosion of some caustic witticism that would not be easy to counter.

  High birth bestows countless qualities whose absence would offend me: I can tell from the example of Julien, thought Mathilde; but it withers away those qualities of character that lead a man to be sentenced to death.

  At that moment someone near her was saying: 'This Count Altamira is the second son of the Prince of San NazaroPimentel; it was a Pimentel who tried to save Conradin, * who was beheaded in 1268. They're one of the noblest families in Naples.'

  And that, said Mathilde to herself, proves my maxim very nicely: high birth takes away the strength of character without which a man doesn't get sentenced to death! So I'm predestined to think nonsense this evening. Since I'm just a woman like any other, all right then! I'll have to dance. She yielded to the entreaties of the marquis, who had been requesting a galope * for the past hour. To take her mind off her failure in philosophy, Mathilde determined to be exemplarily charming. M. de Croisenois was thrilled.

  But neither the dance, nor the desire to be attractive to one of the most comely men at Court, nor anything else could

  ____________________ 1 This page was composed on 25 July 1830 * and printed on 4 August. [Original] Publisher's note.

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  distract Mathilde. She could not have been more successful. She was the queen of the ball, she saw this, but it left her cold.

  What a colourless existence I shall lead with a person like Croisenois! she said to herself as he led her back to her seat an hour later... Where shall I find pleasure, she added sadly, if after six months' absence I get none in the midst of a ball that's the envy of all the women in Paris? And what's more, I'm surrounded here with the homage of a milieu that I couldn't conceivably imagine being better constituted. The only middle-class people here are a few peers and maybe one or two Juliens. And yet, she added with growing sadness, what advantages fate has given me: dazzling reputation, fortune, youth! alas, everything except happiness.

  The most dubious of my assets are just the ones they've been telling me about all evening. My intellect I do believe in, for it's obvious that I scare them all. If they
're brave enough to tackle a serious subject, five minutes of conversation leaves them quite gasping for breath, and seeming to make a great discovery out of something I've been telling them repeatedly for a whole hour. I'm beautiful, I do have the asset Mme de Staël * would have sacrificed everything for, and yet it's a fact that I'm dying of boredom. Is there any reason to think I'll be less bored when I've exchanged my name for that of the Marquis de Croisenois?

  But goodness me! she added, feeling almost like tears, isn't he an ideal man? He's the masterpiece of this century's upbringing; you only have to look at him and he finds something pleasant and even witty to say to you; he's brave... But that Sorel is quite out of the ordinary, she said to herself, and the look of gloom in her eye became one of annoyance. I informed him I wanted to speak to him, and he doesn't deign to come back!

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  CHAPTER 9

  The ball

  The lavish clothes, the dazzling candles, the

  perfumes: so many pretty arms and lovely

  shoulders; bouquets of flowers, lilting tunes by

  Rossini, paintings by Ciceri! I am beside myself!

  Uzeri's Travels

  'YOU'RE in a bad mood,' the Marquise de La Mole said to her; 'I warn you, it's not becoming at a ball.'

  'I've only got a headache,' replied Mathilde disdainfully, 'it's too hot in here.'

  At that moment, as if to vindicate Mlle de La Mole, the old Baron de Tolly was taken ill and collapsed; he had to be carried away. Apoplexy was mentioned; it was an unpleasant incident.

  Mathilde took no notice. It was a matter of principle, with her, never to pay any attention to the old, or indeed anyone known to say dreary things.

  She danced to escape the conversation about apoplexy, which was not the trouble after all, since two days later the baron turned up again.

  But M. Sorel still hasn't come, she said to herself again after she had finished dancing. She was almost looking round for him when she caught sight of him in another room. Amazingly enough, he seemed to have lost the air of imperturbable coldness that came so naturally to him; he didn't look English any more.

  He's talking to Count Altamira, my man under sentence of death! Mathilde said to herself. There's a look of smouldering fire in his eye; he's like a prince in disguise; his expression is prouder than ever.

  Julien, still talking to Altamira, was coming over to where she was; she gazed steadily at him, studying his features for a sign of those high qualities that can earn a man the honour of being sentenced to death.

  As he was passing by her:

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  'Yes,' he said to Count Altamira, ' Danton * was a man!'

  Oh heavens! Could he be a Danton? Mathilde wondered; but he has such a noble face, and Danton was such a horribly ugly individual, he was a butcher, I believe. Julien was still quite near her, and she did not hesitate to call him over; she was aware and proud of asking an extraordinary question for a young lady:

  'Wasn't Danton a butcher?' she said to him.

  'Yes, in some people's view,' Julien replied with an expression of the most undisguised disdain, his eyes still glinting from his conversation with Altamira; 'but unfortunately for people of high birth, he was a barrister at Méry-surSeine; in other words, Mademoiselle,' he added with a hostile expression, 'he began like a number of peers I see here. It's true that Danton had a tremendous disadvantage in the eyes of beauty: he was extremely ugly.'

  These last words were spoken quickly, with an extraordinary and certainly most impolite expression.

  Julien paused for a moment, bending forward a little from the waist, and with a proudly humble expression. He seemed to be saying: 'I'm paid to answer you, and I live off my pay.' He did not deign to look up at Mathilde. She, with her big eyes extraordinarily wide open and fixed upon him looked like his slave. At length, as the silence continued, he looked at her like a valet looking at his master--to take orders. Although his eyes stared straight into Mathilde's, which were still fixed on him with a strange look, he walked away with marked alacrity.

  How could he, who is genuinely so handsome, Mathilde said to herself at length as she emerged from her musing, how could he praise ugliness like that! Never dwells on his own conduct! He's not like Caylus or Croisenois. This Sorel has something of the look my father adopts when he does such a good imitation of Napoleon at a ball. She had quite forgotten Danton. There's no getting away from it, this evening I'm bored. She seized her brother's arm and, to his great dismay, forced him to do a turn on the dance floor. It occurred to her she could follow the conversation between the condemned man and Julien.

  There was a huge throng. She managed none the less to get

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  within two paces of them just as Altamira was making for a tray in order to take an ice-cream. He was talking to Julien, half turning towards him. He saw an arm in a brocade sleeve taking one of the ices next to his. The braid seemed to catch his attention: he turned round completely in order to see who the arm belonged to. At that instant, those noble and innocent eyes took on a mild expression of disdain.

  'You see that man,' he said rather quietly to Julien; 'he's the Prince of Araceli, the ----- Ambassador. This morning he requested my extradition * from M. de Nerval, your Foreign Minister. Look, there he is over there playing whist. M. de Nerval is rather inclined to hand me over, for we gave you two or three conspirators in 1816. If I'm returned to my king, I'll be hanged within twenty-four hours. And it'll be one or other of those fine gentlemen with moustaches who'll grab me.' *

  'Base wretches!' exclaimed Julien under his breath.

  Mathilde did not miss a syllable of their conversation. Boredom had vanished.

  'Not as base as all that,' rejoined Count Altamira. 'I talked to you about myself to fire your imagination. Look at the Prince of Araceli; every five minutes he casts an eye on his Golden Fleece; he can't get over the pleasure of seeing that trinket on his chest. The poor man is basically an anachronism. A hundred years ago the Fleece was a signal honour, but at that time it would have been way out of his reach. Today, among the men of high birth, it takes an Araceli to be delighted with it. He would have had a whole town hanged to get it.'

  'Was that the price he paid for it?' asked Julien anxiously.

  'Not exactly,' replied Altamira coldly; 'he may have had thirty or so rich landowners from his part of the world flung into the river for their reputation as liberals.'

  'What a monster!' said Julien again.

  Mlle de La Mole, leaning forward with the keenest interest, was so close to him that her lovely hair almost touched his shoulder.

  'How young you are!' replied Altamira. 'I was telling you that I have a married sister in Provence; she's still pretty, she's kind and gentle; and an excellent mother, faithful to all her duties, pious but not a zealot.'

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  What's he driving at? wondered Mlle de La Mole.

  'She's happy,' went on Count Altamira; 'she was happy in 1815. At that time I was hiding in her house, on her estate near Antibes. Well, when she heard of Marshal Ney's * execution, she started dancing!'

  'Is that possible?' said Julien, dumbfounded.

  'It's the partisan spirit,' replied Altamira. 'There are no genuine passions left in the nineteenth century: that's why people are so bored in France. They commit acts of the utmost cruelty, but without any cruelty at all.'

  'Too bad!' said Julien; 'when you commit crimes, you should at least do it with enjoyment: that's the only good thing about them, and the only slight justification there is for them.'

  Utterly forgetting everything she owed herself, Mlle de La Mole had stationed herself almost completely between Altamira and Julien. Her brother, who was giving her his arm in a habitual act of obedience, was gazing around the room, and to hide his awkwardness tried to look as if he was hemmed in by the crowd.

  'You're right,' Altamira was saying; 'people do everything without enjoyment, and without remembering what they've done, even when it's a crime. I can po
int out to you as many as ten men at this ball who will be eternally damned as murderers. They've forgotten all about it, and so has society. 1

  'Several of them are moved to tears if their dog breaks a leg. At the Père-Lachaise Cemetery when flowers are flung on their graves, as you put it so nicely in Paris, we are told that they combined all the virtues of valiant knights, and we learn of the mighty deeds of their ancestors who lived under Henri IV. * If, in spite of the good offices of the Prince of Araceli, I am not hanged and I ever come to enjoy my fortune in Paris, I intend to invite you to dine with nine or ten revered and remorseless assassins.

  'You and I shall be the only ones with untainted blood at this dinner, but I shall be despised and almost hated as a bloodthirsty monster and a Jacobin, and you will be despised

  ____________________ 1 Thus speaks the voice of discontent. Molière note in Tartuffe. [ Stendhal's note.]

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  quite simply as a man from the common people who has intruded into good society.'

  'Nothing could be more true,' said Mlle de La Mole.

  Altamira looked at her in astonishment; Julien did not deign to give her as much as a look.

  'Mark you, the revolution I found myself leading', Altamira went on, 'was a failure because I was unwilling to let three heads roll, and to distribute among our followers seven or eight millions which happened to be in a coffer I had the key to. My king, who today is consumed with the desire to have me hanged, and before the uprising was on intimate terms with me, would have given me the Grand Sash of his Order if I had let those three heads roll and distributed the money from the coffers, for I should at least have had a half success, and my country would have had a Charter as it stood... That's the way of the world, it's a game of chess.'