feat_summary_path: finished_summaries/shmoop/The Red and the Black/section_44_part_0.txt
feat_book_id: The Red and the Black.part 2.chapter 15
feat_summary_id: part 2, chapter 15
feat_summary: {"name": "Part 2, Chapter 15", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20200920104425/https://www.shmoop.com/study-guides/literature/red-and-the-black/summary/part-2-chapter-15", "summary": "Julien paces in his room, wondering if he should go see Mathilde in her room. On the one hand, it's probably a trap. On the other, he'll never have a chance to be with such a beautiful, rich young woman again. He decides to visit Mathilde, but to keep two loaded pistols in his pockets just in case. Then he sends a copy of Mathilde's letter to Fouqe. He spends the rest of the evening looking for some clue of knowledge in the faces of the servants in the house. He can't help but feel that there's a conspiracy against him. Why else would a girl like Mathilde ask him to her room in the middle of the night?", "analysis": ""}
text: CHAPTER XLV
  
  IS IT A PLOT?
  
  
  Oh, how cruel is the interval between the conception
  and the execution of a great project. What vain fears,
  what fits of irresolution! It is a matter of life and
  death--even more is at stake honour!--_Schiller_.
  
  
  "This is getting serious," thought Julien, "and a little too clear,"
  he added after thinking a little. "Why to be sure! This fine young
  lady can talk to me in the library with a freedom which, thank heaven,
  is absolutely complete; the marquis, frightened as he is that I show
  him accounts, never sets foot in it. Why! M. de la Mole and the comte
  Norbert, the only persons who ever come here, are absent nearly the
  whole day, and the sublime Mathilde for whom a sovereign prince
  would not be too noble a suitor, wants me to commit an abominable
  indiscretion.
  
  "It is clear they want to ruin me, or at the least make fun of me.
  First they wanted to ruin me by my own letters; they happen to be
  discreet; well, they want some act which is clearer than daylight.
  These handsome little gentlemen think I am too silly or too conceited.
  The devil! To think of climbing like this up a ladder to a storey
  twenty-five feet high in the finest moonlight. They would have time to
  see me, even from the neighbouring houses. I shall cut a pretty figure
  to be sure on my ladder!" Julien went up to his room again and began
  to pack his trunk whistling. He had decided to leave and not even to
  answer.
  
  But this wise resolution did not give him peace of mind. "If by
  chance," he suddenly said to himself after he had closed his trunk,
  "Mathilde is in good faith, why then I cut the figure of an arrant
  coward in her eyes. I have no birth myself, so I need great qualities
  attested straight away by speaking actions--money down--no charitable
  credit."
  
  He spent a quarter-of-an-hour in reflecting. "What is the good of
  denying it?" he said at last. "She will think me a coward. I shall lose
  not only the most brilliant person in high society, as they all said at
  M. the duke de Retz's ball, but also the heavenly pleasure of seeing
  the marquis de Croisenois, the son of a duke, who will be one day a
  duke himself, sacrificed to me. A charming young man who has all the
  qualities I lack. A happy wit, birth, fortune....
  
  "This regret will haunt me all my life, not on her account, 'there are
  so many mistresses!... but there is only one honour!' says old don
  Diego. And here am I clearly and palpably shrinking from the first
  danger that presents itself; for the duel with M. de Beauvoisis was
  simply a joke. This is quite different. A servant may fire at me point
  blank, but that is the least danger; I may be disgraced.
  
  "This is getting serious, my boy," he added with a Gascon gaiety and
  accent. "Honour is at stake. A poor devil flung by chance into as low a
  grade as I am will never find such an opportunity again. I shall have
  my conquests, but they will be inferior ones...."
  
  He reflected for a long time, he walked up and down hurriedly, and
  then from time to time would suddenly stop. A magnificent marble bust
  of cardinal de Richelieu had been placed in his room. It attracted his
  gaze in spite of himself. This bust seemed to look at him severely as
  though reproaching him with the lack of that audacity which ought to be
  so natural to the French character. "Would I have hesitated in your age
  great man?"
  
  "At the worst," said Julien to himself, "suppose all this is a trap,
  it is pretty black and pretty compromising for a young girl. They know
  that I am not the man to hold my tongue. They will therefore have to
  kill me. That was right enough in 1574 in the days of Boniface de la
  Mole, but nobody today would ever have the pluck. They are not the same
  men. Mademoiselle de la Mole is the object of so much jealousy. Four
  hundred salons would ring with her disgrace to-morrow, and how pleased
  they would all be.
  
  "The servants gossip among themselves about marked the favours of
  which I am the recipient. I know it, I have heard them....
  
  "On the other hand they're her letters. They may think that I have
  them on me. They may surprise me in her room and take them from me. I
  shall have to deal with two, three, or four men. How can I tell? But
  where are they going to find these men? Where are they to find discreet
  subordinates in Paris? Justice frightens them.... By God! It may be the
  Caylus's, the Croisenois', the de Luz's themselves. The idea of the
  ludicrous figure I should cut in the middle of them at the particular
  minute may have attracted them. Look out for the fate of Abelard, M.
  the secretary.
  
  "Well, by heaven, I'll mark you. I'll strike at your faces like Caesar's
  soldiers at Pharsalia. As for the letters, I can put them in a safe
  place."
  
  Julien copied out the two last, hid them in a fine volume of Voltaire
  in the library and himself took the originals to the post.
  
  "What folly am I going to rush into," he said to himself with surprise
  and terror when he returned. He had been a quarter of an hour without
  contemplating what he was to do on this coming night.
  
  "But if I refuse, I am bound to despise myself afterwards. This matter
  will always occasion me great doubt during my whole life, and to a man
  like me such doubts are the most poignant unhappiness. Did I not feel
  like that for Amanda's lover! I think I would find it easier to forgive
  myself for a perfectly clear crime; once admitted, I could leave off
  thinking of it.
  
  "Why! I shall have been the rival of a man who bears one of the finest
  names in France, and then out of pure light-heartedness, declared
  myself his inferior! After all, it is cowardly not to go; these words
  clinch everything," exclaimed Julien as he got up ... "besides she is
  quite pretty."
  
  "If this is not a piece of treachery, what a folly is she not
  committing for my sake. If it's a piece of mystification, by heaven,
  gentlemen, it only depends on me to turn the jest into earnest and that
  I will do.
  
  "But supposing they tie my hands together at the moment I enter the
  room: they may have placed some ingenious machine there.
  
  "It's like a duel," he said to himself with a laugh. "Everyone makes
  a full parade, says my _maitre d'armes_, but the good God, who wishes
  the thing to end, makes one of them forget to parry. Besides, here's
  something to answer them with." He drew his pistols out of his pocket,
  and although the priming was shining, he renewed it.
  
  There was still several hours to wait. Julien wrote to Fouque in order
  to have something to do. "My friend, do not open the enclosed letter
  except in the event of an accident, if you hear that something strange
  has happened to me. In that case blot out the proper names in the
  manuscript which I am sending you, make eight copies of it, and send
  it to the papers of Marseilles, Bordeaux, Lyons, Brussels, etc. Ten
  days later have the manuscript printed, send the first copy to M. the
  marquis de la Mole, and a fortnight after that throw the other copies
  at night into the streets of Verrieres."
  
  Julien made this little memoir in defence of his position as little
  compromising as possible for mademoiselle de la Mole. Fouque was only
  to open it in the event of an accident. It was put in the form of a
  story, but in fact it exactly described his situation.
  
  Julien had just fastened his packet when the dinner bell rang. It made
  his heart beat. His imagination was distracted by the story which he
  had just composed, and fell a prey to tragic presentiments. He saw
  himself seized by servants, trussed, and taken into a cellar with a gag
  in his mouth. A servant was stationed there, who never let him out of
  sight, and if the family honour required that the adventure should have
  a tragic end, it was easy to finish everything with those poisons which
  leave no trace. They could then say that he had died of an illness and
  would carry his dead body back into his room.
  
  Thrilled like a dramatic author by his own story, Julien was really
  afraid when he entered the dining-room. He looked at all those liveried
  servants--he studied their faces. "Which ones are chosen for to-night's
  expedition?" he said to himself. "The memories of the court of Henri
  III. are so vivid in this family, and so often recalled, that if they
  think they have been insulted they will show more resolution than other
  persons of the same rank." He looked at mademoiselle de la Mole in
  order to read the family plans in her eyes; she was pale and looked
  quite middle-aged. He thought that she had never looked so great: she
  was really handsome and imposing; he almost fell in love with her.
  "_Pallida morte futura_," he said to himself (her pallor indicates
  her great plans). It was in vain that after dinner he made a point of
  walking for a long time in the garden, mademoiselle did not appear.
  Speaking to her at that moment would have lifted a great weight off his
  heart.
  
  Why not admit it? he was afraid. As he had resolved to act, he was not
  ashamed to abandon himself to this emotion. "So long as I show the
  necessary courage at the actual moment," he said to himself, "what
  does it matter what I feel at this particular moment?" He went to
  reconnoitre the situation and find out the weight of the ladder.
  
  "This is an instrument," he said to himself with a smile, "which I am
  fated to use both here and at Verrieres. What a difference! In those
  days," he added with a sigh, "I was not obliged to distrust the person
  for whom I exposed myself to danger. What a difference also in the
  danger!"
  
  "There would have been no dishonour for me if I had been killed in M.
  de Renal's gardens. It would have been easy to have made my death into
  a mystery. But here all kinds of abominable scandal will be talked in
  the salons of the Hotel de Chaulnes, the Hotel de Caylus, de Retz,
  etc., everywhere in fact. I shall go down to posterity as a monster."
  
  "For two or three years," he went on with a laugh, making fun of
  himself; but the idea paralysed him. "And how am I going to manage to
  get justified? Suppose that Fouque does print my posthumous pamphlet,
  it will only be taken for an additional infamy. Why! I get received
  into a house, and I reward the hospitality which I have received,
  the kindness with which I have been loaded by printing a pamphlet
  about what has happened and attacking the honour of women! Nay! I'd a
  thousand times rather be duped."
  
  The evening was awful.
  
  
  
  
  
  
feat_summary_name: Part 2, Chapter 15
target: Julien paces in his room, wondering if he should go see Mathilde in her room. On the one hand, it's probably a trap. On the other, he'll never have a chance to be with such a beautiful, rich young woman again. He decides to visit Mathilde, but to keep two loaded pistols in his pockets just in case. Then he sends a copy of Mathilde's letter to Fouqe. He spends the rest of the evening looking for some clue of knowledge in the faces of the servants in the house. He can't help but feel that there's a conspiracy against him. Why else would a girl like Mathilde ask him to her room in the middle of the night?