feat_summary_path: finished_summaries/cliffnotes/The Red and the Black/section_13_part_0.txt
feat_book_id: The Red and the Black.part 2.chapters 13-16
feat_summary_id: chapters 13-16
feat_summary: {"name": "Chapters 13-16", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20201128052739/https://www.cliffsnotes.com/literature/r/the-red-and-the-black/summary-and-analysis/part-2-chapters-1316", "summary": "Julien finds himself in love with the beauty and charm of Mathilde, and even his previous black vision of her as a Catherine de Medici forms part of the ideal she is becoming for him. Convinced, however, that he will be made a dupe, Julien pretexts a business trip to Mole's estates in the Languedoc. This threat of departure moves Mathilde to action, and in the declaration of love that she writes him, she states that it would be beyond her strength to be separated from him. Julien is overjoyed at this avowal and convinces Mole that the latter's affairs in Normandy now require a change in plans and Julien's presence in Paris. Mole's joy at Julien's plans causes a conflict to rise for Julien. How can he seduce the daughter of a man who has been so kind and who is so attached to him? He silences this scruple and, still driven by his mistrust of these aristocrats, devises a plan whereby, if need be, there will exist proof of Mathilde's attempt to seduce him. He copies the letter and sends it in a Bible to his friend Fouque for safekeeping. Then he composes a truly diplomatic letter as an answer to Mathilde, an answer that does not compromise him. Mathilde writes Julien a second letter, impatiently demanding an answer. Julien complies but admits nothing and announces his imminent departure from Paris. In order to deliver it to her, he strolls in the garden, and there he catches her eye as she watches him from her room. The next exchange contains her queenly command that Julien is to come to her room by means of a ladder at one o'clock. The evening before the rendezvous finds Julien still debating over Mathilde's intentions. Prepared for the worst, Julien imagines the various means at the disposal of the conspirators to capture, murder, and disgrace him. He sends more copies of Mathilde's letters to Fouque, together with a sealed denunciation to be circulated to various newspapers in the event of a catastrophe. Julien tries, in vain, to read betrayal on the face of the servants and of Mathilde during dinner. He strolls in the garden, wishing that she would appear to reassure him. He then reproaches himself for having stooped to ingratitude that would compromise the honor of such a noble family. He regrets having mailed the letters to Fouque. At the appointed hour, Julien climbs the ladder to Mathilde's window. Their first moments of conversation are forced, and both are very ill at ease. Julien stealthily inspects the premises, searching for concealed enemies. Finally he confesses his suspicions to Mathilde. They search desperately for subjects of conversation. Julien's evident assurance as he projects future meetings causes Mathilde to realize with horror that she has given herself a master. After much hesitation, Mathilde decides that she owes it to Julien, who has displayed much courage by appearing, to give herself to him. Neither finds pleasure, however, in the act of love. Julien departs before dawn, riding to the heights of Meudon, where at last he finds happiness. Mathilde asks herself whether she loves Julien after all.", "analysis": "These chapters relate the development, manifestations, and expressions of the duel of love that is waged between Julien and Mathilde. Chapter 16 culminates in the first rendezvous in her room, representing a definitive victory for Julien. Although Julien has certainly been formed by the action since his days in Verrieres, his success with Mathilde depends on his own blundering, which is reminiscent of his affair with Mme. de Renal. It is his distrust, his suspicion that he will be made a dupe, that prevent him from accepting Mathilde's overt advances. This coldness, on the other hand, is exactly what encourages Mathilde, and her fear of losing Julien prompts her to make the first written avowal. In spite of Stendhal's ironic treatment of the lovers' dilemma, Julien remains the fictitious Stendhal who coolly puts into operation what Stendhal himself had learned about the mechanism of love, as expressed in De L'Amour. As it has been shown, Julien is vaguely aware of the uniqueness of the psychology of this haughty Mathilde, but he is unable yet to exploit his knowledge efficaciously. The element of gratuitous victory is also present in his evaluation of her character. He sees her as Machiavellian, exaggerating her duplicity. She is, in fact, complex and strange, but not in that way. He is, therefore, right and wrong simultaneously. Stendhal gives to Julien an awareness of his own crystallization process. Julien attributes to Mathilde all qualities; he imagines her to be Catherine de Medici: \"Nothing was too profound or too criminal for the character he ascribed to her.\" Julien, like Mathilde, seems to be in love with an ideal. Mathilde is undergoing the same torment, fearing that Julien feels nothing for her. The theme of self-delusion, manifest here in the area of love, is one of the dominant Stendhalian themes and constitutes part of his uniqueness as a psychological novelist. The rationalization that Julien makes of the affront of which he is guilty toward M. de la Mole is a very convincing demonstration of the title of the novel. Julien vindictively shouts his battle cry: It's every man for himself in this desert of selfishness known as life. Why should providence have given him such a noble soul and not the material success that should accompany it? He has been denied the brilliant uniform that Croisenois wears, but he has known how to choose the uniform of his time -- the priest's cassock that could ultimately become a cardinal's robe. Julien sees the necessity of a strategic campaign, cloaked in duplicity, as the only means to success. He begins the attack by composing his diplomatic letter to Mathilde. Chapter 14 illustrates again Stendhal's concentric-circle technique of narration. He now returns to a description of the circumstances surrounding the delivery of the first letter to Julien, this time from Mathilde's point of view. Like Julien, Mathilde has undergone a conflict as her love has progressed. She has feared that she is not loved, and the new fear is born, to become stronger later, that she has given herself a master. Stendhal then shifts to Julien's point of view, proceeding to the second and third letters from Mathilde. Still undecided as to the reality that confronts him, Julien plans for both eventualities: either Mathilde's love for him, regulated by her pride, or the comedy in which his adversaries would make him the dupe. He realizes that he made a mistake by not leaving as he had threatened; therefore, his answer to Mathilde's second letter announces, in effect, that this time he will leave. The result in this comedy of errors is that Mathilde gives him a rendezvous. Without really being conscious of it, Julien has successfully used, on two occasions, a threat of departure to bring about the seduction of Mathilde. He is re-enacting his experience with Mme. de Renal. In the interior monologue preceding the rendezvous, Julien sees himself as most assuredly a victim of his imagined conspirators. The scene is perhaps the most exemplary in the novel of the almost paranoiac state into which the hero is capable of working himself. It is hardly a question of withdrawing at this point. Things have progressed too far, and honor forbids him from shirking his duty. A bust of Richelieu silently reproaches him and rids him early of any doubt but that the rendezvous will take place. What he debates is how to rehabilitate his personal honor, how to justify himself after the scandal, the eruption of which looms as a certainty. That nothing could convince him of the contrary is evidenced by the fact that he \"sees\" conspiracy in the servants' faces and a medieval grandeur in the face of Mathilde. He is imposing his own fears on reality. Note how even this impending doom for himself that he sees on Mathilde's face is intimately related with his love for her: \"He nearly fell in love with her.\" The Stendhalian hero permits himself to be afraid without shame because he has resolved to have the courage before the event itself. This attests to the self-imposed honesty and astringent morality by which Julien lives. He is presented truly as the military commander surveying the battlefield, anxiously awaiting the offensive. Julien is capable of detachment and of a sort of ironic self-scrutiny. This is a kind of insurance against ridicule that Stendhal permits Julien to create. After all, Julien does not take himself too seriously, just as Stendhal has not been his own dupe. Julien repents for having sent the letters to Fouque. He sees the possible circulation of the documents as a base action on his own part since posterity would see in him an ingrate who would resort to attacking a woman's honor. He is now at the point of preferring to be a dupe, his personal honor requiring self-immolation in silence. Note the rapidity of Stendhal's pace in narration, imitating, thereby, the mental processes of Julien. Chapter 16 begins without a break from the end of the preceding by the running interior monologue of the hero. Although Julien has never been so afraid in his life, waiting at any moment for the conspirators to strike, he assures himself that he has left no eventuality without consideration, so that he will not be able to reproach himself in the event of a blunder. Arriving at Mathilde's window with his pistol in hand, Julien goes to battle. The rendezvous scene is rightly reputed as one of Stendhal's masterpieces in psychological analysis. The scene is very dramatic and fast moving. These effects are achieved by the use of short, terse sentences, both by Stendhal in commenting and by the characters in dialogue. A second contributing factor is the structure: Stendhal alternates consistently in his presentation, first of Julien's, then of Mathilde's view of the situation, adding commentaries and making analysis after the remarks of each character. Alternation is necessitated by the nature of the characters and of their love. Both have conceived a role that they are playing, and the roles prove inadequate to the occasion. Such a rendezvous demands passion, spontaneity, forgetfulness of self. Both are self-conscious, scheming, suspicious, acting out a preconceived conduct. It is the bifurcation of two characters into an identical role and their own individual \"doubling\" in the presence of the other that make the scene basically comic-heroic. A rapid sketch of their respective states -- internal and the manner in which they find external expression-follows: Mathilde has been observing Julien for an hour and is now very emotional. Nonetheless, she addresses him as \"Monsieur.\" Julien has thought only of the ambush he expects and therefore is ill-prepared. He remembers, in his embarrassment, that his role requires that he be romantic; therefore, he attempts to embrace Mathilde. Her refusal, stemming, no doubt, from timidity and from her preference of the ideal to the real, puts Julien back on the defensive. This explains his reaction: \". . . overjoyed at being repulsed, he hastened to look around.\" Mathilde is delighted to find a topic of conversation, she is so unprepared for this \"real\" situation. She asks what Julien has in his pockets. Julien, likewise embarrassed, is pleased to have conversational subject matter and explains that he is carrying an \"arsenal.\" Then it is a question of how to dispose of the ladder. Mathilde adopts a tone of normal conversation, admonishing Julien not to break the windows, lamenting over the flowers crushed as the ladder falls. Julien, seemingly dedicated to the idea of self-defeat, sees Mathilde's supply of rope as proof that Croisenois has triumphed over him after all since he, Julien, must not be the first to have visited her room. Julien becomes suspicious again, but he has enough resourcefulness and presence of mind to playfully adopt a Creole accent. This effort does not escape Mathilde's attention, and she joins in the game, seeing this as a manifestation of Julien's superiority, thus justifying, in her own eyes, her love for him. When she takes his arm, his violent reaction is one of suspicion again, and he draws his dagger. There reigns a complicity of silence as they are listening for a menacing noise. Then returns the embarrassing silence. Julien busies himself with measures of security; Mathilde has just awakened to the compromising situation her daring has put her into. This leads her to ask what has happened to her letters. Julien, still distrustful, explains the measures he has taken to safeguard himself, believing that his hidden enemies will hear his words. Mathilde's amazement calls forth a sincere avowal on Julien's part of his suspicions. Mathilde has now switched to \"tu,\" but her tone belies this familiarity. This encourages Julien to embrace her, and she only half repulses the embrace. Now Julien is more the master of himself and, relying on recollection of his past successes, begins reciting love passages from Rousseau. Mathilde, not even hearing them, but carrying on her own mental debate, announces that she finds his courage in coming proof that he merits her love. Each is attempting to capture reflections of the \"self,\" not to direct attention to the \"other.\" Therefore, what is actually occurring are two separate monologues: Mathilde looking for evidence that Julien is worthy of the sacrifice she has made, Julien looking for encouragement, which in turn will bolster his self-esteem and courage. Stendhal is showing vanity, an early stage of love. Sensing the emptiness of the familiar address, Julien falls back on his reason, and he is content, momentarily, to found his happiness simply on being preferred by this haughty aristocrat. Now he is searching for a plan of conduct, making conversation to fill the silence: Mathilde joins in this \"substitute\" action, covering her horror at her own indiscretion by prattle about when they can meet again. In narrating their conversation, Stendhal has recourse to a method of narration called later \"style indirect libre,\" the initiation of which is attributed to Flaubert. It consists of quoting the words of the characters out of quotes, of narrating as if the characters were speaking. Julien offers his plan, not directly quoted as dialogue, but as part of the narration: \"What could be easier for them than to meet in the library and make arrangement for everything?\" and again: \"If Mathilde thought it better for him always to come by means of a ladder, he would expose himself to that slight danger with a heart overflowing with joy.\" Instead of helping to create an air of complicity, thus furthering their rendezvous and speeding it on to its climax, Julien's brilliance and self-assurance awaken Mathilde's pride and make her ask herself again whether Julien is now her master. \"If she had been able, she would have annihilated herself and Julien,\" says Stendhal in an abrupt manner, startling the reader. Stendhal prefers classical litotes to romantic hyperbole. Mathilde had not predicted this attitude of hers; thus do Stendhal's characters watch themselves develop, surprised at what they become. Eventually, her will silences her remorse, timidity, shyness, and wounded modesty, and she notes that she is not fulfilling her role: One speaks to one's lover. She therefore speaks tender words in a cold tone. She forces herself to permit herself to be seduced. From this act, typically hardly alluded to because of Stendhal's great modesty, neither feels pleasure. Their reactions are different, yet consistent with their character: Julien feels happiness only in retrospect as he rides in \"high solitude\"; Mathilde wonders why there has been such a distance between her ideal and the real, and she asks whether she really loves Julien. The reaction of both characters echoes Stendhal's own at his persistent disappointment with reality: N'est ce que ca?  Mathilde has emptied the act of pleasure for Julien because she has undertaken it as a duty to him and to herself. Julien had felt the same reaction after his first rendezvous with Mme. de Renal. He notices again, however, how inferior is this happiness with Mathilde to that which he knew with Mme. de Renal."}
text: CHAPTER XLIII
  
  A PLOT
  
  
          Disconnected remarks, casual meetings, become
          transformed in the eyes of an imaginative man into
          the most convincing proofs, if he has any fire in his
          temperament.--_Schiller_.
  
  
  The following day he again caught Norbert and his sister talking about
  him. A funereal silence was established on his arrival as on the
  previous day. His suspicions were now unbounded. "Can these charming
  young people have started to make fun of me? I must own this is much
  more probable, much more natural than any suggested passion on the part
  of mademoiselle de La Mole for a poor devil of a secretary. In the
  first place, have those people got any passions at all? Mystification
  is their strong point. They are jealous of my poor little superiority
  in speaking. Being jealous again is one of their weaknesses. On that
  basis everything is explicable. Mademoiselle de La Mole simply wants to
  persuade me that she is marking me out for special favour in order to
  show me off to her betrothed?"
  
  This cruel suspicion completely changed Julien's psychological
  condition. The idea found in his heart a budding love which it had no
  difficulty in destroying. This love was only founded on Mathilde's rare
  beauty, or rather on her queenly manners and her admirable dresses.
  Julien was still a parvenu in this respect. We are assured that there
  is nothing equal to a pretty society women for dazzling a peasant
  who is at the same time a man of intellect, when he is admitted to
  first class society. It had not been Mathilde's character which had
  given Julien food for dreams in the days that had just passed. He had
  sufficient sense to realise that he knew nothing about her character.
  All he saw of it might be merely superficial.
  
  For instance, Mathilde would not have missed mass on Sunday for
  anything in the world. She accompanied her mother there nearly every
  time. If when in the salon of the Hotel de La Mole some indiscreet man
  forgot where he was, and indulged in the remotest allusion to any jest
  against the real or supposed interests of Church or State, Mathilde
  immediately assumed an icy seriousness. Her previously arch expression
  re-assumed all the impassive haughtiness of an old family portrait.
  
  But Julien had assured himself that she always had one or two of
  Voltaire's most philosophic volumes in her room. He himself would
  often steal some tomes of that fine edition which was so magnificently
  bound. By moving each volume a little distance from the one next to it
  he managed to hide the absence of the one he took away, but he soon
  noticed that someone else was reading Voltaire. He had recourse to a
  trick worthy of the seminary and placed some pieces of hair on those
  volumes which he thought were likely to interest mademoiselle de La
  Mole. They disappeared for whole weeks.
  
  M. de La Mole had lost patience with his bookseller, who always sent
  him all the spurious memoirs, and had instructed Julien to buy all the
  new books, which were at all stimulating. But in order to prevent the
  poison spreading over the household, the secretary was ordered to place
  the books in a little book-case that stood in the marquis's own room.
  He was soon quite certain that although the new books were hostile to
  the interests of both State and Church, they very quickly disappeared.
  It was certainly not Norbert who read them.
  
  Julien attached undue importance to this discovery, and attributed to
  mademoiselle de la Mole a Machiavellian role. This seeming depravity
  constituted a charm in his eyes, the one moral charm, in fact, which
  she possessed. He was led into this extravagance by his boredom with
  hypocrisy and moral platitudes.
  
  It was more a case of his exciting his own imagination than of his
  being swept away by his love.
  
  It was only after he had abandoned himself to reveries about the
  elegance of mademoiselle de la Mole's figure, the excellent taste
  of he dress, the whiteness of her hand, the beauty of her arm, the
  _disinvoltura_ of all her movements, that he began to find himself in
  love. Then in order to complete the charm he thought her a Catherine
  de' Medici. Nothing was too deep or too criminal for the character
  which he ascribed to her. She was the ideal of the Maslons, the
  Frilairs, and the Castanedes whom he had admired so much in his youth.
  To put it shortly, she represented in his eyes the Paris ideal.
  
  Could anything possibly be more humorous than believing in the depth or
  in the depravity of the Parisian character?
  
  It is impossible that this _trio_ is making fun of me thought Julien.
  The reader knows little of his character if he has not begun already
  to imagine his cold and gloomy expression when he answered Mathilde's
  looks. A bitter irony rebuffed those assurances of friendship which the
  astonished mademoiselle de la Mole ventured to hazard on two or three
  occasions.
  
  Piqued by this sudden eccentricity, the heart of this young girl,
  though naturally cold, bored and intellectual, became as impassioned as
  it was naturally capable of being. But there was also a large element
  of pride in Mathilde's character, and the birth of a sentiment which
  made all her happiness dependent on another, was accompanied by a
  gloomy melancholy.
  
  Julien had derived sufficient advantage from his stay in Paris to
  appreciate that this was not the frigid melancholy of ennui. Instead
  of being keen as she had been on at homes, theatres, and all kinds of
  distractions, she now shunned them.
  
  Music sung by Frenchmen bored Mathilde to death, yet Julien, who
  always made a point of being present when the audience came out of the
  Opera, noticed that she made a point of getting taken there as often
  as she could. He thought he noticed that she had lost a little of that
  brilliant neatness of touch which used to be manifest in everything
  she did. She would sometimes answer her friends with jests rendered
  positively outrageous through the sheer force of their stinging energy.
  He thought that she made a special butt of the marquis de Croisenois.
  That young man must be desperately in love with money not to give the
  go-by to that girl, however rich she maybe, thought Julien. And as for
  himself, indignant at these outrages on masculine self-respect, he
  redoubled his frigidity towards her. Sometimes he went so far as to
  answer her with scant courtesy.
  
  In spite of his resolution not to become the dupe of Mathilde's signs
  of interest, these manifestations were so palpable on certain days, and
  Julien, whose eyes were beginning to be opened, began to find her so
  pretty, that he was sometimes embarrassed.
  
  "These young people of society will score in the long run by their
  skill and their coolness over my inexperience," he said to himself. "I
  must leave and put an end to all this." The marquis had just entrusted
  him with the administration of a number of small estates and houses
  which he possessed in Lower Languedoc. A journey was necessary; M. de
  la Mole reluctantly consented. Julien had become his other self, except
  in those matters which concerned his political career.
  
  "So, when we come to balance the account," Julien said to himself,
  as he prepared his departure, "they have not caught me. Whether the
  jests that mademoiselle de la Mole made to those gentlemen are real,
  or whether they were only intended to inspire me with confidence, they
  have simply amused me.
  
  "If there is no conspiracy against the carpenter's son, mademoiselle de
  la Mole is an enigma, but at any rate, she is quite as much an enigma
  for the marquis de Croisenois as she is to me. Yesterday, for instance,
  her bad temper was very real, and I had the pleasure of seeing her
  snub, thanks to her favour for me, a young man who is as noble and as
  rich as I am a poor scoundrel of a plebeian. That is my finest triumph;
  it will divert me in my post-chaise as I traverse the Languedoc plains."
  
  He had kept his departure a secret, but Mathilde knew, even better than
  he did himself, that he was going to leave Paris the following day for
  a long time. She developed a maddening headache, which was rendered
  worse by the stuffy salon. She walked a great deal in the garden, and
  persecuted Norbert, the marquis de Croisenois, Caylus, de Luz, and
  some other young men who had dined at the Hotel de la Mole, to such an
  extent by her mordant witticisms, that she drove them to take their
  leave. She kept looking at Julien in a strange way.
  
  "Perhaps that look is a pose," thought Julien, "but how about that
  hurried breathing and all that agitation? Bah," he said to himself,
  "who am I to judge of such things? We are dealing with the cream of
  Parisian sublimity and subtlety. As for that hurried breathing which
  was on the point of affecting me, she no doubt studied it with Leontine
  Fay, whom she likes so much."
  
  They were left alone; the conversation was obviously languishing. "No,
  Julien has no feeling for me," said Mathilde to herself, in a state of
  real unhappiness.
  
  As he was taking leave of her she took his arm violently.
  
  "You will receive a letter from me this evening," she said to him in a
  voice that was so changed that its tone was scarcely recognisable.
  
  This circumstance affected Julien immediately.
  
  "My father," she continued, "has a proper regard for the services you
  render him. You must not leave to-morrow; find an excuse." And she ran
  away.
  
  Her figure was charming. It was impossible to have a prettier foot. She
  ran with a grace which fascinated Julien, but will the reader guess
  what he began to think about after she had finally left him? He felt
  wounded by the imperious tone with which she had said the words, "you
  must." Louis XV. too, when on his death-bed, had been keenly irritated
  by the words "you must," which had been tactlessly pronounced by his
  first physician, and yet Louis XV. was not a parvenu.
  
  An hour afterwards a footman gave Julien a letter. It was quite simply
  a declaration of love.
  
  "The style is too affected," said Julien to himself, as he endeavoured
  to control by his literary criticism the joy which was spreading over
  his cheeks and forcing him to smile in spite of himself.
  
  At last his passionate exultation was too strong to be controlled. "So
  I," he suddenly exclaimed, "I, the poor peasant, get a declaration of
  love from a great lady."
  
  "As for myself, I haven't done so badly," he added, restraining his
  joy as much as he could. "I have managed to preserve my self-respect.
  I did not say that I loved her." He began to study the formation of
  the letters. Mademoiselle de la Mole had a pretty little English
  handwriting. He needed some concrete occupation to distract him from a
  joy which verged on delirium.
  
  "Your departure forces me to speak.... I could not bear not to see you
  again."
  
  A thought had just struck Julien like a new discovery. It interrupted
  his examination of Mathilde's letter, and redoubled his joy. "So I
  score over the marquis de Croisenois," he exclaimed. "Yes, I who could
  only talk seriously! And he is so handsome. He has a moustache and a
  charming uniform. He always manages to say something witty and clever
  just at the psychological moment."
  
  Julien experienced a delightful minute. He was wandering at random in
  the garden, mad with happiness.
  
  Afterwards he went up to his desk, and had himself ushered in to the
  marquis de la Mole, who was fortunately still in. He showed him several
  stamped papers which had come from Normandy, and had no difficulty
  in convincing him that he was obliged to put off his departure for
  Languedoc in order to look after the Normandy lawsuits.
  
  "I am very glad that you are not going," said the marquis to him, when
  they had finished talking business. "I like seeing you." Julien went
  out; the words irritated him.
  
  "And I--I am going to seduce his daughter! and perhaps render
  impossible that marriage with the marquis de Croisenois to which the
  marquis looks forward with such delight. If he does not get made a
  duke, at any rate his daughter will have a coronet." Julien thought of
  leaving for Languedoc in spite of Mathilde's letter, and in spite of
  the explanation he had just given to the marquis. This flash of virtue
  quickly disappeared.
  
  "How kind it is of me," he said to himself, "me ... a plebeian, takes
  pity on a family of this rank! Yes, me, whom the duke of Chaulnes
  calls a servant! How does the marquis manage to increase his immense
  fortune? By selling stock when he picks up information at the castle
  that there will be a panic of a _coup d'etat_ on the following day.
  And shall I, who have been flung down into the lowest class by a cruel
  providence--I, whom providence has given a noble heart but not an
  income of a thousand francs, that is to say, not enough to buy bread
  with, literally not enough to buy bread with--shall I refuse a pleasure
  that presents itself? A limpid fountain which will quench my thirst in
  this scorching desert of mediocrity which I am traversing with such
  difficulty! Upon my word, I am not such a fool! Each man for himself in
  that desert of egoism which is called life."
  
  And he remembered certain disdainful looks which madame de la Mole, and
  especially her lady friends, had favoured him with.
  
  The pleasure of scoring over the marquis de Croisenois completed the
  rout of this echo of virtue.
  
  "How I should like to make him angry," said Julien. "With what
  confidence would I give him a sword thrust now!" And he went through
  the segoon thrust. "Up till now I have been a mere usher, who exploited
  basely the little courage he had. After this letter I am his equal.
  
  "Yes," he slowly said to himself, with an infinite pleasure, "the
  merits of the marquis and myself have been weighed in the balance, and
  it is the poor carpenter from the Jura who turns the scale.
  
  "Good!" he exclaimed, "this is how I shall sign my answer. Don't
  imagine, mademoiselle de la Mole, that I am forgetting my place. I will
  make you realise and fully appreciate that it is for a carpenter's son
  that you are betraying a descendant of the famous Guy de Croisenois who
  followed St. Louis to the Crusade."
  
  Julien was unable to control his joy. He was obliged to go down into
  the garden. He had locked himself in his room, but he found it too
  narrow to breathe in.
  
  "To think of it being me, the poor peasant from the Jura," he kept
  on repeating to himself, "to think of it being me who am eternally
  condemned to wear this gloomy black suit! Alas twenty years ago I would
  have worn a uniform like they do! In those days a man like me either
  got killed or became a general at thirty-six. The letter which he held
  clenched in his hand gave him a heroic pose and stature. Nowadays, it
  is true, if one sticks to this black suit, one gets at forty an income
  of a hundred thousand francs and the blue ribbon like my lord bishop of
  Beauvais.
  
  "Well," he said to himself with a Mephistophelian smile, "I have more
  brains than they. I am shrewd enough to choose the uniform of my
  century. And he felt a quickening of his ambition and of his attachment
  to his ecclesiastical dress. What cardinals of even lower birth than
  mine have not succeeded in governing! My compatriot Granvelle, for
  instance."
  
  Julien's agitation became gradually calmed! Prudence emerged to the
  top. He said to himself like his master Tartuffe whose part he knew by
  heart:
  
      Je puis croire ces mots, un artifice honnete.
      *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *
      Je ne me firai point a des propos si doux,
      Qu'un peu de ses faveurs apres quoi je soupire
      Ne vienne m'assurer tout ce qu'ils m'ont pudire.
                                    _Tartuffe, act iv. Scene v_.
  
  "Tartuffe, too, was ruined by a woman, and he was as good as most
  men.... My answer may be shown.... and the way out of that is this," he
  added pronouncing his words slowly with an intonation of deliberate and
  restrained ferocity. "We will begin by quoting the most vivid passages
  from the letter of the sublime Mathilde."
  
  "Quite so, but M. de Croisenois' lackeys will hurl themselves upon me
  and snatch the original away."
  
  "No, they won't, for I am well armed, and as we know I am accustomed to
  firing on lackeys."
  
  "Well, suppose one of them has courage, and hurls himself upon me. He
  has been promised a hundred napoleons. I kill him, or wound him, good,
  that's what they want. I shall be thrown into prison legally. I shall
  be had up in the police court and the judges will send me with all
  justice and all equity to keep Messieurs Fontan and Magalon company
  in Poissy. There I shall be landed in the middle of four hundred
  scoundrels.... And am I to have the slightest pity on these people,"
  he exclaimed getting up impetuously! "Do they show any to persons of
  the third estate when they have them in their power!" With these words
  his gratitude to M. de la Mole, which had been in spite of himself
  torturing his conscience up to this time, breathed its last.
  
  "Softly, gentlemen, I follow this little Machiavellian trick, the abbe
  Maslon or M. Castanede of the seminary could not have done better. You
  will take the provocative letter away from me and I shall exemplify the
  second volume of Colonel Caron at Colmar."
  
  "One moment, gentlemen, I will send the fatal letter in a well-sealed
  packet to M. the abbe Pirard to take care of. He's an honest man, a
  Jansenist, and consequently incorruptible. Yes, but he will open the
  letters.... Fouque is the man to whom I must send it."
  
  We must admit that Julien's expression was awful, his countenance
  ghastly; it breathed unmitigated criminality. It represented the
  unhappy man at war with all society.
  
  "To arms," exclaimed Julien. And he bounded up the flight of steps
  of the hotel with one stride. He entered the stall of the street
  scrivener; he frightened him. "Copy this," he said, giving him
  mademoiselle de la Mole's letter.
  
  While the scrivener was working, he himself wrote to Fouque. He asked
  him to take care of a valuable deposit. "But he said to himself,"
  breaking in upon his train of thought, "the secret service of the
  post-office will open my letter, and will give you gentlemen the one
  you are looking for ... not quite, gentlemen." He went and bought an
  enormous Bible from a Protestant bookseller, skillfully hid Mathilde's
  letter in the cover, and packed it all up. His parcel left by the
  diligence addressed to one of Fouque's workmen, whose name was known to
  nobody at Paris.
  
  This done, he returned to the Hotel de la Mole, joyous and buoyant.
  
  Now it's our turn he exclaimed as he locked himself into the room and
  threw off his coat.
  
  "What! mademoiselle," he wrote to Mathilde, "is it mademoiselle de la
  Mole who gets Arsene her father's lackey to hand an only too flattering
  letter to a poor carpenter from the Jura, in order no doubt to make
  fun of his simplicity?" And he copied out the most explicit phrases in
  the letter which he had just received. His own letter would have done
  honour to the diplomatic prudence of M. the Chevalier de Beauvoisis.
  It was still only ten o'clock when Julien entered the Italian opera,
  intoxicated with happiness and that feeling of his own power which was
  so novel for a poor devil like him. He heard his friend Geronimo sing.
  Music had never exalted him to such a pitch.
  
  
  
  
  
  CHAPTER XLIV
  
  A YOUNG GIRL'S THOUGHTS
  
  
          What perplexity! What sleepless nights! Great God. Am I
          going to make myself contemptible? He will despise me
          himself. But he is leaving, he is going away.
                                      _Alfred de Musset_
  
  
  Mathilde had not written without a struggle. Whatever might have been
  the beginning of her interest in Julien, it soon dominated that pride
  which had reigned unchallenged in her heart since she had begun to know
  herself. This cold and haughty soul was swept away for the first time
  by a sentiment of passion, but if this passion dominated her pride,
  it still kept faithfully to the habits of that pride. Two months of
  struggles and new sensations had transformed, so to speak her whole
  moral life.
  
  Mathilde thought she was in sight of happiness. This vista,
  irresistible as it is for those who combine a superior intellect with
  a courageous soul, had to struggle for a long time against her self
  respect and all her vulgar duties. One day she went into her mother's
  room at seven o'clock in the morning and asked permission to take
  refuge in Villequier. The marquise did not even deign to answer her,
  and advised her to go back to bed. This was the last effort of vulgar
  prudence and respect for tradition.
  
  The fear of doing wrong and of offending those ideas which the
  Caylus's, the de Luz's, the Croisenois' held for sacred had little
  power over her soul. She considered such creatures incapable of
  understanding her. She would have consulted them, if it had been a
  matter of buying a carriage or an estate. Her real fear was that Julien
  was displeased with her.
  
  "Perhaps he, too, has only the appearance of a superior man?"
  
  She abhorred lack of character; that was her one objection to the
  handsome young men who surrounded her. The more they made elegant
  fun of everything which deviated from the prevailing mode, or which
  conformed to it but indifferently, the lower they fell in her eyes.
  
  They were brave and that was all. "And after all in what way were they
  brave?" she said to herself. "In duels, but the duel is nothing more
  than a formality. The whole thing is mapped out beforehand, even the
  correct thing to say when you fall. Stretched on the turf, and with
  your hand on your heart, you must vouchsafe a generous forgiveness to
  the adversary, and a few words for a fair lady, who is often imaginary,
  or if she does exist, will go to a ball on the day of your death for
  fear of arousing suspicion."
  
  "One braves danger at the head of a squadron brilliant with steel, but
  how about that danger which is solitary, strange, unforeseen and really
  ugly."
  
  "Alas," said Mathilde to herself, "it was at the court of Henri III.
  that men who were great both by character and by birth were to be
  found! Yes! If Julien had served at Jarnac or Moncontour, I should no
  longer doubt. In those days of strength and vigour Frenchmen were not
  dolls. The day of the battle was almost the one which presented the
  fewest problems."
  
  Their life was not imprisoned, like an Egyptian mummy in a covering
  which was common to all, and always the same. "Yes," she added, "there
  was more real courage in going home alone at eleven o'clock in the
  evening when one came out of the Hotel de Soissons where Catherine
  de' Medici lived than there is nowadays in running over to Algiers.
  A man's life was then a series of hazards. Nowadays civilisation has
  banished hazard. There are no more surprises. If anything new appears
  in any idea there are not sufficient epigrams to immortalise it, but if
  anything new appears in actual life, our panic reaches the lowest depth
  of cowardice. Whatever folly panic makes us commit is excused. What a
  degenerate and boring age! What would Boniface de la Mole have said
  if, lifting his cut-off head out of the tomb, he had seen seventeen of
  his descendants allow themselves to be caught like sheep in 1793 in
  order to be guillotined two days afterwards! Death was certain, but it
  would have been bad form to have defended themselves and to have killed
  at least one or two Jacobins. Yes! in the heroic days of France, in
  the age of Boniface de la Mole, Julien would have been the chief of
  a squadron, while my brother would have been the young priest with
  decorous manners, with wisdom in his eyes and reason on his lips." Some
  months previously Mathilde had given up all hope of meeting any being
  who was a little different from the common pattern. She had found some
  happiness in allowing herself to write to some young society men. This
  rash procedure, which was so unbecoming and so imprudent in a young
  girl, might have disgraced her in the eyes of M. de Croisenois, the
  Duke de Chaulnes, his father, and the whole Hotel de Chaulnes, who on
  seeing the projected marriage broken off would have wanted to know the
  reason. At that time Mathilde had been unable to sleep on those days
  when she had written one of her letters. But those letters were only
  answers. But now she ventured to declare her own love. She wrote first
  (what a terrible word!) to a man of the lowest social grade.
  
  This circumstance rendered her eternal disgrace quite inevitable in the
  event of detection. Who of the women who visited her mother would have
  dared to take her part? What official excuse could be evolved which
  could successfully cope with the awful contempt of society.
  
  Besides speaking was awful enough, but writing! "There are some
  things which are not written!" Napoleon had exclaimed on learning of
  the capitulation of Baylen. And it was Julien who had told her that
  epigram, as though giving her a lesson that was to come in useful
  subsequently.
  
  But all this was comparatively unimportant, Mathilde's anguish had
  other causes. Forgetting the terrible effect it would produce on
  society, and the ineffable blot on her scutcheon that would follow such
  an outrage on her own caste, Mathilde was going to write to a person
  of a very different character to the Croisenois', the de Luz's, the
  Caylus's.
  
  She would have been frightened at the depth and mystery in Julien's
  character, even if she had merely entered into a conventional
  acquaintance with him. And she was going to make him her lover, perhaps
  her master.
  
  "What will his pretensions not be, if he is ever in a position to do
  everything with me? Well! I shall say, like Medea: _Au milieu de tant
  de perils il me reste Moi_." She believed that Julien had no respect
  for nobility of blood. What was more, he probably did not love her.
  
  In these last moments of awful doubt her feminine pride suggested to
  her certain ideas. "Everything is bound to be extraordinary in the life
  of a girl like me," exclaimed Mathilde impatiently. The pride, which
  had been drilled into her since her cradle, began to struggle with her
  virtue. It was at this moment that Julien's departure precipitated
  everything.
  
  (Such characters are luckily very rare.)
  
  Very late in the evening, Julien was malicious enough to have a very
  heavy trunk taken down to the porter's lodge. He called the valet, who
  was courting mademoiselle de la Mole's chambermaid, to move it. "This
  manoeuvre cannot result in anything," he said to himself, "but if it
  does succeed, she will think that I have gone." Very tickled by this
  humorous thought, he fell asleep. Mathilde did not sleep a wink.
  
  Julien left the hotel very early the next morning without being seen,
  but he came back before eight o'clock.
  
  He had scarcely entered the library before M. de la Mole appeared
  on the threshold. He handed her his answer. He thought that it was
  his duty to speak to her, it was certainly perfectly feasible, but
  mademoiselle de la Mole would not listen to him and disappeared. Julien
  was delighted. He did not know what to say.
  
  "If all this is not a put up job with comte Norbert, it is clear that
  it is my cold looks which have kindled the strange love which this
  aristocratic girl chooses to entertain for me. I should be really
  too much of a fool if I ever allowed myself to take a fancy to that
  big blonde doll." This train of reasoning left him colder and more
  calculating than he had ever been.
  
  "In the battle for which we are preparing," he added, "pride of birth
  will be like a high hill which constitutes a military position between
  her and me. That must be the field of the manoeuvres. I made a great
  mistake in staying in Paris; this postponing of my departure cheapens
  and exposes me, if all this is simply a trick. What danger was there in
  leaving? If they were making fun of me, I was making fun of them. If
  her interest for me was in any way real, I was making that interest a
  hundred times more intense."
  
  Mademoiselle de la Mole's letter had given Julien's vanity so keen a
  pleasure, that wreathed as he was in smiles at his good fortune he had
  forgotten to think seriously about the propriety of leaving.
  
  It was one of the fatal elements of his character to be extremely
  sensitive to his own weaknesses. He was extremely upset by this one,
  and had almost forgotten the incredible victory which had preceded this
  slight check, when about nine o'clock mademoiselle de la Mole appeared
  on the threshold of the library, flung him a letter and ran away.
  
  "So this is going to be the romance by letters," he said as he picked
  it up. "The enemy makes a false move; I will reply by coldness and
  virtue."
  
  He was asked with a poignancy which merely increased his inner gaiety
  to give a definite answer. He indulged in the pleasure of mystifying
  those persons who he thought wanted to make fun of him for two pages,
  and it was out of humour again that he announced towards the end of his
  answer his definite departure on the following morning.
  
  "The garden will be a useful place to hand her the letter," he thought
  after he had finished it, and he went there. He looked at the window of
  mademoiselle de la Mole's room.
  
  It was on the first storey, next to her mother's apartment, but there
  was a large ground floor.
  
  This latter was so high that, as Julien walked under the avenue
  of pines with his letter in his hands, he could not be seen from
  mademoiselle de la Mole's window. The dome formed by the well clipped
  pines intercepted the view. "What!" said Julien to himself angrily,
  "another indiscretion! If they have really begun making fun of me,
  showing myself with a letter is playing into my enemy's hands."
  
  Norbert's room was exactly above his sister's and if Julien came out
  from under the dome formed by the clipped branches of the pine, the
  comte and his friend could follow all his movements.
  
  Mademoiselle de la Mole appeared behind her window; he half showed his
  letter; she lowered her head, then Julien ran up to his own room and
  met accidentally on the main staircase the fair Mathilde, who seized
  the letter with complete self-possession and smiling eyes.
  
  "What passion there was in the eyes of that poor madame de Renal," said
  Julien to himself, "when she ventured to receive a letter from me,
  even after six months of intimate relationship! I don't think she ever
  looked at me with smiling eyes in her whole life."
  
  He did not formulate so precisely the rest of his answer; was he
  perhaps ashamed of the triviality of the motive which were actuating
  him?
  
  "But how different too," he went on to think, "are her elegant morning
  dress and her distinguished appearance! A man of taste on seeing
  mademoiselle de la Mole thirty yards off would infer the position which
  she occupies in society. That is what can be called a specific merit."
  
  In spite of all this humorousness, Julien was not yet quite honest with
  himself; madame de Renal had no marquis de Croisenois to sacrifice to
  him. His only rival was that grotesque sub-prefect, M. Charcot, who
  assumed the name of Maugiron, because there were no Maugirons left in
  France.
  
  At five o'clock Julien received a third letter. It was thrown to him
  from the library door. Mademoiselle de la Mole ran away again. "What
  a mania for writing," he said to himself with a laugh, "when one can
  talk so easily. The enemy wants my letters, that is clear, and many of
  them." He did not hurry to open this one. "More elegant phrases," he
  thought; but he paled as he read it. There were only eight lines.
  
  "I need to speak to you; I must speak to you this evening. Be in
  the garden at the moment when one o'clock is striking. Take the big
  gardeners' ladder near the well; place it against my window, and climb
  up to my room. It is moonlight; never mind."
  
  
  
  
  
  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.
  
  
  
  
  
  CHAPTER XLVI
  
  ONE O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING
  
  
          This garden was very big, it had been planned a
          few years ago in perfect taste. But the trees were
          more than a century old. It had a certain rustic
          atmosphere.--_Massinger_.
  
  
  He was going to write a countermanding letter to Fouque when eleven
  o'clock struck. He noisily turned the lock of the door of his room as
  though he had locked himself in. He went with a sleuth-like step to
  observe what was happening over the house, especially on the fourth
  storey where the servants slept. There was nothing unusual. One of
  madame de la Mole's chambermaids was giving an entertainment, the
  servants were taking punch with much gaiety. "Those who laugh like
  that," thought Julien, "cannot be participating in the nocturnal
  expedition; if they were, they would be more serious."
  
  Eventually he stationed himself in an obscure corner of the garden. "If
  their plan is to hide themselves from the servants of the house, they
  will despatch the persons whom they have told off to surprise me over
  the garden wall.
  
  "If M. de Croisenois shows any sense of proportion in this matter, he
  is bound to find it less compromising for the young person, whom he
  wishes to make his wife if he has me surprised before I enter her room."
  
  He made a military and extremely detailed reconnaissance. "My honour is
  at stake," he thought. "If I tumble into some pitfall it will not be an
  excuse in my own eyes to say, 'I never thought of it.'"
  
  The weather was desperately serene. About eleven o'clock the moon rose,
  at half-past twelve it completely illuminated the facade of the hotel
  looking out upon the garden.
  
  "She is mad," Julien said to himself. As one o'clock struck there
  was still a light in comte Norbert's windows. Julien had never been
  so frightened in his life, he only saw the dangers of the enterprise
  and had no enthusiasm at all. He went and took the immense ladder,
  waited five minutes to give her time to tell him not to go, and five
  minutes after one placed the ladder against Mathilde's window. He
  mounted softly, pistol in hand, astonished at not being attacked. As he
  approached the window it opened noiselessly.
  
  "So there you are, monsieur," said Mathilde to him with considerable
  emotion. "I have been following your movements for the last hour."
  
  Julien was very much embarrassed. He did not know how to conduct
  himself. He did not feel at all in love. He thought in his
  embarrassment that he ought to be venturesome. He tried to kiss
  Mathilde.
  
  "For shame," she said to him, pushing him away.
  
  Extremely glad at being rebuffed, he hastened to look round him. The
  moon was so brilliant that the shadows which it made in mademoiselle de
  la Mole's room were black. "It's quite possible for men to be concealed
  without my seeing them," he thought.
  
  "What have you got in your pocket at the side of your coat?" Mathilde
  said to him, delighted at finding something to talk about. She was
  suffering strangely; all those sentiments of reserve and timidity which
  were so natural to a girl of good birth, had reasserted their dominion
  and were torturing her.
  
  "I have all kinds of arms and pistols," answered Julien equally glad at
  having something to say.
  
  "You must take the ladder away," said Mathilde.
  
  "It is very big, and may break the windows of the salon down below or
  the room on the ground floor."
  
  "You must not break the windows," replied Mathilde making a vain effort
  to assume an ordinary conversational tone; "it seems to me you can
  lower the ladder by tying a cord to the first rung. I have always a
  supply of cords at hand."
  
  "So this is a woman in love," thought Julien. "She actually dares to
  say that she is in love. So much self-possession and such shrewdness in
  taking precautions are sufficient indications that I am not triumphing
  over M. de Croisenois as I foolishly believed, but that I am simply
  succeeding him. As a matter of fact, what does it matter to me? Do I
  love her? I am triumphing over the marquis in so far as he would be
  very angry at having a successor, and angrier still at that successor
  being myself. How haughtily he looked at me this evening in the Cafe
  Tortoni when he pretended not to recognise me! And how maliciously he
  bowed to me afterwards, when he could not get out of it."
  
  Julien had tied the cord to the last rung of the ladder. He lowered it
  softly and leant far out of the balcony in order to avoid its touching
  the window pane. "A fine opportunity to kill me," he thought, "if
  anyone is hidden in Mathilde's room;" but a profound silence continued
  to reign everywhere.
  
  The ladder touched the ground. Julien succeeded in laying it on the
  border of the exotic flowers along side the wall.
  
  "What will my mother say," said Mathilde, "when she sees her beautiful
  plants all crushed? You must throw down the cord," she added with great
  self-possession. "If it were noticed going up to the balcony, it would
  be a difficult circumstance to explain."
  
  "And how am I to get away?" said Julien in a jesting tone affecting the
  Creole accent. (One of the chambermaids of the household had been born
  in Saint-Domingo.)
  
  "You? Why you will leave by the door," said Mathilde, delighted at the
  idea.
  
  "Ah! how worthy this man is of all my love," she thought.
  
  Julien had just let the cord fall into the garden; Mathilde grasped
  his arm. He thought he had been seized by an enemy and turned round
  sharply, drawing a dagger. She had thought that she had heard a window
  opening. They remained motionless and scarcely breathed. The moonlight
  lit up everything. The noise was not renewed and there was no more
  cause for anxiety.
  
  Then their embarrassment began again; it was great on both sides.
  Julien assured himself that the door was completely locked; he thought
  of looking under the bed, but he did not dare; "they might have
  stationed one or two lackeys there." Finally he feared that he might
  reproach himself in the future for this lack of prudence, and did
  look. Mathilde had fallen into all the anguish of the most extreme
  timidity. She was horrified at her position.
  
  "What have you done with my letters?" she said at last.
  
  "What a good opportunity to upset these gentlemen, if they are
  eavesdropping, and thus avoiding the battle," thought Julien.
  
  "The first is hid in a big Protestant Bible, which last night's
  diligence is taking far away from here."
  
  He spoke very distinctly as he went into these details, so as to be
  heard by any persons who might be concealed in two large mahogany
  cupboards which he had not dared to inspect.
  
  "The other two are in the post and are bound for the same destination
  as the first."
  
  "Heavens, why all these precautions?" said Mathilde in alarm.
  
  "What is the good of my lying?" thought Julien, and he confessed all
  his suspicions.
  
  "So that's the cause for the coldness of your letters, dear," exclaimed
  Mathilde in a tone of madness rather than of tenderness.
  
  Julien did not notice that nuance. The endearment made him lose his
  head, or at any rate his suspicions vanished. He dared to clasp in his
  arms that beautiful girl who inspired him with such respect. He was
  only partially rebuffed. He fell back on his memory as he had once at
  Besancon with Armanda Binet, and recited by heart several of the finest
  phrases out of the _Nouvelle Heloise_.
  
  "You have the heart of a man," was the answer she made without
  listening too attentively to his phrases; "I wanted to test your
  courage, I confess it. Your first suspicions and your resolutions show
  you even more intrepid, dear, than I had believed."
  
  Mathilde had to make an effort to call him "dear," and was evidently
  paying more attention to this strange method of speech than to
  the substance of what she was saying. Being called "dear" without
  any tenderness in the tone afforded no pleasure to Julien; he was
  astonished at not being happy, and eventually fell back on his
  reasoning in order to be so. He saw that he was respected by this proud
  young girl who never gave undeserved praise; by means of this reasoning
  he managed to enjoy the happiness of satisfied vanity. It was not,
  it was true, that soulful pleasure which he had sometimes found with
  madame de Renal. There was no element of tenderness in the feelings
  of these first few minutes. It was the keen happiness of a gratified
  ambition, and Julien was, above all, ambitious. He talked again of
  the people whom he had suspected and of the precautions which he had
  devised. As he spoke, he thought of the best means of exploiting his
  victory.
  
  Mathilde was still very embarrassed and seemed paralysed by the
  steps which she had taken. She appeared delighted to find a topic
  of conversation. They talked of how they were to see each other
  again. Julien extracted a delicious joy from the consciousness of
  the intelligence and the courage, of which he again proved himself
  possessed during this discussion. They had to reckon with extremely
  sharp people, the little Tanbeau was certainly a spy, but Mathilde and
  himself as well had their share of cleverness.
  
  What was easier than to meet in the library, and there make all
  arrangements?
  
  "I can appear in all parts of the hotel," added Julien, "without
  rousing suspicion almost, in fact, in madame de la Mole's own room."
  It was absolutely necessary to go through it in order to reach her
  daughter's room. If Mathilde thought it preferable for him always to
  come by a ladder, then he would expose himself to that paltry danger
  with a heart intoxicated with joy.
  
  As she listened to him speaking, Mathilde was shocked by this air of
  triumph. "So he is my master," she said to herself, she was already a
  prey to remorse. Her reason was horrified at the signal folly which she
  had just committed. If she had had the power she would have annihilated
  both herself and Julien. When for a few moments she managed by sheer
  will-power to silence her pangs of remorse, she was rendered very
  unhappy by her timidity and wounded shame. She had quite failed to
  foresee the awful plight in which she now found herself.
  
  "I must speak to him, however," she said at last. "That is the proper
  thing to do. One does talk to one's lover." And then with a view of
  accomplishing a duty, and with a tenderness which was manifested rather
  in the words which she employed than in the inflection of her voice,
  she recounted various resolutions which she had made concerning him
  during the last few days.
  
  She had decided that if he should dare to come to her room by the help
  of the gardener's ladder according to his instructions, she would be
  entirely his. But never were such tender passages spoken in a more
  polite and frigid tone. Up to the present this assignation had been
  icy. It was enough to make one hate the name of love. What a lesson
  in morality for a young and imprudent girl! Is it worth while to ruin
  one's future for moments such as this?
  
  After long fits of hesitation which a superficial observer might have
  mistaken for the result of the most emphatic hate (so great is the
  difficulty which a woman's self-respect finds in yielding even to so
  firm a will as hers) Mathilde became eventually a charming mistress.
  
  In point of fact, these ecstasies were a little artificial. Passionate
  love was still more the model which they imitated than a real actuality.
  
  Mademoiselle de la Mole thought she was fulfilling a duty towards
  herself and towards her lover. "The poor boy," she said to herself,
  "has shewn a consummate bravery. He deserves to be happy or it is
  really I who will be shewing a lack of character." But she would have
  been glad to have redeemed the cruel necessity in which she found
  herself even at the price of an eternity of unhappiness.
  
  In spite of the awful violence she was doing to herself she was
  completely mistress of her words.
  
  No regret and no reproach spoiled that night which Julien found
  extraordinary rather than happy. Great heavens! what a difference to
  his last twenty-four hours' stay in Verrieres. These fine Paris manners
  manage to spoil everything, even love, he said to himself, quite
  unjustly.
  
  He abandoned himself to these reflections as he stood upright in one of
  the great mahogany cupboards into which he had been put at the sign of
  the first sounds of movement in the neighbouring apartment, which was
  madame de la Mole's. Mathilde followed her mother to mass, the servants
  soon left the apartment and Julien easily escaped before they came back
  to finish their work.
  
  He mounted a horse and tried to find the most solitary spots in one
  of the forests near Paris. He was more astonished than happy. The
  happiness which filled his soul from time to time resembled that of a
  young sub-lieutenant who as the result of some surprising feat has just
  been made a full-fledged colonel by the commander-in-chief; he felt
  himself lifted up to an immense height. Everything which was above him
  the day before was now on a level with him or even below him. Little
  by little Julien's happiness increased in proportion as he got further
  away from Paris.
  
  If there was no tenderness in his soul, the reason was that, however
  strange it may appear to say so, Mathilde had in everything she had
  done, simply accomplished a duty. The only thing she had not foreseen
  in all the events of that night, was the shame and unhappiness which
  she had experienced instead of that absolute felicity which is found in
  novels.
  
  "Can I have made a mistake, and not be in love with him?" she said to
  herself.
  
  
  
  
  
  
feat_summary_name: Chapters 13-16
target: Julien finds himself in love with the beauty and charm of Mathilde, and even his previous black vision of her as a Catherine de Medici forms part of the ideal she is becoming for him. Convinced, however, that he will be made a dupe, Julien pretexts a business trip to Mole's estates in the Languedoc. This threat of departure moves Mathilde to action, and in the declaration of love that she writes him, she states that it would be beyond her strength to be separated from him. Julien is overjoyed at this avowal and convinces Mole that the latter's affairs in Normandy now require a change in plans and Julien's presence in Paris. Mole's joy at Julien's plans causes a conflict to rise for Julien. How can he seduce the daughter of a man who has been so kind and who is so attached to him? He silences this scruple and, still driven by his mistrust of these aristocrats, devises a plan whereby, if need be, there will exist proof of Mathilde's attempt to seduce him. He copies the letter and sends it in a Bible to his friend Fouque for safekeeping. Then he composes a truly diplomatic letter as an answer to Mathilde, an answer that does not compromise him. Mathilde writes Julien a second letter, impatiently demanding an answer. Julien complies but admits nothing and announces his imminent departure from Paris. In order to deliver it to her, he strolls in the garden, and there he catches her eye as she watches him from her room. The next exchange contains her queenly command that Julien is to come to her room by means of a ladder at one o'clock. The evening before the rendezvous finds Julien still debating over Mathilde's intentions. Prepared for the worst, Julien imagines the various means at the disposal of the conspirators to capture, murder, and disgrace him. He sends more copies of Mathilde's letters to Fouque, together with a sealed denunciation to be circulated to various newspapers in the event of a catastrophe. Julien tries, in vain, to read betrayal on the face of the servants and of Mathilde during dinner. He strolls in the garden, wishing that she would appear to reassure him. He then reproaches himself for having stooped to ingratitude that would compromise the honor of such a noble family. He regrets having mailed the letters to Fouque. At the appointed hour, Julien climbs the ladder to Mathilde's window. Their first moments of conversation are forced, and both are very ill at ease. Julien stealthily inspects the premises, searching for concealed enemies. Finally he confesses his suspicions to Mathilde. They search desperately for subjects of conversation. Julien's evident assurance as he projects future meetings causes Mathilde to realize with horror that she has given herself a master. After much hesitation, Mathilde decides that she owes it to Julien, who has displayed much courage by appearing, to give herself to him. Neither finds pleasure, however, in the act of love. Julien departs before dawn, riding to the heights of Meudon, where at last he finds happiness. Mathilde asks herself whether she loves Julien after all.
feat_summary_analysis: These chapters relate the development, manifestations, and expressions of the duel of love that is waged between Julien and Mathilde. Chapter 16 culminates in the first rendezvous in her room, representing a definitive victory for Julien. Although Julien has certainly been formed by the action since his days in Verrieres, his success with Mathilde depends on his own blundering, which is reminiscent of his affair with Mme. de Renal. It is his distrust, his suspicion that he will be made a dupe, that prevent him from accepting Mathilde's overt advances. This coldness, on the other hand, is exactly what encourages Mathilde, and her fear of losing Julien prompts her to make the first written avowal. In spite of Stendhal's ironic treatment of the lovers' dilemma, Julien remains the fictitious Stendhal who coolly puts into operation what Stendhal himself had learned about the mechanism of love, as expressed in De L'Amour. As it has been shown, Julien is vaguely aware of the uniqueness of the psychology of this haughty Mathilde, but he is unable yet to exploit his knowledge efficaciously. The element of gratuitous victory is also present in his evaluation of her character. He sees her as Machiavellian, exaggerating her duplicity. She is, in fact, complex and strange, but not in that way. He is, therefore, right and wrong simultaneously. Stendhal gives to Julien an awareness of his own crystallization process. Julien attributes to Mathilde all qualities; he imagines her to be Catherine de Medici: "Nothing was too profound or too criminal for the character he ascribed to her." Julien, like Mathilde, seems to be in love with an ideal. Mathilde is undergoing the same torment, fearing that Julien feels nothing for her. The theme of self-delusion, manifest here in the area of love, is one of the dominant Stendhalian themes and constitutes part of his uniqueness as a psychological novelist. The rationalization that Julien makes of the affront of which he is guilty toward M. de la Mole is a very convincing demonstration of the title of the novel. Julien vindictively shouts his battle cry: It's every man for himself in this desert of selfishness known as life. Why should providence have given him such a noble soul and not the material success that should accompany it? He has been denied the brilliant uniform that Croisenois wears, but he has known how to choose the uniform of his time -- the priest's cassock that could ultimately become a cardinal's robe. Julien sees the necessity of a strategic campaign, cloaked in duplicity, as the only means to success. He begins the attack by composing his diplomatic letter to Mathilde. Chapter 14 illustrates again Stendhal's concentric-circle technique of narration. He now returns to a description of the circumstances surrounding the delivery of the first letter to Julien, this time from Mathilde's point of view. Like Julien, Mathilde has undergone a conflict as her love has progressed. She has feared that she is not loved, and the new fear is born, to become stronger later, that she has given herself a master. Stendhal then shifts to Julien's point of view, proceeding to the second and third letters from Mathilde. Still undecided as to the reality that confronts him, Julien plans for both eventualities: either Mathilde's love for him, regulated by her pride, or the comedy in which his adversaries would make him the dupe. He realizes that he made a mistake by not leaving as he had threatened; therefore, his answer to Mathilde's second letter announces, in effect, that this time he will leave. The result in this comedy of errors is that Mathilde gives him a rendezvous. Without really being conscious of it, Julien has successfully used, on two occasions, a threat of departure to bring about the seduction of Mathilde. He is re-enacting his experience with Mme. de Renal. In the interior monologue preceding the rendezvous, Julien sees himself as most assuredly a victim of his imagined conspirators. The scene is perhaps the most exemplary in the novel of the almost paranoiac state into which the hero is capable of working himself. It is hardly a question of withdrawing at this point. Things have progressed too far, and honor forbids him from shirking his duty. A bust of Richelieu silently reproaches him and rids him early of any doubt but that the rendezvous will take place. What he debates is how to rehabilitate his personal honor, how to justify himself after the scandal, the eruption of which looms as a certainty. That nothing could convince him of the contrary is evidenced by the fact that he "sees" conspiracy in the servants' faces and a medieval grandeur in the face of Mathilde. He is imposing his own fears on reality. Note how even this impending doom for himself that he sees on Mathilde's face is intimately related with his love for her: "He nearly fell in love with her." The Stendhalian hero permits himself to be afraid without shame because he has resolved to have the courage before the event itself. This attests to the self-imposed honesty and astringent morality by which Julien lives. He is presented truly as the military commander surveying the battlefield, anxiously awaiting the offensive. Julien is capable of detachment and of a sort of ironic self-scrutiny. This is a kind of insurance against ridicule that Stendhal permits Julien to create. After all, Julien does not take himself too seriously, just as Stendhal has not been his own dupe. Julien repents for having sent the letters to Fouque. He sees the possible circulation of the documents as a base action on his own part since posterity would see in him an ingrate who would resort to attacking a woman's honor. He is now at the point of preferring to be a dupe, his personal honor requiring self-immolation in silence. Note the rapidity of Stendhal's pace in narration, imitating, thereby, the mental processes of Julien. Chapter 16 begins without a break from the end of the preceding by the running interior monologue of the hero. Although Julien has never been so afraid in his life, waiting at any moment for the conspirators to strike, he assures himself that he has left no eventuality without consideration, so that he will not be able to reproach himself in the event of a blunder. Arriving at Mathilde's window with his pistol in hand, Julien goes to battle. The rendezvous scene is rightly reputed as one of Stendhal's masterpieces in psychological analysis. The scene is very dramatic and fast moving. These effects are achieved by the use of short, terse sentences, both by Stendhal in commenting and by the characters in dialogue. A second contributing factor is the structure: Stendhal alternates consistently in his presentation, first of Julien's, then of Mathilde's view of the situation, adding commentaries and making analysis after the remarks of each character. Alternation is necessitated by the nature of the characters and of their love. Both have conceived a role that they are playing, and the roles prove inadequate to the occasion. Such a rendezvous demands passion, spontaneity, forgetfulness of self. Both are self-conscious, scheming, suspicious, acting out a preconceived conduct. It is the bifurcation of two characters into an identical role and their own individual "doubling" in the presence of the other that make the scene basically comic-heroic. A rapid sketch of their respective states -- internal and the manner in which they find external expression-follows: Mathilde has been observing Julien for an hour and is now very emotional. Nonetheless, she addresses him as "Monsieur." Julien has thought only of the ambush he expects and therefore is ill-prepared. He remembers, in his embarrassment, that his role requires that he be romantic; therefore, he attempts to embrace Mathilde. Her refusal, stemming, no doubt, from timidity and from her preference of the ideal to the real, puts Julien back on the defensive. This explains his reaction: ". . . overjoyed at being repulsed, he hastened to look around." Mathilde is delighted to find a topic of conversation, she is so unprepared for this "real" situation. She asks what Julien has in his pockets. Julien, likewise embarrassed, is pleased to have conversational subject matter and explains that he is carrying an "arsenal." Then it is a question of how to dispose of the ladder. Mathilde adopts a tone of normal conversation, admonishing Julien not to break the windows, lamenting over the flowers crushed as the ladder falls. Julien, seemingly dedicated to the idea of self-defeat, sees Mathilde's supply of rope as proof that Croisenois has triumphed over him after all since he, Julien, must not be the first to have visited her room. Julien becomes suspicious again, but he has enough resourcefulness and presence of mind to playfully adopt a Creole accent. This effort does not escape Mathilde's attention, and she joins in the game, seeing this as a manifestation of Julien's superiority, thus justifying, in her own eyes, her love for him. When she takes his arm, his violent reaction is one of suspicion again, and he draws his dagger. There reigns a complicity of silence as they are listening for a menacing noise. Then returns the embarrassing silence. Julien busies himself with measures of security; Mathilde has just awakened to the compromising situation her daring has put her into. This leads her to ask what has happened to her letters. Julien, still distrustful, explains the measures he has taken to safeguard himself, believing that his hidden enemies will hear his words. Mathilde's amazement calls forth a sincere avowal on Julien's part of his suspicions. Mathilde has now switched to "tu," but her tone belies this familiarity. This encourages Julien to embrace her, and she only half repulses the embrace. Now Julien is more the master of himself and, relying on recollection of his past successes, begins reciting love passages from Rousseau. Mathilde, not even hearing them, but carrying on her own mental debate, announces that she finds his courage in coming proof that he merits her love. Each is attempting to capture reflections of the "self," not to direct attention to the "other." Therefore, what is actually occurring are two separate monologues: Mathilde looking for evidence that Julien is worthy of the sacrifice she has made, Julien looking for encouragement, which in turn will bolster his self-esteem and courage. Stendhal is showing vanity, an early stage of love. Sensing the emptiness of the familiar address, Julien falls back on his reason, and he is content, momentarily, to found his happiness simply on being preferred by this haughty aristocrat. Now he is searching for a plan of conduct, making conversation to fill the silence: Mathilde joins in this "substitute" action, covering her horror at her own indiscretion by prattle about when they can meet again. In narrating their conversation, Stendhal has recourse to a method of narration called later "style indirect libre," the initiation of which is attributed to Flaubert. It consists of quoting the words of the characters out of quotes, of narrating as if the characters were speaking. Julien offers his plan, not directly quoted as dialogue, but as part of the narration: "What could be easier for them than to meet in the library and make arrangement for everything?" and again: "If Mathilde thought it better for him always to come by means of a ladder, he would expose himself to that slight danger with a heart overflowing with joy." Instead of helping to create an air of complicity, thus furthering their rendezvous and speeding it on to its climax, Julien's brilliance and self-assurance awaken Mathilde's pride and make her ask herself again whether Julien is now her master. "If she had been able, she would have annihilated herself and Julien," says Stendhal in an abrupt manner, startling the reader. Stendhal prefers classical litotes to romantic hyperbole. Mathilde had not predicted this attitude of hers; thus do Stendhal's characters watch themselves develop, surprised at what they become. Eventually, her will silences her remorse, timidity, shyness, and wounded modesty, and she notes that she is not fulfilling her role: One speaks to one's lover. She therefore speaks tender words in a cold tone. She forces herself to permit herself to be seduced. From this act, typically hardly alluded to because of Stendhal's great modesty, neither feels pleasure. Their reactions are different, yet consistent with their character: Julien feels happiness only in retrospect as he rides in "high solitude"; Mathilde wonders why there has been such a distance between her ideal and the real, and she asks whether she really loves Julien. The reaction of both characters echoes Stendhal's own at his persistent disappointment with reality: N'est ce que ca?  Mathilde has emptied the act of pleasure for Julien because she has undertaken it as a duty to him and to herself. Julien had felt the same reaction after his first rendezvous with Mme. de Renal. He notices again, however, how inferior is this happiness with Mathilde to that which he knew with Mme. de Renal.