The Hotel de La MoleWhat is he doing here? might it please him? might he think toplease?

RONSARDIf everything seemed strange to Julien, in the noble drawing-room ofthe Hotel de La Mole, the young man himself, pale and dressed in black,seemed in turn highly singular to those who deigned to notice him. Madame de La Mole suggested that her husband should send him away onbusiness upon days when certain personages were coming to dine.

'I should like to carry through the experiment,' replied the Marquis.

'The abbe Pirard maintains that we do wrong to crush the self-respect ofthe people we admit into our households. One can lean only upon whatresists, etc. There is nothing wrong with this fellow except his uncouthappearance; he might be deaf and dumb.'

'If I am to keep my bearings, I must,' Julien said to himself, 'writedown the names and a few words as to the character of the people I seeappear in this drawing-room.'

At the head of his list he placed five or six friends of the family whopaid a desperate court to him, supposing him to be protected by somecaprice of the Marquis. These were poor devils, more or less spiritless;but, it must be said in praise of men of this class as they are to be foundtoday in the drawing-rooms of the nobility, they were not equally spiritless to all comers. Some of them would have let themselves be abused bythe Marquis, and yet would have revolted against a harsh word addressed to them by Madame de La Mole.

There was too much pride, there was too much boredom in the character of both host and hostess; they were too much in the habit of insultingpeople for their own distraction, to be able to expect any true friends.

But, except on wet days, and in their moments of furious boredom,which were rare, they were never to be found wanting in politeness.

If the five or six flatterers who treated Julien with such fatherly affection had deserted the Hotel de La Mole, the Marquise would have beenleft to long hours of solitude; and, in the eyes of women of her rank,solitude is a dreadful thing: it is the badge of disgrace.

The Marquis behaved admirably to his wife; he saw to it that herdrawing-room was adequately filled; not with peers, he found his newcolleagues scarcely noble enough to come to his house as friends, nor entertaining enough to be admitted as subordinates.

It was not until much later that Julien discovered these secrets. Thepolitical questions which form the chief topic in middle-class houses arenever mentioned in houses like that of the Marquis, save in times oftrouble.

So powerful still, even in this age of boredom, are the dictates of theneed of amusement, that even on the evenings of dinnerparties, as soonas the Marquis had left the drawing-room, everyone else fled. So long asyou did not speak lightly of God, or of the clergy, or of the King, or ofthe men in power, or of the artists patronised by the court, or of anythingestablished; so long as you did not say anything good of Beranger, or ofthe opposition press, or of Voltaire, or of Rousseau, or of anything thatallowed itself the liberty of a little freedom of speech; so long, above all,as you did not talk politics, you could discuss anything you pleased withfreedom.

There is no income of a hundred thousand crowns, no blue riband thatcan prevail against a drawing-room so constituted. The smallest livingidea seemed an outrage. Despite good tone, perfect manners, the desireto be agreeable, boredom was written upon every brow. The young menwho came to pay their respects, afraid to speak of anything that mightlead to their being suspected of thinking, afraid to reveal some forbiddenreading, became silent after a few elegantly phrased sentences on Rossiniand the weather.

Julien observed that the conversation was usually kept going by twoViscounts and five Barons whom M. de La Mole had known during theEmigration. These gentlemen enjoyed incomes of from six to eight thousand livres; four of them swore by the Quotidienne, and three by the Gazette de France. One of them had some new story to tell every day of theChateau, in which the word 'admirable' was lavishly used. Julien remarked that this man wore five Crosses, whereas the others, as a rule,had no more than three.

On the other hand, you saw in the ante-room ten footmen in livery,and all through the evening you had ices or tea every quarter of an hour;and, at midnight, a sort of supper with champagne.

It was for this reason that Julien sometimes remained to the end; otherwise, he failed to understand how anyone could listen seriously to theordinary conversation of this drawing-room, so magnificently gilded.

Now and again he would watch the speakers, to see whether they themselves were not laughing at what they were saying. 'My M. de Maistre,whom I know by heart, has said things a hundred times better,' hethought; 'and even he is extremely boring.'

Julien was not the only one to be aware of the mental stagnation. Someconsoled themselves by taking quantities of ices; the others with thepleasure of being able to say for the rest of the evening: 'I have just comefrom the Hotel de La Mole, where I heard that Russia', etc., etc.

Julien learned, from one of the flatterers, that less than six months agoMadame de La Mole had rewarded an assiduity that had lasted for morethan twenty years by securing a Prefecture for poor Baron Le Bourguignon, who had been a Sub-Prefect ever since the Restoration.

This great event had rekindled the zeal of these gentlemen; the leastthing might have offended them before, now they were no longer offended by anything. It was rare that the incivility was direct, but Julien hadalready overheard at table two or three brief little passages between theMarquis and his wife, wounding to those who were placed near them.

These noble personages did not conceal their sincere contempt for everyone that was not the offspring of people who rode in the King's carriages. Julien observed that the word Crusade was the only one thatbrought to their faces an expression of intense seriousness, blended withrespect. Their ordinary respect had always a shade of condescension.

In the midst of this magnificence and this boredom, Julien was interested in nothing but M. de La Mole; he listened with pleasure one day tohis protestations that he was in no way responsible for the promotion ofthat poor Le Bourguignon. This was a delicate attention to the Marquise:

Julien had learned the truth from the abbe Pirard.

One morning when the abbe was working with Julien, in the Marquis'slibrary, on the endless litigation with Frilair:

'Sir,' said Julien suddenly, 'is dining every evening with Madame laMarquise one of my duties, or is it a favour that they show me?'

'It is a signal honour!' replied the abbe, greatly shocked. 'M. N--, theAcademician, who has been paying assiduous court for the last fifteenyears, has never been able to obtain it for his nephew M. Tanbeau.'

'It is to me, Sir, the most tedious part of my employment. I was lessbored at the Seminary. I see even Mademoiselle de La Mole yawn attimes, although she must be accustomed to the pretty speeches of thefriends of the family. I am afraid of falling asleep. Please be so good as toobtain leave for me to go and dine for forty sous in some obscure inn.'

The abbe, a regular parvenu, was highly sensible of the honour of dining with a great nobleman. While he was endeavouring to make Julienunderstand what he felt, a slight sound made them turn their heads. Julien saw Mademoiselle de La Mole who was listening. He blushed. Shehad come in search of a book and had heard everything; she felt a certainrespect for Julien. 'This fellow was not born on his knees,' she thought,'like that old abbe. Heavens! How ugly he is.'

At dinner, Julien dared not look at Mademoiselle de La Mole, but shewas so kind as to speak to him. That evening, they expected a largeparty; she made him promise to remain. Girls in Paris do not care formen of a certain age, especially when they are not well dressed. Juliendid not require much sagacity to perceive that M. Le Bourguignon's colleagues, who remained in the drawing-room, had the honour to be thecustomary butt of Mademoiselle de La Mole's wit. That evening, whetherwith deliberate affectation or not, she was cruel in her treatment of thebores.

Mademoiselle de La Mole was the centre of a little group that assembled almost every evening behind the Marquise's immense armchair.

There, you would find the Marquis de Croisenois, the Comte de Caylus,the Vicomte de Luz and two or three other young officers, friends ofNorbert or his sister. These gentlemen sat upon a large blue sofa. At theend of the sofa, opposite to that occupied by the brilliant Mathilde, Julienwas silently installed upon a little cane-bottomed chair with a low seat.

This modest post was the envy of all the flatterers; Norbert kept hisfather's young secretary in countenance by addressing him or utteringhis name once or twice in the course of the evening. On this occasion,Mademoiselle de La Mole asked him what might be the height of themountain on which the citadel of Besancon stood. Julien could not forthe life of him have said whether this mountain was higher or lower than Montmartre. Often he laughed heartily at what was being said in thelittle group; but he felt himself incapable of thinking of anything similarto say. It was like a foreign language which he could understand, butwas unable to speak.

Mathilde's friends were that evening in a state of constant hostility towards the people who kept arriving in this vast drawing-room. Thefriends of the family had the preference at first, being better known. Onecan imagine whether Julien was attentive; everything interested him,both the things themselves, and the way they were made to seemridiculous.

'Ah! Here comes M. Descoulis,' said Mathilde; 'he has left off his wig;can he be hoping to secure a Prefecture by his genius? He is exposingthat bald brow which he says is filled with lofty thoughts.'

'He is a man who knows the whole world,' said the Marquis de Croisenois; 'he comes to my uncle, the Cardinal's, too. He is capable of cultivating a lie with each of his friends, for years on end, and he has two orthree hundred friends. He knows how to foster friendship, that is his talent. You ought to see him, covered in mud, at the door of a friend'shouse, at seven o'clock on a winter morning.

'He hatches a quarrel, now and again, and writes seven or eight lettersto keep up the quarrel. Then he is reconciled, and produces seven oreight letters for the transports of affection. But it is in the frank and sincere expansion of an honest man who can keep nothing on his consciencethat he shines most. This is his favourite device when he has some favour to ask. One of my uncle's Vicars-General is perfect when he relatesthe life of M. Descoulis since the Restoration. I shall bring him to seeyou.'

'Bah! I shouldn't listen to that talk; it is the professional jealousy ofsmall-minded people,' said the Comte de Caylus.

'M. Descoulis will have a name in history,' the Marquis went on; 'hemade the Restoration with the Abbe de Pradt and M. Talleyrand andPozzo di Borgo.'

'That man has handled millions,' said Norbert, 'and I cannot conceivewhy he comes here to swallow my father's epigrams, which are often appalling. "How many times have you betrayed your friends, my dearDescoulis?" he shouted at him the other day, down the whole length ofthe table.'

'But is it true that he has betrayed people?' said Mademoiselle de LaMole. 'Who is there that has not?'

'What!' said the Comte de Caylus to Norbert, 'you have M. Sainclairhere, the notorious Liberal; what the devil can he have come for? I mustgo over to him, and talk to him, and make him talk; they say he is soclever.'

'But how can your mother have him in the house?' said M de Croisenois. 'His ideas are so extravagant, so enthusiastic, so independent... '

'Look,' said Mademoiselle de La Mole, 'there is your independent man,bowing to the ground before M. Descoulis, and seizing his hand. I almostthought he was going to raise it to his lips.'

'Descoulis must stand better with the authorities than we thought,' putin M. de Croisenois.

'Sainclair comes here to get into the Academy,' said Norbert; 'look howhe is bowing to Baron L --, Croisenois.'

'He would be less servile if he went on his knees,' put in M. de Luz.

'My dear Sorel,' said Norbert, 'you who are a man of brains, but havejust come down from your mountains, see that you never bow to peopleas that great poet does, not even to God Almighty.'

'Ah! Here comes a man of brains if you like, M. le Baron Baton,' saidMademoiselle de La Mole, imitating the voice of the footman who hadjust announced him.

'I think even your servants laugh at him. What a name, Baron Baton!'

said M. de Caylus.

'"What's in a name?" as he said to us the other day,' retorted Mathilde.

'"Imagine the Duc de Bouillon announced for the first time. All the publicneeds, in my case, is to have grown accustomed to it."'

Julien quitted the circle round the sofa. Still but little sensible of thecharming subtleties of a light-handed mockery, if he were to laugh at awitticism, he required that it should be founded on reason. He could seenothing in the talk of these young men, but the tone of general depreciation, and this shocked him. His provincial or English prudery went sofar as to detect envy in it, wherein he was certainly mistaken.

'Comte Norbert,' he said to himself, 'whom I have seen make threerough copies of a letter of twenty lines to his Colonel, would be veryglad to have written a single page in his life like those of M. Sainclair.'

Passing unperceived owing to his lack of importance, Julien approached several groups in turn; he was following Baron Baton at a distance, and wished to hear him talk. This man of such intelligence wore atroubled air, and Julien saw him recover himself a little only when hehad hit upon three or four sparkling sentences. It seemed to Julien thatthis kind of wit required ample room to develop itself.

The Baron could not produce epigrams; he required at least four sentences of six lines each to be brilliant.

'This man is holding forth, he is not talking,' said someone behindJulien's back. He turned round and flushed with pleasure when he heardthe name of Comte Chalvet. This was the cleverest man of the day. Julienhad often come upon his name in the Memorial de Sainte-Helene and in thefragments of history dictated by Napoleon. Comte Chalvet was curt inhis speech; his remarks were flashes of lightning, accurate, keen, profound. If he spoke of any public matter, immediately one saw the discussion reach a fresh stage. He brought facts to bear on it, it was a pleasureto listen to him. In politics, however, he was a brazen cynic.

'I am independent, myself,' he was saying to a gentleman wearingthree decorations, whom he was apparently quizzing. 'Why should I beexpected to hold the same opinion today that I held six weeks ago? If Idid, I should be a slave to my opinion.'

Four grave young men who stood round him made grimaces at this;these gentlemen do not care for the flippant style. The Comte saw that hehad gone too far. Fortunately he caught sight of the honest M. Balland, atartuffe of honesty. The Comte began talking to him: people gatheredround them, guessing that poor Balland was going to be scarified. Bydint of morals and morality, although horribly ugly, and after earlystruggles with the world which it would be hard to describe, M. Ballandhad married an extremely rich wife, who died; then a second extremelyrich wife, who was never seen in society. He enjoyed in all humility anincome of sixty thousand livres, and had flatterers of his own. ComteChalvet spoke to him of all this, without pity. Presently they were surrounded by a circle of thirty people. Everyone smiled, even the graveyoung men, the hope of the age.

'Why does he come to M. de La Mole's, where he is obviously made abutt?' thought Julien. He went across to the abbe Pirard, to ask him.

M. Balland left the room.

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

'Can that be the clue to the riddle?' thought Julien. 'But, in that case,why does the Marquis invite M. Balland?'

The stern abbe Pirard was making faces in a corner of the room, as heheard fresh names announced.

'Why, it is a den,' he said, like Basilic, 'I see none but villains enter.'

The fact was that the stern abbe did not recognise the distinguishingmarks of good society. But, from his Jansenist friends, he had a very accurate notion of the men who make their way into drawing-rooms onlyby their extreme cleverness in the service of all parties, or by a fortune ofnotorious origin. For some minutes, that evening, he replied from theabundance of his heart to Julien's eager questions, then cut himself short,distressed to find himself speaking ill of everyone, and imputing it tohimself as a sin. Being choleric and a Jansenist, and regarding Christiancharity as a duty, his life in society was a perpetual conflict.

'How frightful that abbe Pirard looks!' Mademoiselle de La Mole wassaying, as Julien returned to the sofa.

Julien felt a sting of irritation, and yet she was right. M. Pirard wasbeyond question the most honest man in the room, but his blotched face,distorted by the pangs of conscience, made him hideous at the moment.

'Never judge by appearances after this,' thought Julien; 'it is at the moment when the abbe's scruples are reproaching him with some peccadillothat he looks terrible; whereas on the face of that Napier, whom everyone knows to be a spy, one sees a pure and tranquil happiness.' The abbePirard had nevertheless made a great concession to his party; he had engaged a valet, and was quite well dressed.

Julien remarked a singular occurrence in the drawing-room: this was ageneral movement of all eyes towards the door, with a lull in the conversation. A footman announced the famous Baron de Tolly, to whom therecent elections had attracted universal attention. Julien moved forwardand had an excellent view of him. The Baron was returning officer in acertain constituency: he had had the bright idea of making away with thelittle slips of paper bearing the votes of one of the parties. But, to compensate for this, he duly replaced them with other little slips of paperbearing a name of which he himself approved. This decisive manoeuvrewas observed by some of the electors, who lost no time in presentingtheir compliments to Baron de Tolly. The worthy man was still pale afterhis great excitement. Evil tongues had uttered the word galleys. M. de LaMole received him coldly. The poor Baron hurriedly made his escape.

'If he leaves us so soon, it must be to go to M. Comte's,' 8 said ComteChalvet; and the others laughed.

Amid a crowd of great noblemen who remained silent, and of intriguers, mostly disreputable, but all of them clever fellows, who arrivedone after another that evening, in M. de La Mole's drawing-room (peoplewere speaking of him for a vacant Ministry), young Tanbeau was winning his spurs. If he had not yet acquired any fineness of perception, hemade up for the deficiency, as we shall see, by the vigour of hislanguage.

'Why not sentence the man to ten years' imprisonment?' he was sayingat the moment when Julien joined his group; 'it is in a dungeon underground that we ought to keep reptiles shut up; they must be made to diein the dark, otherwise their venom spreads and becomes more dangerous. What is the good of fining him a thousand crowns? He is poor, verywell, all the better; but his party will pay the fine for him. It should havebeen a fine of five hundred francs and ten years in a dungeon.'

'Good God! Who can the monster be that they are discussing?' thoughtJulien, marvelling at his colleague's vehement tone and stilted gestures.

The thin, drawn little face of the Academician's favourite nephew washideous as he spoke. Julien soon learned that the person in question wasthe greatest poet of the day. 9'Ah, monster!' exclaimed Julien, half aloud, and generous tears sprangto his eyes. 'Ah, little wretch, I shall make you eat those words.

'And yet these,' he thought, 'are the waifs and strays of the party ofwhich the Marquis is one of the leaders! And that illustrious man whomhe is slandering, how many Crosses, how many sinecures might he nothave collected, if he had sold himself, I do not say to the lifeless Ministryof M. de Nerval, but to one of those passably honest Ministers whom wehave seen succeed one another in office?'

The abbe Pirard beckoned to Julien; M. de La Mole had just been saying something to him. But when Julien, who at the moment was listening, with lowered gaze, to the lamentations of a Bishop, was free tomove, and able to join his friend, he found him monopolised by that abominable young Tanbeau. The little monster loathed him as the source ofthe favour that Julien enjoyed, and had come to pay court to him.

8.A celebrated conjurer of the day.

9.Beranger, sentenced in December, 1828, to imprisonment and a fine of 10,000francs. C. K. S. M.

'When will death rid us of that old mass of corruption?' It was in theseterms, with Biblical emphasis, that the little man of letters was speakingat that moment of the eminent Lord Holland. His chief merit was a thorough knowledge of the biography of living men, and he had just beenmaking a rapid survey of all those who might aspire to positions of influence under the new King of England.

The abbe Pirard moved into an adjoining room; Julien followed him.

'The Marquis does not like scribblers, I warn you; it is his one antipathy. Know Latin, Greek if you can, the History of the Egyptians, of thePersians, and so forth; he will honour you and protect you as a scholar.

But do not go and write a single page in French, especially upon gravesubjects, that are above your position in society; he would call you ascribbler, and would take a dislike to you. What, living in a greatnobleman's mansion, don't you know the Duc de Castries's saying aboutd'Alembert and Rousseau: "That sort of fellow wishes to argue abouteverything, and has not a thousand crowns a year?"'

'Everything becomes known,' thought Julien, 'here as in the Seminary.'

He had written nine or ten pages with distinct emphasis: they were a sortof historical eulogy of the old Surgeon-Major, who, he said, had made aman of him. 'And that little copy-book,' Julien said to himself, 'has always been kept under lock and key.' He went upstairs, burned hismanuscript and returned to the drawing-room. The brilliant rogues haddeparted, there remained only the stars and ribands.

Round the table, which the servants had just brought in already laid,were seated seven or eight ladies, extremely noble, extremely religious,extremely affected, between thirty and thirty-five years of age. The brilliant wife of Marshal de Fervaques entered the room, apologising for thelateness of the hour. It was after midnight; she took her place next to theMarquise. Julien was deeply stirred; her eyes and her expression reminded him of Madame de Renal.

The group round Mademoiselle de La Mole was still numerous. Sheand her friends were engaged in making fun of the unfortunate Comtede Thaler. This was the only son of the famous Jew, celebrated for theriches that he had acquired by lending money to Kings to make war onthe common people. The Jew had recently died leaving his son amonthly income of one hundred thousand crowns, and a name that, alas,was only too well known! This singular position required either simplicity of character or great determination.

Unfortunately, the Comte was nothing but a good fellow, adornedwith all sorts of pretensions inspired in him by his flatterers.

M. de Caylus asserted that he had been credited with the determination to propose for the hand of Mademoiselle de La Mole (to whom theMarquis de Croisenois, who was heir to a Dukedom with an income ofone hundred thousand livres, was paying court).

'Ah! Don't accuse him of having any determination,' Norbert pleadedcompassionately.

What this poor Comte de Thaler most lacked was, perhaps, the powerto determine anything. In this respect, he would have made an excellentKing. Taking advice incessantly from everybody, he had not the courageto follow out any suggestion to the end.

His features would have been enough by themselves, said Mademoiselle de La Mole, to fill her with everlasting joy. His face was a curiousblend of uneasiness and disappointment; but from time to time onecould make out quite plainly bursts of self-importance, combined withthat cutting tone which the wealthiest man in France ought to adopt, especially when he is by no means bad-looking, and is not yet thirty-six.

'He is timidly insolent,' said M. de Croisenois. The Comte de Caylus,Norbert and two or three young men with moustaches made fun of himto their hearts' content, without his guessing it, and finally sent himaway as one o'clock struck.

'Is it your famous pair of arabs that you are keeping waiting in thisweather?' Norbert asked him.

'No, I have a new pair that cost much less,' replied M. de Thaler. 'Thenear horse cost me five thousand francs, and the off horse is only worth ahundred louis; but I must have you understand that he is only broughtout at night. The fact is that he trots perfectly with the other.'

Norbert's remark made the Comte think that it befitted a man in hisposition to have a passion for horses, and that he ought not to allow histo stand in the rain. He left, and the other gentlemen took their leave immediately, laughing at him as they went.

'And so,' thought Julien, as he heard the sound of their laughter on thestaircase, 'I have been allowed to see the opposite extreme to my own position! I have not an income of twenty louis, and I have found myselfrubbing shoulders with a man who has an income of twenty louis anhour, and they laughed at him ... A sight like that cures one of envy.'