Bab Bab 36 · PRONUNCIATION

. PRONUNCIATION

If fatuity is pardonable it is in one's first youth,

for it is then the exaggeration of an amiable thing. It

needs an air of love, gaiety, nonchalance. But fatuity

coupled with self-importance; fatuity with a solemn and

self-sufficient manner! This extravagance of stupidity

was reserved for the XIXth century. Such are the persons

who want to unchain the _hydra of revolutions_!--LE

JOHANNISBURG, _Pamphlet_.

Considering that he was a new arrival who was too disdainful to put any

questions, Julien did not fall into unduly great mistakes. One day when

he was forced into a café in the Rue St. Honoré by a sudden shower,

a big man in a beaver coat, surprised by his gloomy look, looked at

him in return just as mademoiselle Amanda's lover had done before at

Besançon.

Julien had reproached himself too often for having endured the other

insult to put up with this stare. He asked for an explanation. The

man in the tail-coat immediately addressed him in the lowest and most

insulting language. All the people in the café surrounded them. The

passers-by stopped before the door. Julien always carried some little

pistols as a matter of precaution. His hand was grasping them nervously

in his pocket. Nevertheless he behaved wisely and confined himself to

repeating to his man "Monsieur, your address, I despise you."

The persistency in which he kept repeating these six words eventually

impressed the crowd.

"By Jove, the other who's talking all to himself ought to give him

his address," they exclaimed. The man in the tail-coat hearing this

repeated several times, flung five or six cards in Julien's face.

Fortunately none of them hit him in the face; he had mentally resolved

not to use his pistols except in the event of his being hit. The man

went away, though not without turning round from time to time to shake

his fist and hurl insults at him.

Julien was bathed in sweat. "So," he said angrily to himself, "the

meanest of mankind has it in his power to affect me as much as this.

How am I to kill so humiliating a sensitiveness?"

Where was he to find a second? He did not have a single friend. He had

several acquaintances, but they all regularly left him after six weeks

of social intercourse. "I am unsociable," he thought, and "I am now

cruelly punished for it." Finally it occurred to him to rout out an old

lieutenant of the 96th, named Liévin, a poor devil with whom he often

used to fence. Julien was frank with him.

"I am quite willing to be your second," said Liévin, "but on one

condition. If you fail to wound your man you will fight with me

straight away."

"Agreed," said Julien quite delighted; and they went to find M. de

Beauvoisis at the address indicated on his card at the end of the

Faubourg Saint Germain.

It was seven o'clock in the morning. It was only when he was being

ushered in, that Julien thought that it might quite well be the young

relation of Madame de Rênal, who had once been employed at the Rome

or Naples Embassy, and who had given the singer Geronimo a letter of

introduction.

Julien gave one of the cards which had been flung at him the previous

evening together with one of his own to a tall valet.

He and his second were kept waiting for a good three-quarters of

an hour. Eventually they were ushered in to a elegantly furnished

apartment. They found there a tall young man who was dressed like a

doll. His features presented the perfection and the lack of expression

of Greek beauty. His head, which was remarkably straight, had the

finest blonde hair. It was dressed with great care and not a single

hair was out of place.

"It was to have his hair done like this, that is why this damned

fop has kept us waiting," thought the lieutenant of the 96th. The

variegated dressing gown, the morning trousers, everything down to the

embroidered slippers was correct. He was marvellously well-groomed.

His blank and aristocratic physiognomy betokened rare and orthodox

ideas; the ideal of a Metternichian diplomatist. Napoleon as well did

not like to have in his entourage officers who thought.

Julien, to whom his lieutenant of the 96th had explained, that keeping

him waiting was an additional insult after having thrown his card

so rudely in his face, entered brusquely M. de Beauvoisis' room. He

intended to be insolent, but at the same time to exhibit good form.

Julien was so astonished by the niceness of M. de Beauvoisis'

manners and by the combination of formality, self-importance, and

self-satisfaction in his demeanour, by the admirable elegance of

everything that surrounded him, that he abandoned immediately all

idea of being insolent. It was not his man of the day before. His

astonishment was so great at meeting so distinguished a person, instead

of the rude creature whom he was looking for, that he could not find a

single word to say. He presented one of the cards which had been thrown

at him.

"That's my name," said the young diplomat, not at all impressed by

Julien's black suit at seven o'clock in the morning, "but I do not

understand the honour."

His manner of pronouncing these last words revived a little of Julien's

bad temper.

"I have come to fight you, monsieur," and he explained in a few words

the whole matter.

M. Charles de Beauvoisis, after mature reflection, was fairly satisfied

with the cut of Julien's black suit.

"It comes from Staub, that's clear," he said to himself, as he heard

him speak. "That waistcoat is in good taste. Those boots are all right,

but on the other hand just think of wearing a black suit in the early

morning! It must be to have a better chance of not being hit," said the

chevalier de Beauvoisis to himself.

After he had given himself this explanation he became again perfectly

polite to Julien, and almost treated him as an equal. The conversation

was fairly lengthy, for the matter was a delicate one, but eventually

Julien could not refuse to acknowledge the actual facts. The perfectly

mannered young man before him did not bear any resemblance to the

vulgar fellow who had insulted him the previous day.

Julien felt an invincible repugnance towards him. He noted the

self-sufficiency of the chevalier de Beauvoisis, for that was the name

by which he had referred to himself, shocked as he was when Julien

called him simply "Monsieur."

He admired his gravity which, though tinged with a certain modest

fatuity, he never abandoned for a single moment. He was astonished at

his singular manner of moving his tongue as he pronounced his words,

but after all, this did not present the slightest excuse for picking a

quarrel.

The young diplomatist very graciously offered to fight, but the

ex-lieutenant of the 96th, who had been sitting down for an hour with

his legs wide apart, his hands on his thigh, and his elbows stuck out,

decided that his friend, monsieur de Sorel, was not the kind to go and

pick a quarrel with a man because someone else had stolen that man's

visiting cards.

Julien went out in a very bad temper. The chevalier de Beauvoisis'

carriage was waiting for him in the courtyard before the steps. By

chance Julien raised his eyes and recognised in the coachman his man of

the day before.

Seeing him, catching hold of him by his big jacket, tumbling him down

from his seat, and horse-whipping him thoroughly took scarcely a moment.

Two lackeys tried to defend their comrade. Julien received some blows

from their fists. At the same moment, he cocked one of his little

pistols and fired on them. They took to flight. All this took about a

minute.

The chevalier de Beauvoisis descended the staircase with the most

pleasing gravity, repeating with his lordly pronunciation, "What is

this, what is this." He was manifestly very curious, but his diplomatic

importance would not allow him to evince any greater interest.

When he knew what it was all about, a certain haughtiness tried to

assert itself in that expression of slightly playful nonchalance which

should never leave a diplomatist's face.

The lieutenant of the 96th began to realise that M. de Beauvoisis was

anxious to fight. He was also diplomatic enough to wish to reserve for

his friend the advantage of taking the initiative.

"This time," he exclaimed, "there is ground for duel."

"I think there's enough," answered the diplomat.

"Turn that rascal out," he said to his lackeys. "Let someone else get

up."

The door of the carriage was open. The chevalier insisted on doing

the honours to Julien and his friend. They sent for a friend of M. de

Beauvoisis, who chose them a quiet place. The conversation on their

way went as a matter of fact very well indeed. The only extraordinary

feature was the diplomatist in a dressing-gown.

"These gentlemen, although very noble, are by no means as boring,"

thought Julien, "as the people who come and dine at M. de la Mole's,

and I can see why," he added a moment afterwards. "They allow

themselves to be indecent." They talked about the dancers that the

public had distinguished with its favour at the ballet presented

the night before. The two gentlemen alluded to some spicy anecdotes

of which Julien and his second, the lieutenant of the 96th, were

absolutely ignorant.

Julien was not stupid enough to pretend to know them. He confessed his

ignorance with a good grace. This frankness pleased the chevalier's

friend. He told him these stories with the greatest detail and

extremely well.

One thing astonished Julien inordinately. The carriage was pulled up

for a moment by an altar which was being built in the middle of the

street for the procession of Corpus Christi Day. The two gentlemen

indulged in the luxury of several jests. According to them, the curé

was the son of an archbishop. Such a joke would never have been heard

in the house of M. de la Mole, who was trying to be made a duke. The

duel was over in a minute. Julien got a ball in his arm. They bandaged

it with handkerchiefs which they wetted with brandy, and the chevalier

de Beauvoisis requested Julien with great politeness to allow him to

take him home in the same carriage that had brought him. When Julien

gave the name of M. de la Mole's hôtel, the young diplomat and his

friend exchanged looks. Julien's fiacre was here, but they found these

gentlemen's conversation more entertaining than that of the good

lieutenant of the 96th.

"By Jove, so a duel is only that," thought Julien. "What luck I found

that coachman again. How unhappy I should have been if I had had to put

up with that insult as well." The amusing conversation had scarcely

been interrupted. Julien realised that the affectation of diplomatists

is good for something.

"So ennui," he said himself, "is not a necessary incident of

conversation among well-born people. These gentlemen make fun of the

Corpus Christi procession and dare to tell extremely obscene anecdotes,

and what is more, with picturesque details. The only thing they really

lack is the ability to discuss politics logically, and that lack is

more than compensated by their graceful tone, and the perfect aptness

of their expressions." Julien experienced a lively inclination for

them. "How happy I should be to see them often."

They had scarcely taken leave of each other before the chevalier de

Beauvoisis had enquiries made. They were not brilliant.

He was very curious to know his man. Could he decently pay a call on

him? The little information he had succeeded in obtaining from him was

not of an encouraging character.

"Oh, this is awful," he said to his second. "I can't possibly own up

to having fought a duel with a mere secretary of M. de la Mole, simply

because my coachman stole my visiting cards."

"There is no doubt that all this may make you look ridiculous."

That very evening the chevalier de Beauvoisis and his friend said

everywhere that this M. Sorel who was, moreover, quite a charming young

man, was a natural son of an intimate friend of the marquis de la Mole.

This statement was readily accepted. Once it was established, the young

diplomatist and friend deigned to call several times on Julien during

the fortnight. Julien owned to them that he had only been to the Opera

once in his life. "That is awful," said one, "that is the only place

one does go to. Your first visit must be when they are playing the

'_Comte Ory_.'"

The chevalier de Beauvoisis introduced him at the opera to the famous

singer Geronimo, who was then enjoying an immense success.

Julien almost paid court to the chevalier. His mixture of self-respect,

mysterious self-importance, and fatuous youthfulness fascinated him.

The chevalier, for example, would stammer a little, simply because he

had the honour of seeing frequently a very noble lord who had this

defect. Julien had never before found combined in one and the same

person the drollery which amuses, and those perfect manners which

should be the object of a poor provincial's imitation.

He was seen at the opera with the chevalier de Beauvoisis. This

association got him talked about.

"Well," said M. de la Mole to him one day, "so here you are, the

natural son of a rich gentleman of Franche-Comté, an intimate friend of

mine."

The marquis cut Julien short as he started to protest that he had not

in any way contributed to obtaining any credence for this rumour.

"M. de Beauvoisis did not fancy having fought a duel with the son of a

carpenter."

"I know it, I know it," said M. de la Mole. "It is my business now to

give some consistency to this story which rather suits me. But I have

one favour to ask of you, which will only cost you a bare half-hour of

your time. Go and watch every opera day at half-past eleven all the

people in society coming out in the vestibule. I still see you have

certain provincial mannerisms. You must rid yourself of them. Besides

it would do no harm to know, at any rate by sight, some of the great

personages to whom I may one day send you on a commission. Call in at

the box office to get identified. Admission has been secured for you."