feat_summary_path: finished_summaries/shmoop/The Red and the Black/section_65_part_0.txt
feat_book_id: The Red and the Black.part 2.chapter 36
feat_summary_id: part 2, chapter 36
feat_summary: {"name": "Part 2, Chapter 36", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20200920104425/https://www.shmoop.com/study-guides/literature/red-and-the-black/summary/part-2-chapter-36", "summary": "Julien gets tackled while trying to leave the Verrieres church. He's arrested for the murder of Madame de Renal. He basically knows he's finished. Little does he know that his shots haven't killed Madame, but only wounded her. A judge visits Julien in prison. Julien tells him that he killed Madame out of cold blood and that it was all premeditated. It's like the guy wants the death penalty. He writes a letter to Mathilde explaining what he's done. Later, he finds out that Madame de Renal isn't dead. Then he just starts bawling over what a mess he's made out of his life. Julien thinks about bribing the guard to help him escape, then forgets it because he doesn't really care enough to bother.", "analysis": ""}
text: CHAPTER LXVI
  
  SAD DETAILS
  
  
          Do not expect any weakness on my part. I have avenged
          myself. I have deserved death, and here I am. Pray for
          my soul.--_Schiller_
  
  
  Julien remained motionless. He saw nothing more. When he recovered
  himself a little he noticed all the faithful rushing from the church.
  The priest had left the altar. Julien started fairly slowly to follow
  some women who were going away with loud screams. A woman who was
  trying to get away more quickly than the others, pushed him roughly. He
  fell. His feet got entangled with a chair, knocked over by the crowd;
  when he got up, he felt his neck gripped. A gendarme, in full uniform,
  was arresting him. Julien tried mechanically to have recourse to his
  little pistol; but a second gendarme pinioned his arms.
  
  He was taken to the prison. They went into a room where irons were put
  on his hands. He was left alone. The door was doubly locked on him. All
  this was done very quickly, and he scarcely appreciated it at all.
  
  "Yes, upon my word, all is over," he said aloud as he recovered
  himself. "Yes, the guillotine in a fortnight ... or killing myself
  here."
  
  His reasoning did not go any further. His head felt as though it had
  been seized in some violent grip. He looked round to see if anyone was
  holding him. After some moments he fell into a deep sleep.
  
  Madame de Renal was not mortally wounded. The first bullet had pierced
  her hat. The second had been fired as she was turning round. The
  bullet had struck her on the shoulder, and, astonishing to relate,
  had ricocheted from off the shoulder bone (which it had, however,
  broken) against a gothic pillar, from which it had loosened an enormous
  splinter of stone.
  
  When, after a long and painful bandaging, the solemn surgeon said to
  madame de Renal, "I answer for your life as I would for my own," she
  was profoundly grieved.
  
  She had been sincerely desirous of death for a long time. The letter
  which she had written to M. de la Mole in accordance with the
  injunctions of her present confessor, had proved the final blow to a
  creature already weakened by an only too permanent unhappiness. This
  unhappiness was caused by Julien's absence; but she, for her own part,
  called it remorse. Her director, a young ecclesiastic, who was both
  virtuous and enthusiastic, and had recently come to Dijon, made no
  mistake as to its nature.
  
  "Dying in this way, though not by my own hand, is very far from being
  a sin," thought madame de Renal. "God will perhaps forgive me for
  rejoicing over my death." She did not dare to add, "and dying by
  Julien's hand puts the last touch on my happiness."
  
  She had scarcely been rid of the presence of the surgeon and of all the
  crowd of friends that had rushed to see her, than she called her maid,
  Elisa. "The gaoler," she said to her with a violent blush, "is a cruel
  man. He will doubtless ill-treat him, thinking to please me by doing
  so.... I cannot bear that idea. Could you not go, as though on your own
  account, and give the gaoler this little packet which contains some
  louis. You will tell him that religion forbids him to treat him badly,
  above all, he must not go and speak about the sending of this money."
  
  It was this circumstance, which we have just mentioned, that Julien had
  to thank for the humanity of the gaoler of Verrieres. It was still the
  same M. Noiraud, that ideal official, whom he remembered as being so
  finely alarmed by M. Appert's presence.
  
  A judge appeared in the prison. "I occasioned death by premeditation,"
  said Julien to him. "I bought the pistols and had them loaded at
  so-and-so's, a gunsmith. Article 1342 of the penal code is clear. I
  deserve death, and I expect it." Astonished at this kind of answer, the
  judge started to multiply his questions, with a view of the accused
  contradicting himself in his answers.
  
  "Don't you see," said Julien to him with a smile, "that I am making
  myself out as guilty as you can possibly desire? Go away, monsieur, you
  will not fail to catch the quarry you are pursuing. You will have the
  pleasure to condemn me. Spare me your presence."
  
  "I have an irksome duty to perform," thought Julien. "I must write to
  mademoiselle de la Mole:--"
  
          "I have avenged myself," he said to her. "Unfortunately,
          my name will appear in the papers, and I shall not be
          able to escape from the world incognito. I shall die
          in two months' time. My revenge was ghastly, like the
          pain of being separated from you. From this moment I
          forbid myself to write or pronounce your name. Never
          speak of me even to my son; silence is the only way of
          honouring me. To the ordinary commonplace man, I shall
          represent a common assassin. Allow me the luxury of the
          truth at this supreme moment; you will forget me. This
          great catastrophe of which I advise you not to say a
          single word to a single living person, will exhaust,
          for several years to come, all that romantic and unduly
          adventurous element which I have detected in your
          character. You were intended by nature to live among the
          heroes of the middle ages; exhibit their firm character.
          Let what has to happen take place in secret and without
          your being compromised. You will assume a false name,
          and you will confide in no one. If you absolutely need a
          friend's help, I bequeath the abbe Pirard to you.
  
          "Do not talk to anyone else, particularly to the people
          of your own class--the de Luz's, the Caylus's.
  
          "A year after my death, marry M. de Croisenois; I
          command you as your husband. Do not write to me at all,
          I shall not answer. Though in my view, much less wicked
          than Iago, I am going to say, like him: 'From this time
          forth, I never will speack word.'[1]
  
          "I shall never be seen to speak or write again. You will
          have received my final words and my final expressions of
          adoration.
  
                                                           "J. S."
  
  It was only after he had despatched this letter and had recovered
  himself a little, that Julien felt for the first time extremely
  unhappy. Those momentous words, I shall die, meant the successive
  tearing out of his heart of each individual hope and ambition.
  Death, in itself, was not horrible in his eyes. His whole life had
  been nothing but a long preparation for unhappiness, and he had
  made a point of not losing sight of what is considered the greatest
  unhappiness of all.
  
  "Come then," he said to himself; "if I had to fight a duel in a couple
  of months, with an expert duellist, should I be weak enough to think
  about it incessantly with panic in my soul?"
  
  He passed more than an hour in trying to analyze himself thoroughly on
  this score.
  
  When he saw clear in his own soul, and the truth appeared before his
  eyes with as much definiteness as one of the pillars of his prison, he
  thought about remorse.
  
  "Why should I have any? I have been atrociously injured; I have
  killed--I deserve death, but that is all. I die after having squared my
  account with humanity. I do not leave any obligation unfulfilled. I owe
  nothing to anybody; there is nothing shameful about my death, except
  the instrument of it; that alone, it is true, is simply sufficient to
  disgrace me in the eyes of the bourgeois of Verrieres; but from the
  intellectual standpoint, what could be more contemptible than they? I
  have one means of winning their consideration; by flinging pieces of
  gold to the people as I go to the scaffold. If my memory is linked with
  the idea of gold, they will always look upon it as resplendent."
  
  After this chain of reasoning, which after a minute's reflection seemed
  to him self-evident, Julien said to himself, "I have nothing left to do
  in the world," and fell into a deep sleep.
  
  About 9 o'clock in the evening the gaoler woke him up as he brought in
  his supper.
  
  "What are they saying in Verrieres?"
  
  "M. Julien, the oath which I took before the crucifix in the 'Royal
  Courtyard,' on the day when I was installed in my place, obliges me to
  silence."
  
  He was silent, but remained. Julien was amused by the sight of this
  vulgar hypocrisy. I must make him, he thought, wait a long time for the
  five francs which he wants to sell his conscience for.
  
  When the gaoler saw him finish his meal without making any attempt to
  corrupt him, he said in a soft and perfidious voice:
  
  "The affection which I have for you, M. Julien, compels me to speak.
  Although they say that it is contrary to the interests of justice,
  because it may assist you in preparing your defence. M. Julien you are
  a good fellow at heart, and you will be very glad to learn that madame
  de Renal is better."
  
  "What! she is not dead?" exclaimed Julien, beside himself.
  
  "What, you know nothing?" said the gaoler, with a stupid air which soon
  turned into exultant cupidity. "It would be very proper, monsieur, for
  you to give something to the surgeon, who, so far as law and justice
  go, ought not to have spoken. But in order to please you, monsieur, I
  went to him, and he told me everything."
  
  "Anyway, the wound is not mortal," said Julien to him impatiently, "you
  answer for it on your life?"
  
  The gaoler, who was a giant six feet tall, was frightened and retired
  towards the door. Julien saw that he was adopting bad tactics for
  getting at the truth. He sat down again and flung a napoleon to M.
  Noiraud.
  
  As the man's story proved to Julien more and more conclusively that
  madame de Renal's wound was not mortal, he felt himself overcome by
  tears. "Leave me," he said brusquely.
  
  The gaoler obeyed. Scarcely had the door shut, than Julien exclaimed:
  "Great God, she is not dead," and he fell on his knees, shedding hot
  tears.
  
  In this supreme moment he was a believer. What mattered the hypocrisies
  of the priests? Could they abate one whit of the truth and sublimity of
  the idea of God?
  
  It was only then that Julien began to repent of the crime that he had
  committed. By a coincidence, which prevented him falling into despair,
  it was only at the present moment that the condition of physical
  irritation and semi-madness, in which he had been plunged since his
  departure from Paris for Verrieres came to an end.
  
  His tears had a generous source. He had no doubt about the condemnation
  which awaited him.
  
  "So she will live," he said to himself. "She will live to forgive me
  and love me."
  
  Very late the next morning the gaoler woke him up and said, "You must
  have a famous spirit, M. Julien. I have come in twice, but I did not
  want to wake you up. Here are two bottles of excellent wine which our
  cure, M. Maslon, has sent you."
  
  "What, is that scoundrel still here?" said Julien.
  
  "Yes, monsieur," said the gaoler, lowering his voice. "But do not talk
  so loud, it may do you harm."
  
  Julien laughed heartily.
  
  "At the stage I have reached, my friend, you alone can do me harm in
  the event of your ceasing to be kind and tender. You will be well
  paid," said Julien, changing his tone and reverting to his imperious
  manner. This manner was immediately justified by the gift of a piece of
  money.
  
  M. Noiraud related again, with the greatest detail, everything he
  had learnt about madame de Renal, but he did not make any mention of
  mademoiselle Elisa's visit.
  
  The man was as base and servile as it was possible to be. An idea
  crossed Julien's mind. "This kind of misshapen giant cannot earn more
  than three or four hundred francs, for his prison is not at all full.
  I can guarantee him ten thousand francs, if he will escape with me
  to Switzerland. The difficulty will be in persuading him of my good
  faith." The idea of the long conversation he would need to have with so
  vile a person filled Julien with disgust. He thought of something else.
  
  In the evening the time had passed. A post-chaise had come to pick him
  up at midnight. He was very pleased with his travelling companions, the
  gendarmes. When he arrived at the prison of Besancon in the morning
  they were kind enough to place him in the upper storey of a Gothic
  turret. He judged the architecture to be of the beginning of the
  fourteenth century. He admired its fascinating grace and lightness.
  Through a narrow space between two walls, beyond the deep court, there
  opened a superb vista.
  
  On the following day there was an interrogation, after which he was
  left in peace for several days. His soul was calm. He found his affair
  a perfectly simple one. "I meant to kill. I deserve to be killed."
  
  His thoughts did not linger any further over this line of reasoning.
  As for the sentence, the disagreeableness of appearing in public,
  the defence, he considered all this as slight embarrassment, irksome
  formalities, which it would be time enough to consider on the actual
  day. The actual moment of death did not seize hold of his mind either.
  "I will think about it after the sentence." Life was no longer boring,
  he was envisaging everything from a new point of view, he had no longer
  any ambition. He rarely thought about mademoiselle de la Mole. His
  passion of remorse engrossed him a great deal, and often conjured up
  the image of madame de Renal, particularly during the silence of the
  night, which in this high turret was only disturbed by the song of the
  osprey.
  
  He thanked heaven that he had not inflicted a mortal wound.
  "Astonishing," he said to himself, "I thought that she had destroyed my
  future happiness for ever by her letter to M. de la Mole, and here am
  I, less than a fortnight after the date of that letter, not giving a
  single thought to all the things that engrossed me then. An income of
  two or three thousand francs, on which to live quietly in a mountain
  district, like Vergy.... I was happy then.... I did not realise my
  happiness."
  
  At other moments he would jump up from his chair. "If I had mortally
  wounded madame de Renal, I would have killed myself.... I need to feel
  certain of that so as not to horrify myself."
  
  "Kill myself? That's the great question," he said to himself. "Oh,
  those judges, those fiends of red tape, who would hang their best
  citizen in order to win the cross.... At any rate, I should escape from
  their control and from the bad French of their insults, which the local
  paper will call eloquence."
  
  "I still have five or six weeks, more or less to live.... Kill myself.
  No, not for a minute," he said to himself after some days, "Napoleon
  went on living."
  
  "Besides, I find life pleasant, this place is quiet, I am not troubled
  with bores," he added with a smile, and he began to make out a list of
  the books which he wanted to order from Paris.
  
  
  [1] Stendhal's bad spelling is here reproduced.
  
  
  
  
  
  
feat_summary_name: Part 2, Chapter 36
target: Julien gets tackled while trying to leave the Verrieres church. He's arrested for the murder of Madame de Renal. He basically knows he's finished. Little does he know that his shots haven't killed Madame, but only wounded her. A judge visits Julien in prison. Julien tells him that he killed Madame out of cold blood and that it was all premeditated. It's like the guy wants the death penalty. He writes a letter to Mathilde explaining what he's done. Later, he finds out that Madame de Renal isn't dead. Then he just starts bawling over what a mess he's made out of his life. Julien thinks about bribing the guard to help him escape, then forgets it because he doesn't really care enough to bother.