The Red and the Black is one of the most important pieces of French literature, and perhaps of European culture in general. The book portrays post-reformation France in a lively, intelligent and daring fashion; its intention is to expose the hypocrisy of society. From its onset, Stendhal considered The Red and the Black a ‘mirror of France in 1830’ – an interesting enterprise, even if not rare in the literary scene. We shall soon delve into the extent of Stendal’s success in his endeavour, and evaluate his literary work.
The novel as a mirror
I’m ashamed to admit that I am not sufficiently versed in French history in order to be an adequate judge of the social and historical accuracy of The Red and the Black, and I would advise readers to polish their knowledge of France before reading the novel. However, this is not a book that requires instructions. Inseparable from its social context, the novel (like many others) is quite plainly about people: their vicissitudes, the achievement or failure of their ambitions, their relations with one another, and their characters.
The mirror that Stendhal imposes upon us is far from flattering; it is demeaning, deriding and scornful. Perhaps his harsh tone is what made Stendhal so underappreciated by his contemporaries.
Ah, sir! a novel is a mirror travelling down the road. Sometimes it reflects the blue of the heavens to the eye, sometimes the mud of the filthy puddles on the road. And he who carries the mirror in his pack will be blamed for being immoral! His mirror shows the filth, and you blame the mirror! Much better blame the high road where the puddles are, and better still the inspector of roads who lets the water gather and the muddy puddles collect.
This note, thrown almost randomly into the text, reveals Stendhal’s views on his project quite picturesquely; it also reveals Stendhal’s peculiar and somewhat impulsive writing style. What can be seen in this mirror? Who are the people of France in 1830?
The answer is, first and foremost: hypocrites, but more remains to be revealed. Stendal portrays the people of France as those whose proud souls are a dangerous medley of hypocrisy and self-deceit, and who are consequently lost in confusion. The characters of the novel are always driven by ulterior thoughts; they ever keep their real causes to themselves, and remain true only to their inauthenticity. At a later stage, those characters are dramatically shocked by the discovery that, in reality, their supposed drives were secondary as well; what they imagined that they scorned turned out to be their most cherished desire, while the fulfilment of their original wants proved barren and unsatisfying.
Up to then their meeting had been as cold as ice. It was enough to make one detest love. What a lesson in morals for a young woman! Was it worthwhile ruining her future for such a moment? . . . The truth is that their raptures were somewhat willed. Passionate love remained more of a model for imitation than a reality.
The novel is fraught with similar moments of ironical realizations. Such is the portrait Stendhal draws of French society: nobody is sincere, and each is ‘acting a comedy, and lost if seen acting’ – as is stated by Prince Korasoff.
Style
One of the things that signify the novel is Stendhal’s writing style: a curious fusion between a planned historical novel and what feels like an incidental and almost abrupt relation of the vicissitudes of an ambitious man – almost as if Stendhal himself couldn’t make an unequivocal decision regarding his own work, and made up the tale as he went along.
The focus of the novel rapidly shifts from character to character, and the tone shifts in tandem. A thought of Mme de Rênal receives a different treatment than one of Mlle de La Mole or of Julien, with a result of a portrayal of each character in a different manner – not only according to Stendhal’s views, but also in relation to the circumstances of the situation. A supposedly acclaimed action could just as easily be rebuked by the narrator. This structured inconsistency is key to exciting different reactions to different characters, and it is this artfulness of Stendhal that makes him all the more intriguing.
Another element of the novel that adds to Stendhal’s craft is the narrator’s own lack of credibility, although the reader is almost misled in that matter. The narrator feigns omniscience – providing details about the motives and personalities of the characters as if they were given facts – only to be disproved later by negating details or by the very deeds of the characters. When studied carefully, the narration reveals its contrary notes, and turns out to be but a collection intermingled angles and points of view.
Even Stendhal himself seems inconsistent – take politics within the novel, for example. Stendhal would have claimed that he refrained from making his characters discuss politics, except for occasions in which doing so was absolutely necessary for the authenticity of the novel. In yet another random moment, Stendhal weaves the following remark into the story:
Politics is a millstone tied to the neck of literature, and drowns it in less than six months. Politics in imaginative work is like a shot in the middle of a concert. The noise is deafening but it imparts no energy. It doesn’t harmonize with the sound of any other instrument. Such political talk mortally offends half of one’s readers – and bores the other half, who, in a different context, in the morning paper, find such things interesting and lively.
And yet, is the author loyal to his own professed thoughts? Is the reader not, by the end of the novel, completely versed in the minor politics of Verrières and in the general politics of Besançon, Paris and France itself? A chapter seldom goes by without the relation of a person’s political stand, reminiscences of Napoleon, or a recollection of Robespierre. Politics are an inseparable part of the novel – however insistently Stendhal denies the fact. It is as if Stendhal’s style is not made as a choice between historical documentation and frivolous abruptness, but is a deliberate mean between both – making it all the more unique.
Another point of interest in style is Stendhal’s quotations; the first thing to note about them is that Stendhal made up most of them, and then attributed them to figures that he thought could have made such remarks. In Stendhal’s opinion, a quotation needn’t prove a point more specifically or artfully than the text, or in accordance with its contents – it need only augment the experience of the reader, pull strings of the heart rather than of the mind, and temper the reader’s reaction according to the author’s desire.
The inconsistency of the narration, the falsity of the quotations, and the subtle bias of tone when discussing different characters – all seem too fitting to not be thought deliberate. Stendhal expects us to take the hint, and would have whispered: ‘And is there a better way of representing the nineteenth century?’.
Hypocrisy
Quite plainly, hypocrisy can be considered the novel’s main subject; it already appears in the title – the black resembling the cloth of the church and the red the uniform of the French army, both of which represent the two negating aspirations of the main character – and is ever present in the background of the narrative. Every action and thought of the characters is mingled with a substantial amount of hypocrisy, of which some of the characters are completely conscious.
Julien, astonished not to have been beaten, made haste to go. But he was hardly out of sight of his terrible father when he slackened his pace. He decided that to go to the church to perform a Station of the Cross would be of use to his hypocrisy.
To this first instance of hypocrisy, which is so explicitly shown in the beginning of the novel,, the narrator is well prepared; ‘That word surprises you?’ he asks, challenging our conceptions of what should and should not be admitted. Evidently, the fickle style of the novel is actually instrumental to its major theme of hypocrisy.
Julien isn’t the only person to whom his own dishonest actions are clear, albeit he is arguably more aware of his own motives than the other characters. Only Julien’s two lovers are granted glimpses of his true nature; when he entered Mme de Rênal’s bedroom for the first time, Julien ‘forgot his empty schemes and returned to playing the part natural to him’. But even those glimpses are only partial. Mme de Rênal is left entirely in the dark regarding Julien’s liberal sentiments, and forever doubts his feelings towards her. The rest of society is denied even those incomplete glimpses into Julien’s character, and encounter only a perfectly sealed and cold mask, behind which fiery eyes can be seen sparkling with completely different ideas than those that are shown on the surface. Such hypocrisy is deemed necessary, and even worthy, in the eyes of the main characters. Julien and Mathilde take pride in their deceptive natures; they know themselves to be persons of character capable of individuality, and both exploit contemporary ideas in order to move within society. How heartily do Julien and Mathilde mock those who apply the same means but are unaware of the fact that those tactics are a façade – those who give in to fashions without being conscious of their own hypocrisy. The novel is fraught with incidents of apparent hypocrisy: M. de Beauvoisis’ rumour regarding Julien’s birth, the rules of conduct in the seminar of Besançon, the entire behaviour of M. Valenod, etc. It is only the exceptional and central figures of the novel who use that hypocrisy deliberately.
Even the most sly of characters within the novel are unable to fathom their own dispositions, and this fact is what truly signifies Stendhal: his down-to-earth perception of the volatility of human nature. As conscious of their deceptiveness as they may be, the characters can’t grasp their own feelings and motives any better than those who are less aware – because those motives are ever-changing.
For example, Mathilde, whose opinions about herself and about society seem to be quite established, is exactly as lost as the tender Mme de Rênal when dealing with her emotions; At one moment she is as proud as a queen, and at the next she becomes as docile as a servant for the sake of Julien. And yet, when Mathilde receives Julien’s love, that love sickens her. For his own part, Julien incessantly changes his opinions about himself – sometimes measuring himself in relation to Napoleon and sometimes feeling inept in dealing with Mathilde. Who has not experienced similar changes? Who has not inwardly scrutinized himself with ample satisfaction for a moment, and felt the greatest self-derision and shame but a few days later – often enticed by the most trivial of events? As I have already stated, the people of the nineteenth century were greatly confused; dumbfounded by themselves, they were often left with nothing to follow but what they imagined to be their true cause, which was originally nothing but one of their many façades. ‘To sacrifice himself to his passions, very well; but to passions he does not feel! Oh, wretched nineteenth century!’ Julien is perhaps the only character to advance as far as to understand some deeper parts of himself; he becomes aware of the different components of his thoughts, some of which call on him to fulfill his ambitions, while others mock him and his desires in what he calls a Mephistophelean voice.
The influence of my contemporaries is too much for me, he said aloud with a bitter laugh. Alone, talking to myself, two steps away from death, I am still a hypocrite… Oh! Nineteenth Century!
But even Julien, while awaiting death in his cell, is unable to discard his hypocrisy. Even though the supposedly omniscient narrator claims that Julien has lost his ambition, the latter immediately proceeds to compare himself to Napoleon. The reader is left without any clear perceptions on the characters, the narrator, and the story in general – and I think that that is precisely why Stendhal succeeded in forming his mirror of the era – for the reader is granted the opportunity to experience that era first-hand.
Religion
Religion is a central motif within the novel – especially because of its relation to hypocrisy. As prominent as the presence of religion is in France, that religion is never taken seriously. Everybody is coldly disillusioned about the role of religious leaders; acts of avarice are expected rather than denounced, and those who honestly cherish Christian morals are mocked and looked upon with suspicion. Curé Chélan and Abbé Pirard are the only religious figures with any integrity; the first is removed from his position, and the second is surrounded by enemies and persecuted for his Jansenism. Like Pope Adrian VI, Curé Chélan and Abbé Pirard are incapable of blocking the deterioration of the Church, and consequently remain only a negation of it.
The religious institutions of France are truly corrupted, and it is precisely that corruption that intrigues Julien and encourages him to become a priest. As I have already noted, the very name of the novel signifies the hypocrisy ingrained within all who share Julien’s aspirations. Julien, a complete non-believer, isn’t ashamed in the slightest to take on the cloth of the Church for worldly gain – just like every seminarist in Besançon. Only Curé Chélan is illusioned enough with religion to confront Julien:
You could make your fortune, but you must grind down the poor, flatter the Sub-prefect, the mayor, the man of reputation, and cater to his passions: such conduct, which society at large calls knowledge of the world, might, for a layman, not be absolutely incompatible with salvation; but, in our calling, it is necessary to choose; one must make one’s fortune in this world or the other, there is no middle way.
Julien, although taken aback by the old Curé’s recognition of his motives, doesn’t desist from his course; in spite of his friendship with both Chélan and Pirard, it is not piety that he appreciates – but the appearance of piety and the ability to use it as an instrument for personal advancement. Julien is impressed by the young Bishop of Agde, who had managed to reach that status at such an early age and is later revealed to be a political schemer – not unlike other important men of the cloth. It is for the sake of keeping up appearances that our Machiavellian protagonist memorizes The Bible, an ability that is readily abused by him in his early endeavours to impress provincial society. But Julien isn’t the only character disillusioned with the role of religious leaders in society. Mathilde, for example, is shown only once to truly lose heart in the novel – before an encounter with M. de Frilair.
However high her courage, the idea of an influential member of the Congregation was so linked in her mind with that of deep and calculated wickedness that she trembled as she rang the bell at the Bishop’s gateway.
However, in spite of his calculated hypocrisy, Julien eventually succumbs to what Stendhal presents as a basic need of human beings: faith, and specifically its greatest asset – support. As I have already said, Stendhal is an expert on the fickleness of human nature. After a sufficient amount of time, and with his back against the wall, Julien completely forgets his previous unshaken disbelief and hypocritical plots of advancement within the church.
Fool that I am! I see a Gothic cathedral, ancient stained glass; my vulnerable heart conjures up the figure of a priest within that window… My soul embraces it, my soul has need of it… What do I meet but a fop with greasy hair…
This need of religion is realized by Julien after he allows an obviously hypocritical priest to attempt his confession. The irony lies in the fact that Julien sees through the hypocrisy of the priest who came to his cell from the start, and yet their interview leaves him in despair. Thus, through Julien, Stendhal remonstrates against what has become of the Church of France: his main character first abuses its system, but when that character has a real need of the church he laments its corruption. The novel criticizes the lack of a proper institution to fulfill the religious needs of society – a lack that is all the more atrocious because of its essentiality for human beings.
Characters
I cannot close this analysis without touching upon the three most prominent characters of The Red and the Black: Julien, Mathilde, and Mme de Rênal; their love, their quarrels, and the negation between their statuses and their points of views are the core of the work.
Naturally, we have to begin with Julien – the main character of the novel. I will not go into detail regarding Julien Sorel’s character, because I think that that character is illustrated well enough within the novel and isn’t hard to comprehend. Furthermore, Julien’s ambitions and his feelings towards hypocrisy and religion have already been discussed. However, I do wish to point out a few points of interest. The most remarkable detail about Julien is that he can never truly decide upon his course; he isn’t as Machiavellian as he would like to be. Rather than pursuing one path to success in either the church, the army or society, Julien side-glances at all of those paths, and is thrice dumbfounded by love. As strange as it may be, what Julien cannot stand, above all else, is the image of himself as a perfect deceiver – an image that is expertly drawn by Mme de Rênal’s confessor. And yet, it is precisely such a deception that he used to admire when he rationalized. Despite his deep self-awareness, perhaps Julien didn’t scrutinize himself well enough after all; that image of himself made him travel to Verrières in a vindictive rage – partly against the woman who had thwarted his dreams, but mostly against a dear lover who revealed to him how his love would have looked like had he been more successful in shaping himself than his sincerity allowed.
The inconsistency of Julien’s nature is not always to his disadvantage throughout the novel; his failuresm – what he deems his weaknesses – advance him as often as cold calculation does. Recall that, when he first entered Mme de Rênal’s room, Julien ‘forgot his empty schemes and returned to playing a part natural to him’. Julien, in his most raw form, is still an insecure young man who is abashed by the presence of authority. But ‘inconsistency’ is key; sometimes Julien succumbs to his weakness and is left at the mercy of his surroundings, a merchy that proves to be surprisingly abundant, and sometimes he asserts himself to the bitter end – as he did with M. de La Mole, and sadly at his trial. So much has been done in his favour towards that final confrontation with society – so great were his chances of pardon – that if Julien would have only shown the slightest weakness, he would have been spared. Julien expected the society of France to be a mocking, jeering crowd – satisfied with the fall of the fortunate; Instead, he discovered a caring and confused multitude, led by a few elite persons whose decisions didn’t represent the will of the many. All that Julien had to do was to not speak out against those persons, but he deemed doing so his duty, and was therefore beheaded. In the end, Julien was more loyal to the image of himself that he had conjured than to his true self and will to live; his hypocrisy became his tragedy.
The second most important character in the novel is Mlle de La Mole, more familiarly called Mathilde. This young girl stands out in the Parisian scene. Because her father is a rich man of status, Mathilde grew up with the notion that she is superior to others, and more importantly that she deserves to be happier than other girls. In addition, Mathilde is frightfully intelligent, witty, charming, beautiful, strong willed and courageous – all of which add to her insurmountable pride. As the paragon of Parisian society in terms of quality, Mathilde also becomes the most susceptible to its contagious disease – ennui.
The bored state of mind of Mathilde is no slight matter; it stands in the root of most of her actions, and determines her rebellious course. Mathilde is ever searching for the imprévu – a search that leads her to challenge social norms; her love for Julien is insincere – hardly anything about her is – and is fueled by her desire to outdo her contemporaries. Mathilde attempts to do what other girls cannot; like a dandy, she advances to the point in which becoming a duchess is within her grasp, but only to throw the opportunity away disdainfuly – out of sheer unconventionality. We have already seen that Mathilde’s love for Julien lacks integrity; it resembles the love that is presented in novels only superficially, and her actions are spurred by what Mathilde believes she should feel, rather than by what truly lies in her heart – and how disappointed she was when her supposed desires were finally fulfilled! Malthide’s attempt to save Julien also stemmed from a fake feeling – from what she believed a devout wife should feel – but her unwholesome love wasn’t enough to surpass her pride, and therefore Mathilde was ever locked in a struggle between two negating components of her hypocrisy until the very end; what a refined example of Parisian society did she form.
Another characteristic of Mathilde is her adoration of antiquity. As Julien is told when he is presented at the Hôtel de La Mole, the family only truly respects people related with the Crusaders. Mathilde’s sentiment towards antiquity is often mingled with derision for the contemporary; how often does she mock the young men of 1830 in comparison with those of old, thereby allowing her to feel herself superior to them for because of her affiliation with past virtues. While I do admit that I can relate to that sentiment, Mathilde reached the point of obsession; her solitary mourning on the 30th of April for the sake of Boniface de La Mole, alongside her contempt for her family’s disregard of that date, is proof enough. The fact that Mathilde demands to keep Julien’s severed head in imitation of Queen Marguerite of Navarre also proves the falsity of her actions – to the point that she herself is unaware of her insincerity. Although Mathilde doesn’t lack self-assertion, that trait is only applied in relation to romantic anticipations.
The final character worth discussing, and the one with arguably the greatest impact on the events of the novel, is Mme de Rênal; however, I do not wish to include her in this analysis. Frankly, I could never understand or relate to Mme de Rênal; in my opinion her character is unrealistically constructed, and I could never truly comprehend Stendhal’s treatment of her as a simpleton of sorts. All I could see was a satisfied, brave, and loving woman – one who didn’t shy away from expressing her feelings in spite of public opinion. Furthermore, Mme de Rênal proved to be quite cunning and shrewd, and easily made M. de Rênal and the rest of Verrières dance to her tune. However, that pleasing image of an interesting character is often forcefully intermingled with that of a bland, simple-minded and reserved figure who is ready to fall prey to the claws of her husband and to a certain confessor. I can understand how both of those types of character could find solace in burying their love under a façade of religious sentiment, but I just can’t understand how those two negating characters can co-exist in one person. To my mind, that incompatability goes beyond human fickleness, but it definitely accentuates the themes of this remarkable novel.