finished_summaries/shmoop/The Red and the Black/section_49_part_0.txt
The Red and the Black.part 2.chapter 20
part 2, chapter 20
{"name": "Part 2, Chapter 20", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20200920104425/https://www.shmoop.com/study-guides/literature/red-and-the-black/summary/part-2-chapter-20", "summary": "Julien goes to dinner feeling depressed because Mathilde is ignoring him again. He spends his time observing the high class people who come to dinner, and reminds himself that Mathilde has done things with him that she hasn't with them. Mathilde comes to him in the library later that day and says she knows that he wants to speak to her. She tells him flat out that she no longer loves him. She follows this by unleashing a hurricane of insults on Julien, calling him a poor nobody. Julien tries to run away, but Mathilde catches him by the arm and holds him. Later on, Julien is so preoccupied with his romantic drama that he knocks over a Japanese blue vase owned by Madame de La Mole. Mathilde is delighted to see the blue vase break because she has always found it ugly. Julien says that he is sorry the vase has been destroyed, just like his heart. No one knows what this second part means except for Mathilde.", "analysis": ""}
CHAPTER L

THE JAPANESE VASE


        His heart does not first realise the full extremity of
        his unhappiness: he is more troubled than moved. But as
        reason returns he feels the depth of his misfortune. All
        the pleasures of life seem to have been destroyed, he
        can only feel the sharp barbs of a lacerating despair.
        But what is the use of talking of physical pain? What
        pain which is only felt by the body can be compared to
        this pain?--_Jean Paul_.


The dinner bell rang, Julien had barely time to dress: he found
Mathilde in the salon. She was pressing her brother and M. de
Croisenois to promise her that they would not go and spend the evening
at Suresnes with madame the marechale de Fervaques.

It would have been difficult to have shown herself more amiable or
fascinating to them. M. de Luz, de Caylus and several of their friends
came in after dinner. One would have said that mademoiselle de la Mole
had commenced again to cultivate the most scrupulous conventionality
at the same time as her sisterly affection. Although the weather was
delightful this evening, she refused to go out into the garden, and
insisted on their all staying near the arm-chair where madame de la
Mole was sitting. The blue sofa was the centre of the group as it had
been in the winter.

Mathilde was out of temper with the garden, or at any rate she found it
absolutely boring: it was bound up with the memory of Julien.

Unhappiness blunts the edge of the intellect. Our hero had the bad
taste to stop by that little straw chair which had formerly witnessed
his most brilliant triumphs. To-day none spoke to him, his presence
seemed to be unnoticed, and worse than that. Those of mademoiselle de
la Mole's friends who were sitting near him at the end of the sofa,
made a point of somehow or other turning their back on him, at any rate
he thought so.

"It is a court disgrace," he thought. He tried to study for a moment
the people who were endeavouring to overwhelm him with their contempt.
M. de Luz had an important post in the King's suite, the result of
which was that the handsome officer began every conversation with
every listener who came along by telling him this special piece of
information. His uncle had started at seven o'clock for St. Cloud
and reckoned on spending the night there. This detail was introduced
with all the appearance of good nature but it never failed to be
worked in. As Julien scrutinized M. de Croisenois with a stern gaze of
unhappiness, he observed that this good amiable young man attributed
a great influence to occult causes. He even went so far as to become
melancholy and out of temper if he saw an event of the slightest
importance ascribed to a simple and perfectly natural cause.

"There is an element of madness in this," Julien said to himself.
This man's character has a striking analogy with that of the Emperor
Alexander, such as the Prince Korasoff described it to me. During the
first year of his stay in Paris poor Julien, fresh from the seminary
and dazzled by the graces of all these amiable young people, whom he
found so novel, had felt bound to admire them. Their true character was
only beginning to become outlined in his eyes.

"I am playing an undignified role here," he suddenly thought. The
question was, how he could leave the little straw chair without undue
awkwardness. He wanted to invent something, and tried to extract some
novel excuse from an imagination which was otherwise engrossed. He was
compelled to fall back on his memory, which was, it must be owned,
somewhat poor in resources of this kind.

The poor boy was still very much out of his element, and could not have
exhibited a more complete and noticeable awkwardness when he got up to
leave the salon. His misery was only too palpable in his whole manner.
He had been playing, for the last three quarters of an hour, the role
of an officious inferior from whom one does not take the trouble to
hide what one really thinks.

The critical observations he had just made on his rivals prevented
him, however, from taking his own unhappiness too tragically. His pride
could take support in what had taken place the previous day. "Whatever
may be their advantages over me," he thought, as he went into the
garden alone, "Mathilde has never been to a single one of them what,
twice in my life, she has deigned to be to me!" His penetration did not
go further. He absolutely failed to appreciate the character of the
extraordinary person whom chance had just made the supreme mistress of
all his happiness.

He tried, on the following day, to make himself and his horse dead
tired with fatigue. He made no attempt in the evening to go near the
blue sofa to which Mathilde remained constant. He noticed that comte
Norbert did not even deign to look at him when he met him about the
house. "He must be doing something very much against the grain," he
thought; "he is naturally so polite."

Sleep would have been a happiness to Julien. In spite of his physical
fatigue, memories which were only too seductive commenced to invade his
imagination. He had not the genius to see that, inasmuch as his long
rides on horseback over forests on the outskirts of Paris only affected
him, and had no affect at all on Mathilde's heart or mind, he was
consequently leaving his eventual destiny to the caprice of chance. He
thought that one thing would give his pain an infinite relief: it would
be to speak to Mathilde. Yet what would he venture to say to her?

He was dreaming deeply about this at seven o'clock one morning when he
suddenly saw her enter the library.

"I know, monsieur, that you are anxious to speak to me."

"Great heavens! who told you?"

"I know, anyway; that is enough. If you are dishonourable, you can
ruin me, or at least try to. But this danger, which I do not believe
to be real, will certainly not prevent me from being sincere. I do
not love you any more, monsieur, I have been led astray by my foolish
imagination."

Distracted by love and unhappiness, as a result of this terrible blow,
Julien tried to justify himself. Nothing could have been more absurd.
Does one make any excuses for failure to please? But reason had no
longer any control over his actions. A blind instinct urged him to get
the determination of his fate postponed. He thought that, so long as
he kept on speaking, all could not be over. Mathilde had not listened
to his words; their sound irritated her. She could not conceive how he
could have the audacity to interrupt her.

She was rendered equally unhappy this morning by remorseful virtue and
remorseful pride. She felt to some extent pulverised by the idea of
having given a little abbe, who was the son of a peasant, rights over
her. "It is almost," she said to herself, in those moments when she
exaggerated her own misfortune, "as though I had a weakness for one of
my footmen to reproach myself with." In bold, proud natures there is
only one step from anger against themselves to wrath against others. In
these cases the very transports of fury constitute a vivid pleasure.

In a single minute mademoiselle de la Mole reached the point of loading
Julien with the signs of the most extreme contempt. She had infinite
wit, and this wit was always triumphant in the art of torturing vanity
and wounding it cruelly.

For the first time in his life Julien found himself subjected to
the energy of a superior intellect, which was animated against him
by the most violent hate. Far from having at present the slightest
thought of defending himself, he came to despise himself. Hearing
himself overwhelmed with such marks of contempt which were so cleverly
calculated to destroy any good opinion that he might have of himself,
he thought that Mathilde was right, and that she did not say enough.

As for her, she found it deliciously gratifying to her pride to punish
in this way both herself and him for the adoration that she had felt
some days previously.

She did not have to invent and improvise the cruel remarks which she
addressed to him with so much gusto.

All she had to do was to repeat what the advocate of the other side had
been saying against her love in her own heart for the last eight days.

Each word intensified a hundredfold Julien's awful unhappiness. He
wanted to run away, but mademoiselle de la Mole took hold of his arm
authoritatively.

"Be good enough to remark," he said to her, "that you are talking very
loud. You will be heard in the next room."

"What does it matter?" mademoiselle de la Mole answered haughtily. "Who
will dare to say they have heard me? I want to cure your miserable
vanity once and for all of any ideas you may have indulged in on my
account."

When Julien was allowed to leave the library he was so astonished
that he was less sensitive to his unhappiness. "She does not love me
any more," he repeated to himself, speaking aloud as though to teach
himself how he stood. "It seems that she has loved me eight or ten
days, but I shall love her all my life."

"Is it really possible she was nothing to me, nothing to my heart so
few days back?"

Mathilde's heart was inundated by the joy of satisfied pride. So she
had been able to break with him for ever! So complete a triumph over so
strong an inclination rendered her completely happy. "So this little
gentleman will understand, once and for all, that he has not, and will
never have, any dominion over me." She was so happy that in reality she
ceased to love at this particular moment.

In a less passionate being than Julien love would have become
impossible after a scene of such awful humiliation. Without deviating
for a single minute from the requirements of her own self-respect,
mademoiselle de la Mole had addressed to him some of those unpleasant
remarks which are so well thought out that they may seem true, even
when remembered in cold blood.

The conclusion which Julien drew in the first moment of so surprising a
scene, was that Mathilde was infinitely proud. He firmly believed that
all was over between them for ever, and none the less, he was awkward
and nervous towards her at breakfast on the following day. This was a
fault from which up to now he had been exempt.

Both in small things as in big it was his habit to know what he ought
and wanted to do, and he used to act accordingly.

The same day after breakfast madame de la Mole asked him for a fairly
rare, seditious pamphlet which her cure had surreptitiously brought her
in the morning, and Julien, as he took it from a bracket, knocked over
a blue porcelain vase which was as ugly as it could possibly be.

Madame de la Mole got up, uttering a cry of distress, and proceeded to
contemplate at close quarters the ruins of her beloved vase. "It was
old Japanese," she said. "It came to me from my great aunt, the abbess
of Chelles. It was a present from the Dutch to the Regent, the Duke of
Orleans, who had given it to his daughter...."

Mathilde had followed her mother's movements, and felt delighted at
seeing that the blue vase, that she had thought horribly ugly, was
broken. Julien was taciturn, and not unduly upset. He saw mademoiselle
de la Mole quite near him.

"This vase," he said to her, "has been destroyed for ever. The same is
the case with the sentiment which was once master of my heart. I would
ask you to accept my apologies for all the pieces of madness which it
has made me commit." And he went out.

"One would really say," said madame de la Mole, as he went out of the
room, "that this M. Sorel is quite proud of what he has just done."

These words went right home to Mathilde's heart. "It is true," she
said to herself; "my mother has guessed right. That is the sentiment
which animates him." It was only then that she ceased rejoicing over
yesterday's scene. "Well, it is all over," she said to herself, with
an apparent calm. "It is a great lesson, anyway. It is an awful and
humiliating mistake! It is enough to make me prudent all the rest of my
life."

"Why didn't I speak the truth?" thought Julien. "Why am I still
tortured by the love which I once had for that mad woman?"

Far, however, from being extinguished as he had hoped it would be, his
love grew more and more rapidly. "She is mad, it is true," he said
to himself. "Is she any the less adorable for that? Is it possible
for anyone to be prettier? Is not mademoiselle de la Mole the ideal
quintessence of all the most vivid pleasures of the most elegant
civilisation?" These memories of a bygone happiness seized hold of
Julien's mind, and quickly proceeded to destroy all the work of his
reason.

It is in vain that reason wrestles with memories of this character. Its
stern struggles only increase the fascination.

Twenty-four hours after the breaking of the Japanese vase, Julien was
unquestionably one of the most unhappy men in the world.






Part 2, Chapter 20
Julien goes to dinner feeling depressed because Mathilde is ignoring him again. He spends his time observing the high class people who come to dinner, and reminds himself that Mathilde has done things with him that she hasn't with them. Mathilde comes to him in the library later that day and says she knows that he wants to speak to her. She tells him flat out that she no longer loves him. She follows this by unleashing a hurricane of insults on Julien, calling him a poor nobody. Julien tries to run away, but Mathilde catches him by the arm and holds him. Later on, Julien is so preoccupied with his romantic drama that he knocks over a Japanese blue vase owned by Madame de La Mole. Mathilde is delighted to see the blue vase break because she has always found it ugly. Julien says that he is sorry the vase has been destroyed, just like his heart. No one knows what this second part means except for Mathilde.