8 Forest west of Paris, near Saint-Cloud.
Chapter Twenty: The Japanese Vase
Chapter Twenty: The Japanese Vase His heart did not understand, at first, the full extent of his misery; he was more upset than moved. But as his mind was restored, slowly, to rationality, he came to feel the depth of his misfortune. For him, life's pleasures were completely annihilated: all he could feel was the sharp point of despair, as it cut into him. But what's the use of speaking about physical pain? What merely bodily suffering is the equal of this? —Jean-Paul1 The dinner bell was sounding; Julien barely had time to dress. When he reached the dining room, he found Mathilde, who was pleading with her brother and Monsieur de Croisenois not to attend the party at Suresnes, the home of Madame de Fervaques, the marshall's widow. It would have been difficult for her to be more captivating or pleasant. After dinner, they were joined by Messieurs de Luz, de Caylus, and several of their friends. It might have been said that Mademoiselle de La Mole had resumed, not merely her worship of fraternal affection, but also the most demanding observance of social convention. Though the weather was lovely that night, she insisted they should not go into the garden; she wished them to stay near the easy chair in which, as usual, Madame de La Mole was sitting. The blue sofa was clearly to be the group's center, as it had been that winter. Mathilde was ill disposed to the garden, or at least it left her totally indifferent: it was connected to memories of Julien. Misery weakens the mind. Our hero was awkward enough to stand close to the little straw chair, which had once witnessed such brilliant victories. No one said a word to him, today; his presence was imperceptible—or worse. Those of Mademoiselle de La Mole's friends seated at the far end of the sofa, near him, tried to turn their backs to him, or at least he had that impression. "I've fallen out of favor at court," he thought. He wanted to study, for a moment, these people who were pretending to crush him with their disdain. Monsieur de Luz's uncle held a high position, close to the king, so as newcomers joined the group, the handsome young officer began the conversation, each and every time, with striking news: his uncle had departed for Saint-Cloud at seven that morning, and expected to be there that evening, and to stay there that night. This information was conveyed in what seemed complete geniality, but it was always set forth. Watching Monsieur de Croisenois with the harsh eye of misery, Julien noticed the extraordinary importance which that friendly, and so very handsome, young man attributed to occult forces. He carried this so far that his face darkened and he turned sullen when he saw even a mildly important event explained by some simple, entirely natural cause. "He's more than a bit crazy," Julien said to himself. "This sounds strikingly like Emperor Alexander2 of Russia, as Prince Korasoff described him to me." During his first year in Paris, after leaving the seminary, dazzled by the utterly novel graces of all these genial young gentlemen, Julien could not help admiring them. Their real character was just beginning to reveal itself. "I'm playing an unworthy role, here," he suddenly thought. How was he to get away from his little straw chair without being horribly clumsy? He tried to think of a way, but this was setting novel problems for a mind already elsewhere occupied. He fell back on his memory,