feat_summary_path: finished_summaries/shmoop/The Red and the Black/section_59_part_0.txt
feat_book_id: The Red and the Black.part 2.chapter 30
feat_summary_id: part 2, chapter 30
feat_summary: {"name": "Part 2, Chapter 30", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20200920104425/https://www.shmoop.com/study-guides/literature/red-and-the-black/summary/part-2-chapter-30", "summary": "After telling Julien she wants him back, Mathilde asks if he has had sex with Madame de Fervaques yet. He decides not to answer, which just twists the knife in her all the more. Julien is conflicted. He wants to take Mathilde in his arms, but knows that she'll despise him in only a few days if he declares his love for her. Julien tells Mathilde straight up that he doesn't trust her. She's too fickle for him and he won't let himself love her anymore. With that, he leaves Mathilde to cry all by her lonesome self. Julien goes to the opera that night with Madame de Fervaques and cries because he's thinking of Mathilde. Madame thinks that he's just showing his sensitivity as a man because the opera is sad. It makes her like him even more. Of course, Mathilde is at the opera to see whether Julien is there with Fervaques.", "analysis": ""}
text: CHAPTER LX
  
  A BOX AT THE BOUFFES
  
  
     As the blackest sky
  Foretells the heaviest tempest
                 _Don Juan, c._ 1. _st_.76.
  
  
  In the midst of these great transports Julien felt more surprised than
  happy. Mathilde's abuse proved to him the shrewdness of the Russian
  tactics. "'Few words, few deeds,' that is my one method of salvation."
  He picked up Mathilde, and without saying a word, put her back on the
  divan. She was gradually being overcome by tears.
  
  In order to keep herself in countenance, she took madame de Fervaques'
  letters in her hands, and slowly broke the seals. She gave a noticeable
  nervous movement when she recognised the marechale's handwriting. She
  turned over the pages of these letters without reading them. Most of
  them were six pages.
  
  "At least answer me," Mathilde said at last, in the most supplicatory
  tone, but without daring to look at Julien: "You know how proud I am.
  It is the misfortune of my position, and of my temperament, too, I
  confess. Has madame de Fervaques robbed me of your heart? Has she made
  the sacrifices to which my fatal love swept me?"
  
  A dismal silence was all Julien's answer. "By what right," he thought,
  "does she ask me to commit an indiscretion unworthy of an honest man?"
  Mathilde tried to read the letters; her eyes were so wet with tears
  that it was impossible for her to do so. She had been unhappy for a
  month past, but this haughty soul had been very far from owning its own
  feelings even to itself. Chance alone had brought about this explosion.
  For one instant jealousy and love had won a victory over pride. She
  was sitting on the divan, and very near him. He saw her hair and her
  alabaster neck. For a moment he forgot all he owed to himself. He
  passed his arm around her waist, and clasped her almost to his breast.
  
  She slowly turned her head towards him. He was astonished by the
  extreme anguish in her eyes. There was not a trace of their usual
  expression.
  
  Julien felt his strength desert him. So great was the deadly pain of
  the courageous feat which he was imposing on himself.
  
  "Those eyes will soon express nothing but the coldest disdain," said
  Julien to himself, "if I allow myself to be swept away by the happiness
  of loving her." She, however, kept repeatedly assuring him at this
  moment, in a hushed voice, and in words which she had scarcely the
  strength to finish, of all her remorse for those steps which her
  inordinate pride had dictated.
  
  "I, too, have pride," said Julien to her, in a scarcely articulate
  voice, while his features portrayed the lowest depths of physical
  prostration.
  
  Mathilde turned round sharply towards him. Hearing his voice was a
  happiness which she had given up hoping. At this moment her only
  thought of her haughtiness was to curse it. She would have liked to
  have found out some abnormal and incredible actions, in order to prove
  to him the extent to which she adored him and detested herself.
  
  "That pride is probably the reason," continued Julien, "why you singled
  me out for a moment. My present courageous and manly firmness is
  certainly the reason why you respect me. I may entertain love for the
  marechale."
  
  Mathilde shuddered; a strange expression came into her eyes. She was
  going to hear her sentence pronounced. This shudder did not escape
  Julien. He felt his courage weaken.
  
  "Ah," he said to himself, as he listened to the sound of the vain words
  which his mouth was articulating, as he thought it were some strange
  sound, "if I could only cover those pale cheeks with kisses without
  your feeling it."
  
  "I may entertain love for the marechale," he continued, while his voice
  became weaker and weaker, "but I certainly have no definite proof of
  her interest in me."
  
  Mathilde looked at him. He supported that look. He hoped, at any rate,
  that his expression had not betrayed him. He felt himself bathed in a
  love that penetrated even into the most secret recesses of his heart.
  He had never adored her so much; he was almost as mad as Mathilde. If
  she had mustered sufficient self-possession and courage to manoeuvre, he
  would have abandoned all his play-acting, and fallen at her feet. He
  had sufficient strength to manage to continue speaking: "Ah, Korasoff,"
  he exclaimed mentally, "why are you not here? How I need a word from
  you to guide me in my conduct." During this time his voice was saying,
  
  "In default of any other sentiment, gratitude would be sufficient to
  attach me to the marechale. She has been indulgent to me; she has
  consoled me when I have been despised. I cannot put unlimited faith
  in certain appearances which are, no doubt, extremely flattering, but
  possibly very fleeting."
  
  "Oh, my God!" exclaimed Mathilde.
  
  "Well, what guarantee will you give me?" replied Julien with a sharp,
  firm intonation, which seemed to abandon for a moment the prudent forms
  of diplomacy. "What guarantee, what god will warrant that the position
  to which you seem inclined to restore me at the present moment will
  last more than two days?"
  
  "The excess of my love, and my unhappiness if you do not love me," she
  said to him, taking his hands and turning towards him.
  
  The spasmodic movement which she had just made had slightly displaced
  her tippet; Julien caught a view of her charming shoulders. Her
  slightly dishevelled hair recalled a delicious memory....
  
  He was on the point of succumbing. "One imprudent word," he said to
  himself, "and I have to start all over again that long series of days
  which I have passed in despair. Madame de Renal used to find reasons
  for doing what her heart dictated. This young girl of high society
  never allows her heart to be moved except when she has proved to
  herself by sound logic that it ought to be moved."
  
  He saw this proof in the twinkling of an eye, and in the twinkling
  of an eye too, he regained his courage. He took away his hands which
  Mathilde was pressing in her own, and moved a little away from her with
  a marked respect.
  
  Human courage could not go further. He then busied himself with
  putting together madame de Fervaque's letters which were spread out on
  the divan, and it was with all the appearance of extreme politeness
  that he cruelly exploited the psychological moment by adding,
  
  "Mademoiselle de la Mole will allow me to reflect over all this." He
  went rapidly away and left the library; she heard him shut all the
  doors one after the other.
  
  "The monster is not the least bit troubled," she said to herself. "But
  what am I saying? Monster? He is wise, prudent, good. It is I myself
  who have committed more wrong than one can imagine."
  
  This point of view lasted. Mathilde was almost happy today, for she
  gave herself up to love unreservedly. One would have said that this
  soul had never been disturbed by pride (and what pride!)
  
  She shuddered with horror when a lackey announced madame le Fervaques
  into the salon in the evening. The man's voice struck her as sinister.
  She could not endure the sight of the marechale, and stopped suddenly.
  Julien who had felt little pride over his painful victory, had feared
  to face her, and had not dined at the Hotel de la Mole.
  
  His love and his happiness rapidly increased in proportion to the time
  that elapsed from the moment of the battle. He was blaming himself
  already. "How could I resist her?" he said to himself. "Suppose she
  were to go and leave off loving me! One single moment may change that
  haughty soul, and I must admit that I have treated her awfully."
  
  In the evening he felt that it was absolutely necessary to put in
  an appearance at the Bouffes in madame de Fervaques' box. She had
  expressly invited him. Mathilde would be bound to know of his presence
  or his discourteous absence. In spite of the clearness of this logic,
  he could not at the beginning of the evening bring himself to plunge
  into society. By speaking he would lose half his happiness. Ten o'clock
  struck and it was absolutely necessary to show himself. Luckily he
  found the marechale's box packed with women, and was relegated to a
  place near the door where he was completely hidden by the hats. This
  position saved him from looking ridiculous; Caroline's divine notes of
  despair in the _Matrimonio Segreto_ made him burst into tears. Madame
  de Fervaques saw these tears. They represented so great a contrast
  with the masculine firmness of his usual expression that the soul
  of the old-fashioned lady, saturated as it had been for many years
  with all the corroding acid of parvenu haughtiness, was none the less
  touched. Such remnants of a woman's heart as she still possessed
  impelled her to speak: she wanted to enjoy the sound of his voice at
  this moment.
  
  "Have you seen the de la Mole ladies?" she said to him. "They are
  in the third tier." Julien immediately craned out over the theatre,
  leaning politely enough on the front of the box. He saw Mathilde; her
  eyes were shining with tears.
  
  "And yet it is not their Opera day," thought Julien; "how eager she
  must be!"
  
  Mathilde had prevailed on her mother to come to the Bouffes in spite
  of the inconveniently high tier of the box, which a lady friend of the
  family had hastened to offer her. She wanted to see if Julien would
  pass the evening with the marechale.
  
  
  
  
  
  
feat_summary_name: Part 2, Chapter 30
target: After telling Julien she wants him back, Mathilde asks if he has had sex with Madame de Fervaques yet. He decides not to answer, which just twists the knife in her all the more. Julien is conflicted. He wants to take Mathilde in his arms, but knows that she'll despise him in only a few days if he declares his love for her. Julien tells Mathilde straight up that he doesn't trust her. She's too fickle for him and he won't let himself love her anymore. With that, he leaves Mathilde to cry all by her lonesome self. Julien goes to the opera that night with Madame de Fervaques and cries because he's thinking of Mathilde. Madame thinks that he's just showing his sensitivity as a man because the opera is sad. It makes her like him even more. Of course, Mathilde is at the opera to see whether Julien is there with Fervaques.