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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/7979-8.txt b/7979-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..437b74a --- /dev/null +++ b/7979-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,23146 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Jean-Christophe, Vol. I, by Romain Rolland + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Jean-Christophe, Vol. I + +Author: Romain Rolland + +Release Date: April, 2005 [EBook #7979] +[This file was first posted on June 8, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, JEAN-CHRISTOPHE, VOL. I *** + + + + +E-text prepared by the Distributed Proofreading Team + + + +JEAN-CHRISTOPHE VOLUME I + +DAWN, MORNING, YOUTH, REVOLT + +by Romain Rolland + +Translated by Gilbert Cannan + + + + + + + +PREFACE + + +"Jean-Christophe" is the history of the development of a musician of +genius. The present volume comprises the first four volumes of the original +French, viz.: "L'Aube," "Le Matin," "L'Adolescent," and "La Révólte," which +are designated in the translation as Part I--The Dawn; Part II--Morning; +Part III--Youth; Part IV--Revolt. Parts I and II carry Jean-Christophe from +the moment of his birth to the day when, after his first encounter with +Woman, at the age of fifteen, he falls back upon a Puritan creed. Parts +III and IV describe the succeeding five years of his life, when, at the +age of twenty, his sincerity, integrity, and unswerving honesty have made +existence impossible for him in the little Rhine town of his birth. An act +of open revolt against German militarism compels him to cross the frontier +and take refuge in Paris, and the remainder of this vast book is devoted to +the adventures of Jean-Christophe in France. + +His creator has said that he has always conceived and thought of the life +of his hero and of the book as a river. So far as the book has a plan, that +is its plan. It has no literary artifice, no "plot." The words of it hang +together in defiance of syntax, just as the thoughts of it follow one on +the other in defiance of every system of philosophy. Every phase of the +book is pregnant with the next phase. It is as direct and simple as life +itself, for life is simple when the truth of it is known, as it was known +instinctively by Jean-Christophe. The river is explored as though it were +absolutely uncharted. Nothing that has ever been said or thought of life is +accepted without being brought to the test of Jean-Christophe's own life. +What is not true for him does not exist; and, as there are very few of +the processes of human growth or decay which are not analysed, there is +disclosed to the reader the most comprehensive survey of modern life which +has appeared in literature in this century. + +To leave M. Rolland's simile of the river, and to take another, the book +has seemed to me like a, mighty bridge leading from the world of ideas of +the nineteenth century to the world of ideas of the twentieth. The whole +thought of the nineteenth century seems to be gathered together to make the +starting-point for Jean-Christophe's leap into the future. All that was +most religious in that thought seems to be concentrated in Jean-Christophe, +and when the history of the book is traced, it appears that M. Rolland has +it by direct inheritance. + +M. Rolland was born in 1866 at Clamecy, in the center of France, of a +French family of pure descent, and educated in Paris and Rome. At Rome, in +1890, he met Malwida von Meysenburg, a German lady who had taken refuge +in England after the Revolution of 1848, and there knew Kossuth, Mazzini, +Herzen, Ledin, Rollin, and Louis Blanc. Later, in Italy, she counted among +her friends Wagner, Liszt, Lenbach, Nietzsche, Garibaldi, and Ibsen. She +died in 1908. Rolland came to her impregnated with Tolstoyan ideas, and +with her wide knowledge of men and movements she helped him to discover his +own ideas. In her "Mémoires d'une Idéaliste" she wrote of him: "In this +young Frenchman I discovered the same idealism, the same lofty aspiration, +the same profound grasp of every great intellectual manifestation that I +had already found in the greatest men of other nationalities." + +The germ of "Jean-Christophe" was conceived during this period--the +"Wanderjahre"--of M. Rolland's life. On his return to Paris he became +associated with a movement towards the renascence of the theater as a +social machine, and wrote several plays. He has since been a musical critic +and a lecturer on music and art at the Sorbonne. He has written Lives of +Beethoven, Michael Angelo, and Hugo Wolf. Always his endeavor has been the +pursuit of the heroic. To him the great men are the men of absolute truth. +Jean-Christophe must have the truth and tell the truth, at all costs, in +despite of circumstance, in despite of himself, in despite even of life. +It is his law. It is M. Rolland's law. The struggle all through the book +is between the pure life of Jean-Christophe and the common acceptance of +the second-rate and the second-hand by the substitution of civic or social +morality, which is only a compromise, for individual morality, which +demands that every man should be delivered up to the unswerving judgment of +his own soul. Everywhere Jean-Christophe is hurled against compromise and +untruth, individual and national. He discovers the German lie very quickly; +the French lie grimaces at him as soon as he sets foot in Paris. + +The book itself breaks down the frontier between France and Germany. If one +frontier is broken, all are broken. The truth about anything is universal +truth, and the experiences of Jean-Christophe, the adventures of his soul +(there are no other adventures), are in a greater or less degree those of +every human being who passes through this life from the tyranny of the past +to the service of the future. + +The book contains a host of characters who become as friends, or, at least, +as interesting neighbors, to the reader. Jean-Christophe gathers people +in his progress, and as they are all brought to the test of his genius, +they appear clearly for what they are. Even the most unpleasant of them is +human, and demands sympathy. + +The recognition of Jean-Christophe as a book which marks a stage in +progress was instantaneous in France. It is hardly possible yet to judge +it. It is impossible to deny its vitality. It exists. Christophe is as real +as the gentlemen whose portraits are posted outside the Queen's Hall, and +much more real than many of them. The book clears the air. An open mind +coming to it cannot fail to be refreshed and strengthened by its voyage +down the river of a man's life, and if the book is followed to its end, the +voyager will discover with Christophe that there is joy beneath sorrow, joy +through sorrow ("Durch Leiden Freude"). + +Those are the last words of M. Rolland's life of Beethoven; they are words +of Beethoven himself: "La devise de tout âme héroïque." + +In his preface, "To the Friends of Christophe," which precedes the seventh +volume, "Dans la Maison," M. Rolland writes: + +"I was isolated: like so many others in France I was stifling in a world +morally inimical to me: I wanted air: I wanted to react against an +unhealthy civilization, against ideas corrupted by a sham élite: I wanted +to say to them: 'You lie! You do not represent France!' To do so I needed a +hero with a pure heart and unclouded vision, whose soul would be stainless +enough for him to have the right to speak; one whose voice would be loud +enough for him to gain a hearing, I have patiently begotten this hero. The +work was in conception for many years before I set myself to write a word +of it. Christophe only set out on his journey when I had been able to see +the end of it for him." + +If M. Rolland's act of faith in writing Jean-Christophe were only concerned +with France, if the polemic of it were not directed against a universal +evil, there would be no reason for translation. But, like Zarathustra, it +is a book for all and none. M. Rolland has written what he believes to be +the truth, and as Dr. Johnson observed: "Every man has a right to utter +what he thinks truth, and every other man has a right to knock him down for +it...." + +By its truth and its absolute integrity--since Tolstoy I know of no +writing so crystal clear--"Jean-Christophe" is the first great book of the +twentieth century. In a sense it begins the twentieth century. It bridges +transition, and shows us where we stand. It reveals the past and the +present, and leaves the future open to us.... + +GILBERT CANNAN + + + + +CONTENTS + + +THE DAWN + + I + II +III + + +MORNING + + I. THE DEATH OF JEAN MICHEL + II. OTTO +III. MINNA + + +YOUTH + + I. THE HOUSE OF EULER + II. SABINE +III. ADA + + +REVOLT + + I. SHIFTING SANDS + II. ENGULFED +III. DELIVERANCE + + + + +THE DAWN + + Dianzi, nell'alba che precede al giorno, + Quando l'anima tua dentro dormìa.... + _Purgatorio_, ix. + + + + +I + + Come, quando i vapori umidi e spessi + A diradar cominciansi, la spera + Del sol debilemente entra per essi.... + _Purgatorio_, xvii. + +From behind the house rises the murmuring of the river. All day long the +rain has been beating against the window-panes; a stream of water trickles +down the window at the corner where it is broken. The yellowish light of +the day dies down. The room is dim and dull. + +The new-born child stirs in his cradle. Although the old man left his +sabots at the door when he entered, his footsteps make the floor creak. The +child begins to whine. The mother leans out of her bed to comfort it; and +the grandfather gropes to light the lamp, so that the child shall not be +frightened by the night when he awakes. The flame of the lamp lights up old +Jean Michel's red face, with its rough white beard and morose expression +and quick eyes. He goes near the cradle. His cloak smells wet, and as he +walks he drags his large blue list slippers, Louisa signs to him not to go +too near. She is fair, almost white; her features are drawn; her gentle, +stupid face is marked with red in patches; her lips are pale and' swollen, +and they are parted in a timid smile; her eyes devour the child--and her +eyes are blue and vague; the pupils are small, but there is an infinite +tenderness in them. + +The child wakes and cries, and his eyes are troubled. Oh! how terrible! The +darkness, the sudden flash of the lamp, the hallucinations of a mind as +yet hardly detached from chaos, the stifling, roaring night in which it is +enveloped, the illimitable gloom from which, like blinding shafts of light, +there emerge acute sensations, sorrows, phantoms--those enormous faces +leaning over him, those eyes that pierce through him, penetrating, are +beyond his comprehension!... He has not the strength to cry out; terror +holds him motionless, with eyes and mouth wide open and he rattles in his +throat. His large head, that seems to have swollen up, is wrinkled with the +grotesque and lamentable grimaces that he makes; the skin of his face and +hands is brown and purple, and spotted with yellow.... + +"Dear God!" said the old man with conviction: "How ugly he is!" + +He put the lamp down on the table. + +Louisa pouted like a scolded child. Jean Michel looked at her out of the +corner of his eye and laughed. + +"You don't want me to say that he is beautiful? You would not believe it. +Come, it is not your fault. They are all like that." + +The child came out of the stupor and immobility into which he had been +thrown by the light of the lamp and the eyes of the old man. He began to +cry. Perhaps he instinctively felt in his mother's eyes a caress which made +it possible for him to complain. She held out her arms for him and said: + +"Give him to me." + +The old man began, as usual, to air his theories: + +"You ought not to give way to children when they cry. You must just let +them cry." + +But he came and took the child and grumbled: + +"I never saw one quite so ugly." + +Louisa took the child feverishly and pressed it to her bosom. She looked at +it with a bashful and delighted smile. + +"Oh, my poor child!" she said shamefacedly. "How ugly you are--how ugly! +and how I love you!" + +Jean Michel went back to the fireside. He began to poke the fire in +protest, but a smile gave the lie to the moroseness and solemnity of his +expression. + +"Good girl!" he said. "Don't worry about it. He has plenty of time to +alter. And even so, what does it matter? Only one thing is asked of him: +that he should grow into an honest man." + +The child was comforted by contact with his mother's warm body. He could be +heard sucking her milk and gurgling and snorting. Jean Michel turned in his +chair, and said once more, with some emphasis: + +"There's nothing finer than an honest man." + +He was silent for a moment, pondering whether it would not be proper to +elaborate this thought; but he found nothing more to say, and after a +silence he said irritably: + +"Why isn't your husband here?" + +"I think he is at the theater," said Louisa timidly. "There is a +rehearsal." + +"The theater is closed. I passed it just now. One of his lies." + +"No. Don't be always blaming him. I must have misunderstood. He must have +been kept for one of his lessons." + +"He ought to have come back," said the old man, not satisfied. He stopped +for a moment, and then asked, in a rather lower voice and with some shame: + +"Has he been ... again?" + +"No, father--no, father," said Louisa hurriedly. + +The old man looked at her; she avoided his eyes. + +"It's not true. You're lying." + +She wept in silence. + +"Dear God!" said the old man, kicking at the fire with his foot. The poker +fell with a clatter. The mother and the child trembled. + +"Father, please--please!" said Louisa. "You will make him cry." + +The child hesitated for a second or two whether to cry or to go on with his +meal; but not being able to do both at once, he went on with the meal. + +Jean Michel continued in a lower tone, though with outbursts of anger: + +"What have I done to the good God to have this drunkard for my son? What +is the use of my having lived as I have lived, and of having denied myself +everything all my life! But you--you--can't you do anything to stop it? +Heavens! That's what you ought to do.... You should keep him at home!..." + +Louisa wept still more. + +"Don't scold me!... I am unhappy enough as it is! I have done everything +I could. If you knew how terrified I am when I am alone! Always I seem to +hear his step on the stairs. Then I wait for the door to open, or I ask +myself: 'O God! what will he look like?' ... It makes me ill to think of +it!" + +She was shaken by her sobs. The old man grew anxious. He went to her and +laid the disheveled bedclothes about her trembling shoulders and caressed +her head with his hands. + +"Come, come, don't be afraid. I am here." + +She calmed herself for the child's sake, and tried to smile. + +"I was wrong to tell you that." + +The old man shook his head as he looked at her. + +"My poor child, it was not much of a present that I gave you." + +"It's my own fault," she said. "He ought not to have married me. He is +sorry for what he did." + +"What, do you mean that he regrets?..." + +"You know. You were angry yourself because I became his wife." + +"We won't talk about that. It is true I was vexed. A young man like that--I +can say so without hurting you--a young man whom I had carefully brought +up, a distinguished musician, a real artist--might have looked higher than +you, who had nothing and were of a lower class, and not even of the same +trade. For more than a hundred years no Krafft has ever married a woman who +was not a musician! But, you know, I bear you no grudge, and am fond of +you, and have been ever since I learned to know you. Besides, there's no +going back on a choice once it's made; there's nothing left but to do one's +duty honestly." + +He went and sat down again, thought for a little, and then said, with the +solemnity in which he invested all his aphorisms: + +"The first thing in life is to do one's duty." + +He waited for contradiction, and spat on the fire. Then, as neither mother +nor child raised any objection, he was for going on, but relapsed into +silence. + + * * * * * + +They said no more. Both Jean Michel, sitting by the fireside, and Louisa, +in her bed, dreamed sadly. The old man, in spite of what he had said, had +bitter thoughts about his son's marriage, and Louisa was thinking of it +also, and blaming herself, although she had nothing wherewith to reproach +herself. + +She had been a servant when, to everybody's surprise, and her own +especially, she married Melchior Krafft, Jean Michel's son. The Kraffts +were without fortune, but were considerable people in the little Rhine +town in which the old man had settled down more than fifty years before. +Both father and son were musicians, and known to all the musicians of +the country from Cologne to Mannheim. Melchior played the violin at the +Hof-Theater, and Jean Michel had formerly been director of the grand-ducal +concerts. The old man had been profoundly humiliated by his son's marriage, +for he had built great hopes upon Melchior; he had wished to make him the +distinguished man which he had failed to become himself. This mad freak +destroyed all his ambitions. He had stormed at first, and showered curses +upon Melchior and Louisa. But, being a good-hearted creature, he forgave +his daughter-in-law when he learned to know her better; and he even came +by a paternal affection for her, which showed itself for the most part in +snubs. + +No one ever understood what it was that drove Melchior to such a +marriage--least of all Melchior. It was certainly not Louisa's beauty. She +had no seductive quality: she was small, rather pale, and delicate, and +she was a striking contrast to Melchior and Jean Michel, who were both big +and broad, red-faced giants, heavy-handed, hearty eaters and drinkers, +laughter-loving and noisy. She seemed to be crushed by them; no one +noticed her, and she seemed to wish to escape even what little notice she +attracted. If Melchior had been a kind-hearted man, it would have been +credible that he should prefer Louisa's simple goodness to every other +advantage; but a vainer man never was. It seemed incredible that a young +man of his kidney, fairly good-looking, and quite conscious of it, very +foolish, but not without talent, and in a position to look for some +well-dowered match, and capable even--who knows?--of turning the head of +one of his pupils among the people of the town, should suddenly have chosen +a girl of the people--poor, uneducated, without beauty, a girl who could in +no way advance his career. + +But Melchior was one of those men who always do the opposite of what is +expected of them and of what they expect of themselves. It is not that they +are not warned--a man who is warned is worth two men, says the proverb. +They profess never to be the dupe of anything, and that they steer their +ship with unerring hand towards a definite point. But they reckon without +themselves, for they do not know themselves. In one of those moments of +forgetfulness which are habitual with them they let go the tiller, and, as +is natural when things are left to themselves, they take a naughty pleasure +in rounding on their masters. The ship which is released from its course at +once strikes a rock, and Melchior, bent upon intrigue, married a cook. And +yet he was neither drunk nor in a stupor on the day when he bound himself +to her for life, and he was not under any passionate impulse; far from it. +But perhaps there are in us forces other than mind and heart, other even +than the senses--mysterious forces which take hold of us in the moments +when the others are asleep; and perhaps it was such forces that Melchior +had found in the depths of those pale eyes which had looked at him so +timidly one evening when he had accosted the girl on the bank of the river, +and had sat down beside her in the reeds--without knowing why--and had +given her his hand. + +Hardly was he married than he was appalled by what he had done, and he did +not hide what he felt from poor Louisa, who humbly asked his pardon. He +was not a bad fellow, and he willingly granted her that; but immediately +remorse would seize him again when he was with his friends or in the houses +of his rich pupils, who were disdainful in their treatment of him, and no +longer trembled at the touch of his hand when he corrected the position of +their fingers on the keyboard. Then he would return gloomy of countenance, +and Louisa, with a catch at her heart, would read in it with the first +glance the customary reproach; or he would stay out late at one inn or +another, there to seek self-respect or kindliness from others. On such +evenings he would return shouting with laughter, and this was more doleful +for Louisa than the hidden reproach and gloomy rancor that prevailed on +other days. She felt that she was to a certain extent responsible for the +fits of madness in which the small remnant of her husband's sense would +disappear, together with the household money. Melchior sank lower and +lower. At an age when he should have been engaged in unceasing toil to +develop his mediocre talent, he just let things slide, and others took his +place. + +But what did that matter to the unknown force which had thrown him in with +the little flaxen-haired servant? He had played his part, and little +Jean-Christophe had just set foot on this earth whither his destiny had +thrust him. + + * * * * * + +Night was fully come. Louisa's voice roused old Jean Michel from the torpor +into which he had sunk by the fireside as he thought of the sorrows of the +past and present. + +"It must be late, father," said the young woman affectionately. "You ought +to go home; you have far to go." + +"I am waiting for Melchior," replied the old man. + +"Please, no. I would rather you did not stay." + +"Why?" + +The old man raised his head and looked fiercely at her. + +She did not reply. + +He resumed. + +"You are afraid. You do not want me to meet him?" + +"Yes, yes; it would only make things worse. You would make each other +angry, and I don't want that. Please, please go!" + +The old man sighed, rose, and said: + +"Well ... I'll go." + +He went to her and brushed her forehead with his stiff beard. He asked +if she wanted anything, put out the lamp, and went stumbling against the +chairs in the darkness of the room. But he had no sooner reached the +staircase than he thought of his son returning drunk, and he stopped at +each step, imagining a thousand dangers that might arise if Melchior were +allowed to return alone.... + +In the bed by his mother's side the child was stirring again. An unknown +sorrow had arisen from the depths of his being. He stiffened himself +against her. He twisted his body, clenched his fists, and knitted +his brows. His suffering increased steadily, quietly, certain of its +strength. He knew not what it was, nor whence it came. It appeared +immense,--infinite, and he began to cry lamentably. His mother caressed him +with her gentle hands. Already his suffering was less acute. But he went on +weeping, for he felt it still near, still inside himself. A man who suffers +can lessen his anguish by knowing whence it comes. By thought he can locate +it in a certain portion of his body which can be cured, or, if necessary, +torn away. He fixes the bounds of it, and separates it from himself. A +child has no such illusive resource. His first encounter with suffering is +more tragic and more true. Like his own being, it seems infinite. He feels +that it is seated in his bosom, housed in his heart, and is mistress of his +flesh. And it is so. It will not leave his body until it has eaten it away. + +His mother hugs him to her, murmuring: "It is done--it is done! Don't +cry, my little Jesus, my little goldfish...." But his intermittent outcry +continues. It is as though this wretched, unformed, and unconscious mass +had a presentiment of a whole life of sorrow awaiting, him, and nothing can +appease him.... + +The bells of St. Martin rang out in the night. Their voices are solemn and +slow. In the damp air they come like footsteps on moss. The child became +silent in the middle of a sob. The marvelous music, like a flood of milk, +surged sweetly through him. The night was lit up; the air was moist and +tender. His sorrow disappeared, his heart began to laugh, and he slid, into +his dreams with a sigh of abandonment. + +The three bells went on softly ringing in the morrow's festival. Louisa +also dreamed, as she listened to them, of her own past misery and of what +would become in the future of the dear little child sleeping by her side. +She had been for hours lying in her bed, weary and suffering. Her hands and +her body were burning; the heavy eiderdown crushed her; she felt crushed +and oppressed by the darkness; but she dared not move. She looked at the +child, and the night did not prevent her reading his features, that looked +so old. Sleep overcame her; fevered images passed through her brain. She +thought she heard Melchior open the door, and her heart leaped. +Occasionally the murmuring of the stream rose more loudly through the +silence, like the roaring of some beast. The window once or twice gave a +sound under the beating of the rain. The bells rang out more slowly, and +then died down, and Louisa slept by the side of her child. + +All this time Jean Michel was waiting outside the house, dripping with +rain, his beard wet with the mist. He was waiting for the return of his +wretched son: for his mind, never ceasing, had insisted on telling him all +sorts of tragedies brought about by drunkenness; and although he did not +believe them, he could not hate slept a wink if he had gone away without +having seen his son return. The sound of the bells made him: melancholy, +for he remembered all his shattered hopes. He thought of what he was doing +at such an hour in the street, and for very shame he wept. + + * * * * * + +The vast tide of the days moves slowly. Day and night come up and go down +with unfailing regularity, like the ebb and low of an infinite ocean. Weeks +and months go by, and then begin again, and the succession of days is like +one day. + +The day is immense, inscrutable, marking the even beat of light and +darkness, and the beat of the life of the torpid creature dreaming in the +depths of his cradle--his imperious needs, sorrowful or glad--so regular +that the night and the day which bring them seem by them to be brought +about. + +The pendulum of life moves heavily, and in its slow beat the whole creature +seems to be absorbed. The rest is no more than dreams, snatches of dreams, +formless and swarming, and dust of atoms dancing aimlessly, a dizzy whirl +passing, and bringing laughter or horror. Outcry, moving shadows, grinning +shapes, sorrows, terrors, laughter, dreams, dreams.... All is a dream, both +day and night.... And in such chaos the light of friendly eyes that smile +upon him, the flood of joy that surges through his body from his mother's +body, from her breasts filled with milk--the force that is in him, the +immense, unconscious force gathering in him, the turbulent ocean roaring +in the narrow prison of the child's body. For eyes that could see into it +there would be revealed whole worlds half buried in the darkness, nebulæ +taking shape, a universe in the making. His being is limitless. He is all +that there is.... + +Months pass.... Islands of memory begin to rise above the river of his +life. At first they are little uncharted islands, rocks just peeping above +the surface of the waters. Round about them and behind in the twilight of +the dawn stretches the great untroubled sheet of water; then new islands, +touched to gold by the sun. + +So from the abyss of the soul there emerge shapes definite, and scenes of a +strange clarity. In the boundless day which dawns once more, ever the same, +with its great monotonous beat, there begins to show forth the round of +days, hand in hand, and some of their forms are smiling, others sad. But +ever the links of the chain are broken, and memories are linked together +above weeks and months.... + +The River ... the Bells ... as long as he can remember--far back in the +abysses of time, at every hour of his life--always their voices, familiar +and resonant, have rung out.... + +Night--half asleep--a pale light made white the window.... The river +murmurs. Through the silence its voice rises omnipotent; it reigns over +all creatures. Sometimes it caresses their sleep, and seems almost itself +to die away in the roaring of its torrent. Sometimes it grows angry, and +howls like a furious beast about to bite. The clamor ceases. Now there is a +murmuring of infinite tenderness, silvery sounds like clear little bells, +like the laughter of children, or soft singing voices, or dancing music--a +great mother voice that never, never goes to sleep! It rocks the child, as +it has rocked through the ages, from birth to death, the generations that +were before him; it fills all his thoughts, and lives in all his dreams, +wraps him round with the cloak of its fluid harmonies, which still will be +about him when he lies in the little cemetery that sleeps by the water's +edge, washed by the Rhine.... + +The bells.... It is dawn! They answer each other's call, sad, melancholy, +friendly, gentle. At the sound of their slow voices there rise in him hosts +of dreams--dreams of the past, desires, hopes, regrets for creatures who +are gone, unknown to the child, although he had his being in them, and they +live again in him. Ages of memory ring out in that music. So much mourning, +so many festivals! And from the depths of the room it is as though, when +they are heard, there passed lovely waves of sound through the soft air, +free winging birds, and the moist soughing of the wind. Through the window +smiles a patch of blue sky; a sunbeam slips through the curtains to the +bed. The little world known to the eyes of the child, all that he can see +from his bed every morning as he awakes, all that with so much effort he is +beginning to recognize and classify, so that he may be master of it--his +kingdom is lit up. There is the table where people eat, the cupboard where +he hides to play, the tiled floor along which he crawls, and the wall-paper +which in its antic shapes holds for him so many humorous or terrifying +stories, and the clock which chatters and stammers so many words which he +alone can understand. How many things there are in this room! He does not +know them all. Every day he sets out on a voyage of exploration in this +universe which is his. Everything is his. Nothing is immaterial; everything +has its worth, man or fly, Everything lives--the cat, the fire, the table, +the grains of dust which dance in a sunbeam. The room is a country, a day +is a lifetime. How is a creature to know himself in the midst of these vast +spaces? The world is so large! A creature is lost in it. And the faces, the +actions, the movement, the noise, which make round about him an unending +turmoil!... He is weary; his eyes close; he goes to sleep. That sweet deep +sleep that overcomes him suddenly at any time, and wherever he may be--on +his mother's lap, or under the table, where he loves to hide!... It is +good. All is good.... + +These first days come buzzing up in his mind like a field of corn or a wood +stirred by the wind, and cast in shadow by the great fleeting clouds.... + + * * * * * + +The shadows pass; the sun penetrates the forest. Jean-Christophe begins to +find his way through the labyrinth of the day. + +It is morning. His parents are asleep. He is in his little bed, lying on +his back. He looks at the rays of light dancing on the ceiling. There is +infinite amusement in it. Now he laughs out loud with one of those jolly +children's laughs which stir the hearts of those that hear them. His mother +leans out of her bed towards him, and says: "What is it, then, little mad +thing?" Then he laughs again, and perhaps he makes an effort to laugh +because he has an audience. His mamma looks severe, and lays a finger on +her lips to warn him lest he should wake his father: but her weary eyes +smile in spite of herself. They whisper together. Then there is a furious +growl from his father. Both tremble. His mother hastily turns her back on +him, like a naughty little girl: she pretends to be asleep. Jean-Christophe +buries himself in his bed, and holds his breath.... Dead silence. + +After some time the little face hidden under the clothes comes to the +surface again. On the roof the weathercock creaks. The rain-pipe gurgles; +the Angelus sounds. When the wind comes from the east, the distant bells +of the villages on the other bank of the river give answer. The sparrows +foregathered in the ivy-clad wall make a deafening noise, from which three +or four voices, always the same, ring out more shrilly than the others, +just as in the games of a band of children. A pigeon coos at the top of a +chimney. The child abandons himself to the lullaby of these sounds. He hums +to himself softly, then a little more loudly, then quite loudly, then very +loudly, until once more his father cries out in exasperation: "That little +donkey never will be quiet! Wait a little, and I'll pull your ears!" Then +Jean-Christophe buries himself in the bedclothes again, and does not know +whether to laugh or cry. He is terrified and humiliated; and at the same +time the idea of the donkey with which his father has compared him makes +him burst out laughing. From the depths of his bed he imitates its braying. +This time he is whipped. He sheds every tear that is in him. What has he +done? He wanted so much to laugh and to get up! And he is forbidden to +budge. How do people sleep forever? When will they get up?... + +One day he could not contain himself. He heard a cat and a dog and +something queer in the street. He slipped out of bed, and, creeping +awkwardly with his bare feet on the tiles, he tried to go down the stairs +to see what it was; but the door was shut. To open it, he climbed on to +a chair; the whole thing collapsed, and he hurt himself and howled. And +once more at the top of the stairs he was whipped. He is always being +whipped!... + + * * * * * + +He is in church with his grandfather. He is bored. He is not very +comfortable. He is forbidden to stir, and all the people are saying all +together words that he does not understand. They all look solemn and +gloomy. It is not their usual way of looking. He looks at them, half +frightened. Old Lena, their neighbor, who is sitting next to him, looks +very cross; there are moments when he does not recognize even his +grandfather. He is afraid a little. Then he grows used to it, and tries to +find relief from boredom by every means at his disposal. He balances on +one leg, twists his neck to look at the ceiling, makes faces, pulls his +grandfather's coat, investigates the straws in his chair, tries to make a +hole in them with his finger, listens to the singing of birds, and yawns so +that he is like to dislocate his jaw. + +Suddenly there is a deluge of sound; the organ is played. A thrill goes +down his spine. He turns and stands with his chin resting on the back of +his chair, and he looks very wise. He does not understand this noise; he +does not know the meaning of it; it is dazzling, bewildering, and he can +hear nothing clearly. But it is good. It is as though he were no longer +sitting there on an uncomfortable chair in a tiresome old house. He is +suspended in mid-air, like a bird; and when the flood of sound rushes from +one end of the church to the other, filling the arches, reverberating +from wall to wall, he is carried with it, flying and skimming hither and +thither, with nothing to do but to abandon himself to it. He is free; he is +happy. The sun shines.... He falls asleep. + +His grandfather is displeased with him. He behaves ill at Mass. + + * * * * * + +He is at home, sitting on the ground, with his feet in his hands. He has +just decided that the door-mat is a boat, and the tiled floor a river. He +all but drowned in stepping off the carpet. He is surprised and a little +put out that the others pay no attention to the matter as he does when he +goes into the room. He seizes his mother by the skirts. "You see it is +water! You must go across by the bridge." (The bridge is a series of holes +between the red tiles.) His mother crosses without even listening to him. +He is vexed, as a dramatic author is vexed when he sees his audience +talking during his great work. + +Next moment he thinks no more of it. The tiled floor is no longer the sea. +He is lying down on it, stretched full-length, with his chin on the tiles, +humming music of his own composition, and gravely sucking his thumb and +dribbling. He is lost in contemplation of a crack between the tiles. The +lines of the tiles grimace like faces. The imperceptible hole grows larger, +and becomes a valley; there are mountains about it. A centipede moves: it +is as large as an elephant. Thunder might crash, the child would not hear +it. + +No one bothers about him, and he has no need of any one. He can even do +without door-mat boats, and caverns in the tiled floor, with their +fantastic fauna. His body is enough. What a source of entertainment! He +spends hours in looking at his nails and shouting with laughter. They have +all different faces, and are like people that he knows. And the rest of +his body!... He goes on with the inspection of all that he has. How many +surprising things! There are so many marvels. He is absorbed in looking at +them. + +But he was very roughly picked up when they caught him at it. + + * * * * * + +Sometimes he takes advantage of his mother's back being turned, to escape +from the house. At first they used to run after him and bring him back. +Then they got used to letting him go alone, only so he did not go too +far away. The house is at the end of the town; the country begins almost +at once. As long as he is within sight of the windows he goes without +stopping, very deliberately, and now and then hopping on one foot. But as +soon as he has passed the corner of the road, and the brushwood hides him +from view, he changes abruptly. He stops there, with his finger in his +mouth, to find out what story he shall tell himself that day; for he is +full of stories. True, they are all very much like each other, and every +one of them could be told in a few lines. He chooses. Generally he takes up +the same story, sometimes from the point where it left off, sometimes from +the beginning, with variations. But any trifle--a word heard by chance--is +enough to set his mind off on another direction. + +Chance was fruitful of resources. It is impossible to imagine what can be +made of a simple piece of wood, a broken bough found alongside a hedge. +(You break them off when you do not find them.) It was a magic wand. If it +were long and thin, it became a lance, or perhaps a sword; to brandish it +aloft was enough to cause armies to spring from the earth. Jean-Christophe +was their general, marching in front of them, setting them an example, and +leading them to the assault of a hillock. If the branch were flexible, +it changed into a whip. Jean-Christophe mounted on horseback and leaped +precipices. Sometimes his mount would slip, and the horseman would find +himself at the bottom of the ditch, sorrily looking at his dirty hands +and barked knees. If the wand were lithe, then Jean-Christophe would make +himself the conductor of an orchestra: he would be both conductor and +orchestra; he conducted and he sang; and then he would salute the bushes, +with their little green heads stirring in the wind. + +He was also a magician. He walked with great strides through the fields, +looking at the sky and waving his arms. He commanded the clouds. He wished +them to go to the right, but they went to the left. Then he would abuse +them, and repeat his command. He would watch them out of the corner of his +eye, and his heart would beat as he looked to see if there were not at +least a little one which would obey him. But they went on calmly moving to +the left. Then he would stamp his foot, and threaten them with his stick, +and angrily order them to go to the left; and this time, in truth, they +obeyed him. He was happy and proud of his power. He would touch the flowers +and bid them change into golden carriages, as he had been told they did in +the stories; and, although it never happened, he was quite convinced that +it would happen if only he had patience. He would look for a grasshopper to +turn into a hare; he would gently lay his stick on its back, and speak a +rune. The insect would escape: he would bar its way. A few moments later he +would be lying on his belly near to it, looking at it. Then he would have +forgotten that he was a magician, and just amuse himself with turning the +poor beast on its back, while he laughed aloud at its contortions. + +It occurred to him also to tie a piece of string to his magic wand, and +gravely cast it into the river, and wait for a fish to come and bite. He +knew perfectly well that fish do not usually bite at a piece of string +without bait or hook; but he thought that for once in a way, and for him, +they might make an exception to their rule; and in his inexhaustible +confidence, he carried it so far as to fish in the street with a whip +through the grating of a sewer. He would draw up the whip from time to time +excitedly, pretending that the cord of it was more heavy, and that he had +caught a treasure, as in a story that his grandfather had told him.... + +And always in the middle of all these games there used to occur to him +moments of strange dreaming and complete forgetfulness. Everything about +him would then be blotted out; he would not know what he was doing, and +was not even conscious of himself. These attacks would take him unawares. +Sometimes as he walked or went upstairs a void would suddenly open before +him. He would seem then to have lost all thought. But when he came back +to himself, he was shocked and bewildered to find himself in the same +place on the dark staircase. It was as though he had lived through a whole +lifetime--in the space of a few steps. + +His grandfather used often to take him with him on his evening walk. The +little boy used to trot by his side and give him his hand. They used to +go by the roads, across plowed fields, which smelled strong and good. The +grasshoppers chirped. Enormous crows poised along the road used to watch +them approach from afar, and then fly away heavily as they came up with +them. + +His grandfather would cough. Jean-Christophe knew quite well what that +meant. The old man was burning with the desire to tell a story; but he +wanted it to appear that the child had asked him for one. Jean-Christophe +did not fail him; they understood each other. The old man had a tremendous +affection for his grandson, and it was a great joy to find in him a willing +audience. He loved to tell of episodes in his own life, or stories of great +men, ancient and modern. His voice would then become emphatic and filled +with emotion, and would tremble with a childish joy, which he used to +try to stifle. He seemed delighted to hear his own voice. Unhappily, +words used to fail him when he opened his mouth to speak. He was used to +such disappointment, for it always came upon him with his outbursts of +eloquence. And as he used to forget it with each new attempt, he never +succeeded in resigning himself to it. + +He used to talk of Regulus, and Arminius, of the soldiers of Lützow, of +Koerner, and of Frédéric Stabs, who tried to kill the Emperor Napoleon. +His face would glow as he told of incredible deeds of heroism. He used to +pronounce historic words in such a solemn voice that it was impossible to +hear them, and he used to try artfully to keep his hearer on tenterhooks at +the thrilling moments. He would stop, pretend to choke, and noisily blow +his nose; and his heart would leap when the child asked, in a voice choking +with impatience: "And then, grandfather?" + +There came a day, when Jean-Christophe was a little older, when he +perceived his grandfather's method; and then he wickedly set himself to +assume an air of indifference to the rest of the story, and that hurt the +poor old man. But for the moment Jean-Christophe is altogether held by the +power of the story-teller. His blood leaped at the dramatic passages. He +did not know what it was all about, neither where nor when these deeds were +done, or whether his grandfather knew Arminius, or whether Regulus were +not--God knows why!--some one whom he had seen at church last Sunday. But +his heart and the old man's heart swelled with joy and pride in the tale of +heroic deeds, as though they themselves had done them; for the old man and +the child were both children. + +Jean-Christophe was less happy when his grandfather interpolated in the +pathetic passages one of those abstruse discourses so dear to him. There +were moral thoughts generally traceable to some idea, honest enough, but +a little trite, such as "Gentleness is better than violence," or "Honor +is the dearest thing in life," or "It is better to be good than to be +wicked"--only they were much more involved. Jean-Christophe's grandfather +had no fear of the criticism of his youthful audience, and abandoned +himself to his habitual emphatic manner; he was not afraid of repeating the +same phrases, or of not finishing them, or even, if he lost himself in his +discourse, of saying anything that came into his head, to stop up the gaps +in his thoughts; and he used to punctuate his words, in order to give them +greater force, with inappropriate gestures. The boy used to listen with +profound respect, and he thought his grandfather very eloquent, but a +little tiresome. + +Both of them loved to return again and again to the fabulous legend of the +Corsican conqueror who had taken Europe. Jean-Christophe's grandfather had +known him. He had almost fought against him. But he was a man to admit the +greatness of his adversaries: he had said so twenty times. He would have +given one of his arms for such a man to have been born on this side of the +Rhine. Fate had decreed otherwise; he admired him, and had fought against +him--that is, he had been on the point of fighting against him. But when +Napoleon had been no farther than ten leagues away, and they had marched +out to meet him, a sudden panic had dispersed the little band in a forest, +and every man had fled, crying, "We are betrayed!" In vain, as the old man +used to tell, in vain did he endeavor to rally the fugitives; he threw +himself in front of them, threatening them and weeping: he had been swept +away in the flood of them, and on the morrow had found himself at an +extraordinary distance from the field of battle--For so he called the place +of the rout. But Jean-Christophe used impatiently to bring him back to +the exploits of the hero, and he was delighted by his marvelous progress +through the world. He saw him followed by innumerable men, giving vent to +great cries of love, and at a wave of his hand hurling themselves in swarms +upon flying enemies--they were always in flight. It was a fairy-tale. The +old man added a little to it to fill out the story; he conquered Spain, and +almost conquered England, which he could not abide. + +Old Krafft used to intersperse his enthusiastic narratives with indignant +apostrophes addressed to his hero. The patriot awoke in him, more perhaps +when he told of the Emperor's defeats than of the Battle of Jena. He would +stop to shake his fist at the river, and spit contemptuously, and mouth +noble insults--he did not stoop to less than that. He would call him +"rascal," "wild beast," "immoral." And if such words were intended to +restore to the boy's mind a sense of justice, it must be confessed that +they failed in their object; for childish logic leaped to this conclusion: +"If a great man like that had no morality, morality is not a great thing, +and what matters most is to be a great man." But the old man was far from +suspecting the thoughts which were running along by his side. + +They would both be silent, pondering each after his own fashion, these +admirable stories--except when the old man used to meet one of his noble +patrons taking a walk. Then he would stop, and bow very low, and breathe +lavishly the formulæ of obsequious politeness. The child used to blush for +it without knowing why. But his grandfather at heart had a vast respect for +established power and persons who had "arrived"; and possibly his great +love for the heroes of whom he told was only because he saw in them persons +who had arrived at a point higher than the others. + +When it was very hot, old Krafft used to sit under a tree, and was not long +in dozing off. Then Jean-Christophe used to sit near him on a heap of loose +stones or a milestone, or some high seat, uncomfortable and peculiar; and +he used to wag his little legs, and hum to himself, and dream. Or sometimes +he used to lie on his back and watch the clouds go by; they looked like +oxen, and giants, and hats, and old ladies, and immense landscapes. He used +to talk to them in a low voice, or be absorbed in a little cloud which a +great one was on the point of devouring. He was afraid of those which were +very black, almost blue, and of those which went very fast. It seemed to +him that they played an enormous part in life, and he was surprised that +neither his grandfather nor his mother paid any attention to them. They +were terrible beings if they wished to do harm. Fortunately, they used to +go by, kindly enough, a little grotesque, and they did not stop. The boy +used in the end to turn giddy with watching them too long, and he used to +fidget with his legs and arms, as though he were on the point of falling +from the sky. His eyelids then would wink, and sleep would overcome him. +Silence.... The leaves murmur gently and tremble in the sun; a faint mist +passes through the air; the uncertain flies hover, booming like an organ; +the grasshoppers, drunk with the summer, chirp eagerly and hurriedly; all +is silent.... Under the vault of the trees the cry of the green woodpecker +has magic sounds. Far away on the plain a peasant's voice harangues his +oxen; the shoes of a horse ring out on the white road. Jean-Christophe's +eyes close. Near him an ant passes along a dead branch across a furrow. He +loses consciousness.... Ages have passed. He wakes. The ant has not yet +crossed the twig. + +Sometimes the old man would sleep too long, and his face would grow rigid, +and his long nose would grow longer, and his mouth stand open. +Jean-Christophe used then to look at him uneasily, and in fear of seeing +his head change gradually into some fantastic shape. He used to sing +loudly, so as to wake him up, or tumble down noisily from his heap of +stones. One day it occurred to him to throw a handful of pine-needles in +his grandfather's face, and tell him that they had fallen from the tree. +The old man believed him, and that made Jean-Christophe laugh. But, +unfortunately, he tried the trick again, and just when he had raised his +hand he saw his grandfather's eyes watching him. It was a terrible affair. +The old man was solemn, and allowed no liberty to be taken with the respect +due to himself. They were estranged for more than a week. + +The worse the road was, the more beautiful it was to Jean-Christophe. Every +stone had a meaning for him; he knew them all. The shape of a rut seemed to +him to be a geographical accident almost of the same kind as the great mass +of the Taunus. In his head he had the map of all the ditches and hillocks +of the region extending two kilometers round about the house, and when he +made any change in the fixed ordering of the furrows, he thought himself no +less important than an engineer with a gang of navvies; and when with his +heel he crushed the dried top of a clod of earth, and filled up the valley +at the foot of it, it seemed to him that his day had not been wasted. + +Sometimes they would meet a peasant in his cart on the highroad, and, +if the peasant knew Jean-Christophe's grandfather they would climb up +by his side. That was a Paradise on earth. The horse went fast, and +Jean-Christophe laughed with delight, except when they passed other +people walking; then he would look serious and indifferent, like a person +accustomed to drive in a carriage, but his heart was filled with pride. His +grandfather and the man would talk without bothering about him. Hidden and +crushed by their legs, hardly sitting, sometimes not sitting at all, he was +perfectly happy. He talked aloud, without troubling about any answer to +what he said. He watched the horse's ears moving. What strange creatures +those ears were! They moved in every direction--to right and left; they +hitched forward, and fell to one side, and turned backwards in such a +ridiculous way that he: burst out laughing. He would pinch his grandfather +to make him look at them; but his grandfather was not interested in them. +He would repulse Jean-Christophe, and tell him to be quiet. Jean-Christophe +would ponder. He thought that when people grow up they are not surprised by +anything, and that when they are strong they know everything; and he would +try to be grown up himself, and to hide his curiosity, and appear to be +indifferent. + +He was silent them The rolling of the carriage made him drowsy. The horse's +little bells danced--ding, ding; dong, ding. Music awoke in the air, and +hovered about the silvery bells, like a swarm of bees. It beat gaily with +the rhythm of the cart--an endless source of song, and one song came +on another's heels. To Jean-Christophe they were superb. There was one +especially which he thought so beautiful that he tried to draw his +grandfather's attention to it. He sang it aloud. They took no heed of +him. He began it again in a higher key, then again shrilly, and then old +Jean Michel said irritably: "Be quiet; you are deafening me with your +trumpet-call!" That took away his breath. He blushed and was silent and +mortified. He crushed with his contempt the two stockish imbeciles who did +not understand the sublimity of his song, which opened wide the heavens! He +thought them very ugly, with their week-old beards, and they smelled very +ill. + +He found consolation, in watching the horse's shadow. That an astonishing +sight. The beast ran along with them lying on its side. In the evening, +when they returned, it covered a part of the field. They came upon a rick, +and the shadow's head would rise up and then return to its place when they +had passed. Its snout was flattened out like a burst balloon; its ears were +large, and pointed like candles. Was it really a shadow or a creature? +Jean-Christophe would not have liked to encounter it alone. He would not +have run after it as he did after his grandfather's shadow, so as to walk +on its head and trample it under foot. The shadows of the trees when the +sun was low were also objects of meditation. They made barriers along the +road, and looked like phantoms, melancholy and grotesque, saying, "Go no +farther!" and the creaking axles and the horse's shoes repeated, "No +farther!" + +Jean-Christophe's grandfather and the driver never ceased their endless +chatter. Sometimes they would raise their voices, especially when they +talked of local affairs or things going wrong. The child would cease to +dream, and look at them uneasily. It seemed to him that they were angry +with each other, and he was afraid that they would come to blows. However, +on the contrary, they best understood each other in their common dislikes. +For the most part, they were without haired or the least passion; they +talked of small matters loudly, just for the pleasure of talking, as +is the joy of the people. But Jean-Christophe, not understanding their +conversation, only heard the loud tones of their voices and saw their +agitated faces, and thought fearfully: "How wicked he looks! Surely they +hate each other! How he rolls his eyes, and how wide he opens his mouth! He +spat on my nose in his fury. O Lord, he will kill my grandfather!..." + +The carriage stopped. The peasant said: "Here you are." The two deadly +enemies shook hands. Jean-Christophe's grandfather got down first; the +peasant handed him the little boy. The whip flicked the horse, the carriage +rolled away, and there they were by the little sunken road near the Rhine. +The sun dipped down below the fields. The path wound almost to the water's +edge. The plentiful soft grass yielded under their feet, crackling. +Alder-trees leaned over the river, almost half in the water. A cloud of +gnats danced. A boat passed noiselessly, drawn on by the peaceful current, +striding along. The water sucked the branches of the willows with a little +noise like lips. The light was soft and misty, the air fresh, the river +silvery gray. They reached their home, and the crickets chirped, and on the +threshold smiled his mother's dear face.... + +Oh, delightful memories, kindly visions, which will hum their melody in +their tuneful flight through life!... Journeys in later life, great towns +and moving seas, dream countries and loved faces, are not so exactly graven +in the soul as these childish walks, or the corner of the garden seen every +day through the window, through the steam and mist made by the child's +mouth glued to it for want of other occupation.... + +Evening now, and the house is shut up. Home ... the refuge from all +terrifying things--darkness, night, fear, things unknown. No enemy can pass +the threshold.... The fire flares. A golden duck turns slowly on the spit; +a delicious smell of fat and of crisping flesh scents the room. The joy of +eating, incomparable delight, a religious enthusiasm, thrills of joy! The +body is too languid with the soft warmth, and the fatigues of the day, +and the familiar voices. The act of digestion plunges it in ecstasy, and +faces, shadows, the lampshade, the tongues of flame dancing with a shower +of stars in the fireplace--all take on a magical appearance of delight. +Jean-Christophe lays his cheek on his plate, the better to enjoy all this +happiness.... + +He is in his soft bed. How did he come there? He is overcome with +weariness. The buzzing of the voices in the room and the visions of the +day are intermingled in his mind. His father takes his violin; the shrill +sweet sounds cry out complaining in the night. But the crowning joy is +when his mother comes and takes Jean-Christophe's hands. He is drowsy, +and, leaning over him, in a low voice she sings, as he asks, an, old song +with words that have no meaning. His father thinks such music stupid, but +Jean-Christophe never wearies of it. He holds his breath, and is between +laughing and crying. His heart is intoxicated. He does not know where he +is, and he is overflowing with tenderness. He throws his little arms round +his mother's neck, and hugs her with all his strength. She says, laughing: + +"You want to strangle me?" + +He hugs her close. How he loves her! How he loves everything! Everybody, +everything! All is good, all is beautiful.... He sleeps. The cricket on the +hearth cheeps. His grandfather's tales, the great heroes, float by in the +happy night.... To be a hero like them!... Yes, he will be that ... he is +that.... Ah, how good it is to live! + + * * * * * + +What an abundance of strength, joy, pride, is in that little creature! What +superfluous energy! His body and mind never cease to move; they are carried +round and round breathlessly. Like a little salamander, he dances day and +night in the flames. His is an unwearying enthusiasm finding its food in +all things. A delicious dream, a bubbling well, a treasure of inexhaustible +hope, a laugh, a song, unending drunkenness. Life does not hold him yet; +always he escapes it. He swims in the infinite. How happy he is! He is made +to be happy! There is nothing in him that does not believe in happiness, +and does not cling to it with all his little strength and passion!... + +Life will soon see to it that he is brought to reason. + + + + +II + + L'alba vinceva l'ora, mattutina. + Che fuggia 'nnanzi, si che di lontano + Conobbi il tremolar della marina.... + _Purgatorio_, i. + + +The Kraffts came originally from Antwerp. Old Jean Michel had left the +country as a result of a boyish freak, a violent quarrel, such as he had +often had, for he was devilish pugnacious, and it had had an unfortunate +ending. He settled down, almost fifty years ago, in the little town of the +principality, with its red-pointed roofs and shady gardens, lying on the +slope of a gentle hill, mirrored in the pale green eyes of _Vater Rhein_. +An excellent musician, he had readily gained appreciation in a country of +musicians. He had taken root there by marrying, forty years ago, Clara +Sartorius, daughter of the Prince's _Kapellmeister_, whose duties he took +over. Clara was a placid German with two passions--cooking and music. She +had for her husband a veneration only equaled by that which she had for her +father, Jean Michel no less admired his wife. They had lived together in +perfect amity for fifteen years, and they had four children. Then Clara +died; and Jean Michel bemoaned her loss, and then, five months later, +married Ottilia Schütz, a girl of twenty, with red cheeks, robust and +smiling. After eight years of marriage she also died, but in that time +she gave him seven children--eleven children in all, of whom only one had +survived. Although he loved them much, all these bereavements had not +shaken his good-humor. The greatest blow had been the death of Ottilia, +three years ago, which had come to him at an age when it is difficult to +start life again and to make a new home. But after a moment's confusion old +Jean Michel regained his equilibrium, which no misfortune seemed able to +disturb. + +He was an affectionate man, but health was the strongest thing in him. He +had a physical repugnance from sadness, and a need of gaiety, great gaiety, +Flemish fashion--an enormous and childish laugh. Whatever might be his +grief, he did not drink one drop the less, nor miss one bite at table, and +his band never had one day off. Under his direction the Court orchestra +won a small celebrity in the Rhine country, where Jean Michel had become +legendary by reason of his athletic stature and his outbursts of anger. He +could not master them, in spite of all his efforts, for the violent man was +at bottom timid and afraid of compromising himself. He loved decorum and +feared opinion. But his blood ran away with him. He used to see red, and +he used to be the victim of sudden fits of crazy impatience, not only at +rehearsals, but at the concerts, where once in the Prince's presence he +had hurled his bâton and had stamped about like a man possessed, as he +apostrophized one of the musicians in a furious and stuttering voice. The +Prince was amused, but the artists in question were rancorous against +him. In vain did Jean Michel, ashamed of his outburst, try to pass it by +immediately in exaggerated obsequiousness. On the next occasion he would +break out again, and as this extreme irritability increased with age, in +the end it made his position very difficult. He felt it himself, and one +day, when his outbursts had all but caused the whole orchestra to strike, +he sent in his resignation. He hoped that in consideration of his services +they would make difficulties about accepting it, and would ask him to stay. +There was nothing of the kind, and as he was too proud to go back on his +offer, he left, brokenhearted, and crying out upon the ingratitude of +mankind. + +Since that time he had not known how to fill his days. He was more than +seventy, but he was still vigorous, and he went on working and going up and +down the town from morning to night, giving lessons, and entering into +discussions, pronouncing perorations, and entering into everything. He +was ingenious, and found all sorts of ways of keeping himself occupied. +He began to repair musical instruments; he invented, experimented, and +sometimes discovered improvements. He composed also, and set store by his +compositions. He had once written a _Missa Solennis_, of which he used +often to talk, and it was the glory of his family. It had cost him so much +trouble that he had all but brought about a congestion of the mind in the +writing of it. He tried to persuade himself that it was a work of genius, +but he knew perfectly well with what emptiness of thought it had been +written, and he dared not look again at the manuscript, because every time +he did so he recognized in the phrases that he had thought to be his own, +rags taken from other authors, painfully pieced together haphazard. It was +a great sorrow to him. He had ideas sometimes which he thought admirable. +He would run tremblingly to his table. Could he keep his inspiration this +time? But hardly had he taken pen in hand than he found himself alone in +silence, and all his efforts to call to life again the vanished voices +ended only in bringing to his ears familiar melodies of Mendelssohn or +Brahms. + +"There are," says George Sand, "unhappy geniuses who lack the power of +expression, and carry down to their graves the unknown region of their +thoughts, as has said a member of that great family of illustrious mutes +or stammerers--Geoffrey Saint-Hilaire." Old Jean Michel belonged to that +family. He was no more successful in expressing himself in music than in +words, and he always deceived himself. He would so much have loved to talk, +to write, to be a great musician, an eloquent orator! It was his secret +sore. He told no one of it, did not admit it to himself, tried not to think +of it; but he did think of it, in spite of himself, and so there was the +seed of death in his soul. + +Poor old man! In nothing did he succeed in being absolutely himself. There +were in him so many seeds of beauty and power, but they never put forth +fruit; a profound and touching faith in the dignity of Art and the moral +value of life, but it was nearly always translated in an emphatic and +ridiculous fashion; so much noble pride, and in life an almost servile +admiration of his superiors; so lofty a desire for independence, and, +in fact, absolute docility; pretensions to strength of mind, and every +conceivable superstition; a passion for heroism, real courage, and so much +timidity!--a nature to stop by the wayside. + + * * * * * + +Jean Michel had transferred all his ambitions to his son, and at first +Melchior had promised to realize them. From childhood he had shown great +musical gifts. He learned with extraordinary facility, and quickly acquired +as a violinist a virtuosity which for a long time made him the favorite, +almost the idol, of the Court concerts. He played the piano and other +instruments pleasantly. He was a fine talker, well, though a little +heavily, built, and was of the type which passes in Germany for classic +beauty; he had a large brow that expressed nothing, large regular features, +and a curled beard--a Jupiter of the banks of the Rhine. Old Jean Michel +enjoyed his son's success; he was ecstatic over the virtuoso's _tours de +force_, he who had never been able properly to play any instrument. In +truth, Melchior would have had no difficulty in expressing what he thought. +The trouble was that he did not think; and he did not even bother about it. +He had the soul of a mediocre comedian who takes pains with the inflexions +of his voice without caring about what they express, and, with anxious +vanity, watches their effect on his audience. + +The odd thing was that, in spite of his constant anxiety about his stage +pose, there was in him, as in Jean Michel, in spite of his timid respect +for social conventions, a curious, irregular, unexpected and chaotic +quality, which made people say that the Kraffts were a bit crazy. It did +not harm him at first; it seemed as though these very eccentricities were +the proof of the genius attributed to him; for it is understood among +people of common sense that an artist has none. But it was not long +before his extravagances were traced to their source--usually the bottle. +Nietzsche says that Bacchus is the God of Music, and Melchior's instinct +was of the same opinion; but in his case his god was very ungrateful to +him; far from giving him the ideas he lacked, he took away from him the few +that he had. After his absurd marriage--absurd in the eyes of the world, +and therefore also in his own--he gave himself up to it more and more. He +neglected his playing--so secure in his own superiority that very soon he +lost it. Other _virtuosi_ came to succeed him in public favor. That +was bitter to him, but instead of rousing his energy, these rebuffs only +discouraged him. He avenged himself by crying down his rivals with his +pot-fellows. In his absurd conceit he counted on succeeding his father as +musical director: another man was appointed. He thought himself persecuted, +and took on the airs of a misunderstood genius. Thanks to the esteem in +which old Krafft was held, he kept his place as a violin in the orchestra, +but gradually he lost all his lessons in the town. And if this blow struck +most at his vanity, it touched his purse even more. For several years the +resources of his household had grown less and less, following on various +reverses of fortune. After having known plenty, want came, and every day +increased. Melchior refused to take notice of it; he did not spend one +penny the less on his toilet or his pleasures. + +He was not a bad man, but a half-good man, which is perhaps worse--weak, +without spring, without moral strength, but for the rest, in his own +opinion, a good father, a good son, a good husband, a good man--and perhaps +he was good, if to be so it is enough to possess an easy kindness, which +is quickly touched, and that animal affection by which a man loves his kin +as a part of himself. It cannot even be said that he was very egoistic; he +had not personality enough for that. He was nothing. They are a terrible +thing in life, these people who are nothing. Like a dead weight thrown into +the air, they fall, and must fall; and in their fall they drag with them +everything that they have. + +It was when the situation of his family had reached its most difficult +point, that little Jean-Christophe began to understand what was going on +about him. + +He was no longer the only child. Melchior gave his wife a child every year, +without troubling to think what was to become of it later. Two had died +young; two others were three and four years old. Melchior never bothered +about them. Louisa, when she had to go out, left them with Jean-Christophe, +now six years old. + +The charge cost Jean-Christophe something, for he had to sacrifice to his +duty his splendid afternoons in the fields. But he was proud of being +treated as a man, and gravely fulfilled his task. He amused the children as +best he could by showing them his games, and he set himself to talk to them +as he had heard his mother talking to the baby. Or he would carry them in +his arms, one after another, as he had seen her do; he bent under their +weight, and clenched his teeth, and with all his strength clutched his +little brother to his breast, so as to prevent his falling. The children +always wanted to be carried--they were never tired of it; and when +Jean-Christophe could do no more, they wept without ceasing. They made him +very unhappy, and he was often troubled about them. They were very dirty, +and needed maternal attentions. Jean-Christophe did not know what to do. +They took advantage of him. Sometimes he wanted to slap them, but he +thought, "They are little; they do not know," and, magnanimously, he let +them pinch him, and beat him, and tease him. Ernest used to howl for +nothing; he used to stamp his feet and roll about in a passion; he was a +nervous child, and Louisa had bidden Jean-Christophe not to oppose his +whims. As for Rodolphe, he was as malicious as a monkey; he always took +advantage of Jean-Christophe having Ernest in his arms, to play all sorts +of silly pranks behind his back; he used to break toys, spill water, dirty +his frock, and knock the plates over as he rummaged in the cupboard. + +And when Louisa returned, instead of praising Jean-Christophe, she used to +say to him, without scolding him, but with an injured air, as she saw the +havoc; "My poor child, you are not very clever!" + +Jean-Christophe would be mortified, and his heart would grow big within +him. + + * * * * * + +Louisa, who let no opportunity escape of earning a little money, used to +go out as cook for exceptional occasions, such, as marriages or baptismal +feasts. Melchior pretended to know nothing about it--it touched his +vanity--but he was not annoyed with her for doing it, so long as he did not +know. Jean-Christophe had as yet no idea of the difficulties of life; he +knew no other limit to his will than the will of his parents, and that did +not stand much in his way, for they let him do pretty much as he pleased. +His one idea was to grow up, so as to be able to do as he liked. He had no +conception of obstacles standing in the way at every turn, and he had never +the least idea but that his parents were completely their own masters. It +was a shock to his whole being when, for the first time, he perceived that +among men there are those who command, and those who are commanded, and +that his own people were not of the first class; it was the first crisis of +his life. + +It happened one afternoon. His mother had dressed him in his cleanest +clothes, old clothes given to her which Louisa's ingenuity and patience had +turned to account. He went to find her, as they had agreed, at the house +in which she was working. He was abashed at the idea of entering alone. A +footman was swaggering in the porch; he stopped the boy, and asked him +patronizingly what he wanted. Jean-Christophe blushed, and murmured that +he had come to see "Frau Krafft"--as he had been told to say. + +"Frau Krafft? What do you want with Frau Krafft?" asked the footman, +ironically emphasizing the word _Frau_, "Your mother? Go down there. +You will find Louisa in the kitchen at the end of the passage." + +He went, growing redder and redder. He was ashamed to hear his mother +called familiarly _Louisa_. He was humiliated; he would have liked to run +away down to his dear river, and the shelter of the brushwood where he used +to tell himself stories. + +In the kitchen he came upon a number of other servants, who greeted him +with noisy exclamations. At the back, near the stove, his mother smiled at +him with tender embarrassment. He ran to her, and clung to her skirts. She +was wearing a white apron, and holding a wooden spoon. She made him more +unhappy by trying to raise his chin so as to look in his face, and to make +him hold out his hand to everybody there and say good-day to them. He would +not; he turned to the wall and hid his face in his arms. Then gradually he +gained courage, and peeped out of his hiding-place with merry bright eyes, +which hid again every time any one looked at him. He stole looks at the +people there. His mother looked busy and important, and he did not know her +like that; she went from one saucepan to another, tasting, giving advice, +in a sure voice explaining recipes, and the cook of the house listened +respectfully. The boy's heart swelled with pride as he saw how much his +mother was appreciated, and the great part that she played in this splendid +room, adorned with magnificent objects of gold and silver. + +Suddenly conversation ceased. The door opened. A lady entered with a +rustling of the stuffs she was wearing. She cast a suspicious look about +her. She was no longer young, and yet she was wearing a light dress with +wide sleeves. She caught up her dress in her hand, so as not to brush +against anything. It did not prevent her going to the stove and looking +at the dishes, and even tasting them. When she raised her hand a little, +her sleeve fell back, and her arm was bare to the elbow. Jean-Christophe +thought this ugly and improper. How dryly and abruptly she spoke to Louisa! +And how humbly Louisa replied! Jean-Christophe hated it. He hid away in his +corner, so as not to be observed, but it was no use. The lady asked who the +little boy might be. Louisa fetched him and presented him; she held his +hands to prevent his hiding his face. And, though he wanted to break away +and flee, Jean-Christophe felt instinctively that this time he must not +resist. The lady looked at the boy's scared face, and at first she gave him +a kindly, motherly smile. But then she resumed her patronizing air, and +asked him about his behavior, and his piety, and put questions to him, to +which he did not reply. She looked to see how his clothes fitted him, and +Louisa eagerly declared that they were magnificent. She pulled down his +waistcoat to remove the creases. Jean-Christophe wanted to cry, it fitted +so tightly. He did not understand why his mother was giving thanks. + +The lady took him by the hand and said that she would take him to her own +children. Jean-Christophe cast a look of despair at his mother; but she +smiled at the mistress so eagerly that he saw that there was nothing to +hope for from her, and he followed his guide like a sheep that is led to +the slaughter. + +They came to a garden, where two cross-looking children, a boy and a girl, +about the same age as Jean-Christophe, were apparently sulky with each +other. Jean-Christophe's advent created a diversion. They came up to +examine the new arrival. Jean-Christophe, left with the children by the +lady, stood stock-still in a pathway, not daring to raise his eyes. The +two others stood motionless a short distance away, and looked him up and +down, nudged each other, and tittered. Finally, they made up their minds. +They asked him who he was, whence he came, and what his father did. +Jean-Christophe, turned to stone, made no reply; he was terrified almost +to the point of tears, especially of the little girl, who had fair hair in +plaits, a short skirt, and bare legs. + +They began to play. Just as Jean-Christophe was beginning to be a little +happier, the little boy stopped dead in front of him, and touching his +coat, said: + +"Hullo! That's mine!" + +Jean-Christophe did not understand. Furious at this assertion that his coat +belonged to some one else, he shook his head violently in denial. + +"I know it all right," said the boy. "It's my old blue waistcoat. There's a +spot on it." + +And he put his finger on the spot. Then, going on with his inspection, he +examined Jean-Christophe's feet, and asked what his mended-up shoes were +made of. Jean-Christophe grew crimson. The little girl pouted and whispered +to her brother--Jean-Christophe heard it--that it was a little poor boy. +Jean-Christophe resented the word. He thought he would succeed In combating +the insulting opinions, as he stammered in a choking voice that he was the +son of Melchior Krafft. and that his mother was Louisa the cook. It seemed +to him that this title was as good as any other, and he was right. But the +two children, interested in the news, did not seem to esteem him any the +more for it. On the contrary, they took on a patronizing tone. They asked +him what he was going to be--a cook or a coachman. Jean-Christophe +revolted. He felt an iciness steal into his heart. + +Encouraged by his silence, the two rich children, who had conceived for +the little poor boy one of those cruel and unreasoning antipathies which +children have, tried various amusing ways of tormenting him, The little +girl especially was implacable. She observed that Jean-Christophe could +hardly run, because his clothes were so tight, and she conceived the +subtle idea of making him jump. They made an obstacle of little seats, +and insisted on Jean-Christophe clearing it. The wretched child dared not +say what it was that prevented his jumping. He gathered himself together, +hurled himself through, the air, and measured his length on the ground. +They roared with laughter at him. He had to try again. Tears in his eyes, +he made a desperate attempt, and this time succeeded in jumping. That did +not satisfy his tormentors, who decided that the obstacle was not high +enough, and they built it up until it became a regular break-neck affair. +Jean-Christophe tried to rebel, and declared that he would not jump. +Then the little girl called him a coward, and said that he was afraid. +Jean-Christophe could not stand that, and, knowing that he must fall, he +jumped, and fell. His feet caught in the obstacle; the whole thing toppled +over with him. He grazed his hands and almost broke his head, and, as a +crowning misfortune, his trousers tore at the knees and elsewhere. He was +sick with shame; he heard the two children dancing with delight round him; +he suffered horribly. He felt that they, despised and hated him. Why? Why? +He would gladly have died! There is no more cruel suffering than that +of a child who discovers for the first time the wickedness of others; he +believes then that he is persecuted by the--whole world, and there is +nothing to support him; there is nothing then--nothing!... Jean-Christophe +tried to get up; the little boy pushed him down again; the little girl +kicked him. He tried again, and they both jumped on him, and sat on his +back and pressed his face down into the ground. Then rage seized him--it +was too much. His hands were bruised, his fine coat was torn--a catastrophe +for him!--shame, pain, revolt against the injustice of it, so many +misfortunes all at once, plunged him in blind fury. He rose to his hands +and knees, shook himself like a dog, and rolled his tormentors over; and +when they returned to the assault he butted at them, head down, bowled over +the little girl, and, with one blow of his fist, knocked the boy into the +middle of a flower-bed. + +They howled. The children ran into the house with piercing cries. Doors +slammed, and cries of anger were heard. The lady ran out as quickly as +her long dress would let her. Jean-Christophe saw her coming, and made no +attempt to escape. He was terrified at what he had done; it was a thing +unheard of, a crime; but he regretted nothing. He waited. He was lost. So +much the better! He was reduced to despair. + +The lady pounced on him. He felt her beat him. He heard her talking in a +furious voice, a flood of words; but he could distinguish nothing. His +little enemies had come back to see his shame, and screamed shrilly. There +were servants--a babel of voices. To complete his downfall, Louisa, who +had been summoned, appeared, and, instead of defending him, she began to +scold him--she, too, without knowing anything--and bade him beg pardon. He +refused angrily. She shook him, and dragged him by the hand to the lady and +the children, and bade him go on his knees. But he stamped and roared, and +bit his mother's hand. Finally, he escaped among the servants, who laughed. + +He went away, his heart beating furiously, his face burning with anger and +the slaps which he had received. He tried not to think, and he hurried +along because he did not want to cry in the street. He wanted to be at +home, so as to be able to find the comfort of tears. He choked; the blood +beat in his head; he was at bursting-point. + +Finally, he arrived; he ran up the old black staircase to his usual +nook in the bay of a window above the river; he hurled himself into it +breathlessly, and then there came a flood of tears. He did not know exactly +why he was crying, but he had to cry; and when the first flood of them was +done, he wept again because he wanted, with a sort of rage, to make himself +suffer, as if he could in this way punish the others as well as himself. +Then he thought that his father must be coming home, and that his mother +would tell him everything, and that his own miseries were by no means at an +end. He resolved on flight, no matter whither, never to return. + +Just as he was going downstairs, he bumped into his father, who was coming +up. + +"What are you doing, boy? Where are you going?" asked Melchior. + +He did not reply. + +"You are up to some folly. What have you done?" + +Jean-Christophe held his peace. + +"What have you done?" repeated Melchior. "Will you answer?" + +The boy began to cry and Melchior to shout, vying with each other until +they heard Louisa hurriedly coming up the stairs. She arrived, still upset. +She began with violent reproach and further chastisement, in which Melchior +joined as soon as he understood--and probably before--with blows that +would have felled an ox. Both shouted; the boy roared. They ended by angry +argument. All the time that he was beating his son, Melchior maintained +that he was right, and that this was the sort of thing that one came by, +by going out to service with people who thought they could do everything +because they had money; and as she beat the child, Louisa shouted that her +husband was a brute, that she would never let him touch the boy, and that +he had really hurt him. Jean-Christophe was, in fact, bleeding a little +from the nose, but he hardly gave a thought to it, and he was not in the +least thankful to his mother for stopping it with a wet cloth, since she +went on scolding him. In the end they pushed him away in a dark closet, and +shut him up without any supper. + +He heard them shouting at each other, and he did not know which of them he +detested most. He thought it must be his mother, for he had never expected +any such wickedness from her. All the misfortunes of the day overwhelmed +him: all that he had suffered--the injustice of the children, the injustice +of the lady, the injustice of his parents, and--this he felt like an open +wound, without quite knowing why--the degradation of his parents, of whom +he was so proud, before these evil and contemptible people. Such cowardice, +of which for the first time he had become vaguely conscious, seemed ignoble +to him. Everything was upset for him--his admiration for his own people, +the religious respect with which they inspired him, his confidence in life, +the simple need that he had of loving others and of being loved, his moral +faith, blind but absolute. It was a complete cataclysm. He was crushed +by brute force, without any means of defending himself or of ever again +escaping. He choked. He thought himself on the point of death. All his body +stiffened in desperate revolt. He beat with fists, feet, head, against the +wall, howled, was seized with convulsions, and fell to the floor, hurting +himself against the furniture. + +His parents, running up, took him in their arms. They vied with each other +now as to who should be the more tender with him. His mother undressed +him, carried him to his bed, and sat by him and remained with him until he +was calmer. But he did not yield one inch. He forgave her nothing, and +pretended to be asleep to get rid of her. His mother seemed to him bad +and cowardly. He had no suspicion of all the suffering that she had to go +through in order to live and give a living to her family, and of what she +had borne in taking sides against him. + +After he had exhausted to the last drop the incredible store of tears that +is in the eyes of a child, he felt somewhat comforted. He was tired and +worn out, but his nerves were too much on stretch for him to sleep. The +visions that had been with him floated before him again in his semi-torpor. +Especially he saw again the little girl with her bright eyes and her +turned-up, disdainful little nose, her hair hanging down to her shoulders, +her bare legs and her childish, affected way of talking. He trembled, as it +seemed to him that he could hear her voice. He remembered how stupid he had +been with her, and he conceived a savage hatred for her. He did not pardon +her for having brought him low, and was consumed with the desire to +humiliate her and to make her weep. He sought means of doing this, but +found none. There was no sign of her ever caring about him. But by way of +consoling himself he supposed that everything was as he wished it to be. He +supposed that he had become very powerful and famous, and decided that she +was in love with him. Then he began to tell himself one of those absurd +stories which in the end he would regard as more real than reality. + +She was dying of love, but he spurned her. When he passed before her house +she watched him pass, hiding behind the curtains, and he knew that she +watched him, but he pretended to take no notice, and talked gaily. Even he +left the country, and journeyed far to add to her anguish. He did great +things. Here he introduced into his narrative fragments chosen from his +grandfather's heroic tales, and all this time she was falling ill of grief. +Her mother, that proud dame, came to beg of him: "My poor child is dying. +I beg you to come!" He went. She was in her bed. Her face was pale and +sunken. She held out her arms to him. She could not speak, but she took his +hands and kissed them as she wept. Then he looked at her with marvelous +kindness and tenderness. He bade her recover, and consented to let her love +him. At this point of the story, when he amused himself by drawing out the +coming together by repeating their gestures and words several times, sleep +overcame him, and he slept and was consoled. + +But when he opened his eyes it was day, and it no longer shone so lightly +or so carelessly as its predecessor. There was a great change in the world. +Jean-Christophe now knew the meaning of injustice. + + * * * * * + +There were now times of extremely straitened circumstances at home. They +became more and more frequent. They lived meagerly then. No one was more +sensible of it than Jean-Christophe. His father saw nothing. He was served +first, and there was always enough for him. He talked noisily, and roared +with laughter at his own jokes, and he never noticed his wife's glances +as she gave a forced laugh, while she watched him helping himself. +When he passed the dish it was more than half empty. Louisa helped the +children--two potatoes each. When it came to Jean-Christophe's turn there +were sometimes only three left, and his mother was not helped. He knew that +beforehand; he had counted them before they came to him. Then he summoned +up courage, and said carelessly: + +"Only one, mother." + +She was a little put out. + +"Two, like the others." + +"No, please; only one." + +"Aren't you hungry?" + +"No, I'm not very hungry." + +But she, too, only took one, and they peeled them carefully, cut them up +in little pieces, and tried to eat them as slowly as possible. His mother +watched him. When he had finished: + +"Come, take it!" + +"No, mother." + +"But you are ill?" + +"I am not ill, but I have eaten enough." + +Then his father would reproach him with being obstinate, and take the last +potato for himself. But Jean-Christophe learned that trick, and he used to +keep it on his plate for Ernest, his little brother, who was always hungry, +and watched him out of the corner of his eyes from the beginning of dinner, +and ended by asking: + +"Aren't you going to eat it? Give it me, then, Jean-Christophe." + +Oh, how Jean-Christophe detested his father, how he hated him for not +thinking of them, or for not even dreaming that he was eating their share! +He was so hungry that he hated him, and would gladly have told him so; but +he thought in his pride that he had no right, since he could not earn his +own living. His father had earned the bread that he took. He himself was +good for nothing; he was a burden on everybody; he had no right to talk. +Later on he would talk--if there were any later on. Oh, he would die of +hunger first!... + +He suffered more than another child would have done from these cruel fasts. +His robust stomach was in agony. Sometimes he trembled because of it; his +head ached. There was a hole in his chest--a hole which turned and widened, +as if a gimlet were being twisted in it. But he did not complain. He felt +his mother's eyes upon him, and assumed an expression of indifference. +Louisa, with a clutching at her heart, understood vaguely that her little +boy was denying himself so that the others might have more. She rejected +the idea, but always returned to it. She dared not investigate it or ask +Jean-Christophe if it were true, for, if it were true, what could she +do? She had been used to privation since her childhood. What is the use +of complaining when there is nothing to be done? She never suspected, +indeed--she, with her frail health and small needs--that the boy might +suffer more than herself. She did not say anything, but once or twice, +when the others were gone, the children to the street, Melchior about his +business, she asked her eldest son to stay to do her some small service. +Jean-Christophe would hold her skein while she unwound it. Suddenly she +would throw everything away, and draw him passionately to her. She would +take him on her knees, although he was quite heavy, and would hug and hug +him. He would fling his arms round her neck, and the two of them would weep +desperately, embracing each other. + +"My poor little boy!..." + +"Mother, mother!..." + +They said no more, but they understood each other. + + * * * * * + +It was some time before Jean-Christophe realized that his father drank. +Melchior's intemperance did not--at least, in the beginning--exceed +tolerable limits. It was not brutish. It showed itself rather by wild +outbursts of happiness. He used to make foolish remarks, and sing loudly +for hours together as he drummed on the table, and sometimes he insisted on +dancing with Louisa and the children. Jean-Christophe saw that his mother +looked sad. She would shrink back and bend her face over her work; she +avoided the drunkard's eyes, and used to try gently to quiet him when +he said coarse things that made her blush. But Jean-Christophe did not +understand, and he was in such need of gaiety that these noisy home-comings +of his father were almost a festival to him. The house was melancholy, and +these follies were a relaxation for him. He used to laugh heartily at +Melchior's crazy antics and stupid jokes; he sang and danced with him; and +he was put out when his mother in an angry voice ordered him to cease. How +could it be wrong, since his father did it? Although his ever keen +observation, which never forgot anything it had seen, told him that there +were in his father's behavior several things which did not accord with his +childish and imperious sense of justice, yet he continued to admire him. +A child has so much need of an object of admiration! Doubtless it is one +of the eternal forms of self-love. When a man is, or knows himself to be, +too weak to accomplish his desires and satisfy his pride, as a child he +transfers them to his parents, or, as a man who has failed, he transfers +them to his children. They are, or shall be, all that he dreamed of +being--his champions, his avengers--and in this proud abdication in their +favor, love and egoism are mingled so forcefully and yet so gently as to +bring him keen delight. Jean-Christophe forgot all his grudges against his +father, and cast about to find reasons for admiring him. He admired his +figure, his strong arms, his voice, his laugh, his gaiety, and he shone +with pride when he heard praise of his father's talents as a virtuoso, or +when Melchior himself recited with some amplification the eulogies he had +received. He believed in his father's boasts, and looked upon him as a +genius, as one of his grandfather's heroes. + +One evening about seven o'clock he was alone in the house. His little +brothers had gone out with Jean Michel. Louisa was washing the linen in +the river. The door opened, and Melchior plunged in. He was hatless and +disheveled. He cut a sort of caper to cross the threshold, and then plumped +down in a chair by the table. Jean-Christophe began to laugh, thinking it +was a part of one of the usual buffooneries, and he approached him. But +as soon as he looked more closely at him the desire to laugh left him. +Melchior sat there with his arms hanging, and looking straight in front +of him, seeing nothing, with his eyes blinking. His face was crimson, his +mouth was open, and from it there gurgled every now and then a silly laugh. +Jean-Christophe stood stock-still. He thought at first that his father was +joking, but when he saw that he did not budge he was panic-stricken. + +"Papa, papa!" he cried. + +Melchior went on gobbling like a fowl. Jean-Christophe took him by the arm +in despair, and shook him with all his strength. + +"Papa, dear papa, answer me, please, please!" + +Melchior's body shook like a boneless thing, and all but fell. His head +flopped towards Jean-Christophe; he looked at him and babbled incoherently +and irritably. When Jean-Christophe's eyes met those clouded eyes he was +seized with panic terror. He ran away to the other end of the room, and +threw himself on his knees by the bed, and buried his face in the clothes. +He remained so for some time. Melchior swung heavily on the chair, +sniggering. Jean-Christophe stopped his ears, so as not to hear him, +and trembled. What was happening within him was inexpressible. It was a +terrible upheaval--terror, sorrow, as though for some one dead, some one +dear and honored. + +No one came; they were left alone. Night fell, and Jean-Christophe's fear +grew as the minutes passed. He could not help listening, and his blood +froze as he heard the voice that he did not recognize. The silence made +it all the more terrifying; the limping clock beat time for the senseless +babbling. He could bear it no longer; he wished to fly. But he had, to pass +his father to get out, and Jean-Christophe shuddered, at the idea of seeing +those eyes again; it seemed to him that he must die if he did. He tried to +creep on hands and knees to the door of the room. He could not breathe; he +would not look; he stopped at the least movement from Melchior, whose feet +he could see under the table. One of the drunken man's legs trembled. +Jean-Christophe reached the door. With one trembling hand he pushed the +handle, but in his terror he let go. It shut to again. Melchior turned to +look. The chair on which he was balanced toppled over; he fell down with a +crash. Jean-Christophe in his terror had no strength left for flight. He +remained glued to the wall, looking at his father stretched there at his +feet, and he cried for help. + +His fall sobered Melchior a little. He cursed and swore, and thumped on +the chair that had played him such a trick. He tried vainly to get up, and +then did manage to sit up with his back resting against the table, and he +recognized his surroundings. He saw Jean-Christophe crying; he called him. +Jean-Christophe wanted to run away; he could not stir. Melchior called him +again, and as the child did not come, he swore angrily. Jean-Christophe +went near him, trembling in every limb. Melchior drew the boy near him, and +made him sit on his knees. He began by pulling his ears, and in a thick, +stuttering voice delivered a homily on the respect due from a son to +his father. Then he went off suddenly on a new train of thought, and +made him jump in his arms while he rattled off silly jokes. He wriggled +with laughter. From that he passed immediately to melancholy ideas. He +commiserated the boy and himself; he hugged him so that he was like to +choke, covered him with kisses and tears, and finally rocked him in his +arms, intoning the _De Profundis_. Jean-Christophe made no effort to break +loose; he was frozen with horror. Stifled against his father's bosom, +feeling his breath hiccoughing and smelling of wine upon his face, wet with +his kisses and repulsive tears, he was in an agony of fear and disgust. He +would have screamed, but no sound would come from his lips. He remained in +this horrible condition for an age, as it seemed to him, until the door +opened, and Louisa came in with a basket of linen on her arm. She gave a +cry, let the basket fall, rushed at Jean-Christophe, and with a violence +which seemed incredible in her she wrenched Melchior's arm, crying: + +"Drunken, drunken wretch!" + +Her eyes flashed with anger. + +Jean-Christophe thought his father was going to kill her. But Melchior +was so startled by the threatening appearance of his wife that he made no +reply, and began to weep. He rolled on the floor; he beat his head against +the furniture, and said that she was right, that he was a drunkard, that +he brought misery upon his family, and was ruining his poor children, and +wished he were dead. Louisa had contemptuously turned her back on him. She +carried Jean-Christophe into the next room, and caressed him and tried to +comfort him. The boy went on trembling, and did not answer his mother's +questions; then he burst out sobbing. Louisa bathed his face with water. +She kissed him, and used tender words, and wept with him. In the end they +were both comforted. She knelt, and made him kneel by her side. They prayed +to God to cure father of his disgusting habit, and make him the kind, good +man that he used to be. Louisa put the child to bed. He wanted her to stay +by his bedside and hold his hand. Louisa spent part of the night sitting +on Jean-Christophe's bed. He was feverish. The drunken man snored on the +floor. + +Some time after that, one day at school, when Jean-Christophe was spending +his time watching the flies on the ceiling, and thumping his neighbors, +to make them fall off the form, the schoolmaster, who had taken a dislike +to him, because he was always fidgeting and laughing, and would never +learn anything, made an unhappy allusion. Jean-Christophe had fallen +down himself, and the schoolmaster said he seemed to be like to follow +brilliantly in the footsteps of a certain well-known person. All the boys +burst out laughing, and some of them took upon themselves to point the +allusion with comment both lucid and vigorous. Jean-Christophe got up, +livid with shame, seized his ink-pot, and hurled it with all his strength +at the nearest boy whom he saw laughing. The schoolmaster fell on him and +beat him. He was thrashed, made to kneel, and set to do an enormous +imposition. + +He went home, pale and storming, though he said never a word. He declared +frigidly that he would not go to school again. They paid no attention to +what he said. Next morning, when his mother reminded him that it was time +to go, he replied quietly that he had said that he was not going any more. +In rain Louisa begged and screamed and threatened; it was no use. He stayed +sitting in his corner, obstinate. Melchior thrashed him. He howled, but +every time they bade him go after the thrashing was over he replied +angrily, "No!" They asked him at least to say why. He clenched his teeth, +and would not. Melchior took hold of him, carried him to school, and gave +him into the master's charge. They set him on his form, and he began +methodically to break everything within reach--his inkstand, his pen. He +tore up his copy-book and lesson-book, all quite openly, with his eye on +the schoolmaster, provocative. They shut him up in a dark room. A few +moments later the schoolmaster found him with his handkerchief tied round +his neck, tugging with all his strength at the two ends of it. He was +trying to strangle himself. + +They had to send him back. + + * * * * * + +Jean-Christophe was impervious to sickness. He had inherited from +his father and grandfather their robust constitutions. They were not +mollycoddles in that family; well or ill, they never worried, and nothing +could bring about any change in the habits of the two Kraffts, father and +son. They went out winter and summer, in all weathers, and stayed for hours +together out in rain or sun, sometimes bareheaded and with their coats +open, from carelessness or bravado, and walked for miles without being +tired, and they looked with pity and disdain upon poor Louisa, who never +said anything, but had to stop. She would go pale, and her legs would +swell, and her heart would thump. Jean-Christophe was not far from sharing +the scorn of his mother; he did not understand people being ill. When he +fell, or knocked himself, or cut himself, or burned himself, he did not +cry; but he was angry with the thing that had injured him. His father's +brutalities and the roughness of his little playmates, the urchins of the +street, with whom he used to fight, hardened him. He was not afraid of +blows, and more than once he returned home with bleeding nose and bruised +forehead. One day he had to be wrenched away, almost suffocated, from one +of these fierce tussles in which he had bowled over his adversary, who was +savagely banging his head on the ground. That seemed natural enough to him, +for he was prepared to do unto others as they did unto himself. + +And yet he was afraid of all sorts of things, and although no one knew +it--for he was very proud--nothing brought him go much suffering during +a part of his childhood as these same terrors. For two or three years +especially they gnawed at him like a disease. + +He was afraid of the mysterious something that lurks in darkness--evil +powers that seemed to lie in wait for his life, the roaring of monsters +which fearfully haunt the mind of every child and appear in everything that +he sees, the relic perhaps of a form long dead, hallucinations of the first +days after emerging from chaos, from the fearful slumber in his mother's +womb, from the awakening of the larva from the depths of matter. + +He was afraid of the garret door. It opened on to the stairs, and was +almost always ajar. When he had to pass it he felt his heart heating; he +would spring forward and jump by it without looking. It seemed to him that +there was some one or something behind it. When it was closed he heard +distinctly something moving behind it. That was not surprising, for there +were large rats; but he imagined a monster, with rattling bones, and flesh +hanging in rags, a horse's head, horrible and terrifying eyes, shapeless. +He did not want to think of it, but did so in spite of himself. With +trembling hand he would make sure that the door was locked; but that did +not keep him from turning round ten times as he went downstairs. + +He was afraid of the night outside. Sometimes he used to stay late with +his grandfather, or was sent out in the evening on some errand. Old Krafft +lived a little outside the town in the last house on the Cologne road. +Between the house and the first lighted windows of the town there was a +distance of two or three hundred yards, which seemed three times as long +to Jean-Christophe. There were places where the road twisted and it was +impossible to see anything. The country was deserted in the evening, the +earth grew black, and the sky was awfully pale. When he came out from +the hedges that lined the road, and climbed up the slope, he could still +see a yellowish gleam on the horizon, but it gave no light, and was more +oppressive than the night; it made the darkness only darker; it was a +deathly light. The clouds came down almost to earth. The hedges grew +enormous and moved. The gaunt trees were like grotesque old men. The sides +of the wood were stark white. The darkness moved. There were dwarfs sitting +in the ditches, lights in the grass, fearful flying things in the air, +shrill cries of insects coming from nowhere. Jean-Christophe was always in +anguish, expecting some fearsome or strange putting forth of Nature. He +would run, with his heart leaping in his bosom. + +When he saw the light in his grandfather's room he would gain confidence. +But worst of all was when old Krafft was not at home. That was most +terrifying. The old house, lost in the country, frightened the boy even in +daylight. He forgot his fears when his grandfather was there, but sometimes +the old man would leave him alone, and go out without warning him. +Jean-Christophe did not mind that. The room was quiet. Everything in it +was familiar and kindly. There was a great white wooden bedstead, by +the bedside was a great Bible on a shelf, artificial flowers were on +the mantelpiece, with photographs of the old man's two wives and eleven +children--and at the bottom of each photograph he had written the date of +birth and death--on the walls were framed texts and vile chromolithographs +of Mozart and Beethoven. A little piano stood in one corner, a great +violoncello in another; rows of books higgledy-piggledy, pipes, and in +the window pots of geraniums. It was like being surrounded with friends. +The old man could be heard moving about in the next room, and planing or +hammering, and talking to himself, calling himself an idiot, or singing in +a loud voice, improvising a _potpourri_ of scraps of chants and sentimental +_Lieder_, warlike marches, and drinking songs. Here was shelter and refuge. +Jean-Christophe would sit in the great armchair by the window, with a book +on his knees, bending over the pictures and losing himself in them. The day +would die down, his eyes would grow weary, and then he would look no more, +and fall into vague dreaming. The wheels of a cart would rumble by along +the road, a cow would moo in the fields; the bells of the town, weary and +sleepy, would ring the evening Angelus. Vague desires, happy presentiments, +would awake in the heart of the dreaming child. + +Suddenly Jean-Christophe would awake, filled with dull uneasiness. He would +raise his eyes--night! He would listen--silence! His grandfather had just +gone out. He shuddered. He leaned out of the window to try to see him. The +road was deserted; things began to take on a threatening aspect. Oh God! +If _that_ should be coming! What? He could not tell. The fearful thing. +The doors were not properly shut. The wooden stairs creaked as under a +footstep. The boy leaped up, dragged the armchair, the two chairs and the +table, to the most remote corner of the room; he made a barrier of them; +the armchair against the wall, a chair to the right, a chair to the left, +and the table in front of him. In the middle he planted a pair of steps, +and, perched on top with his book and other books, like provisions against +a siege, he breathed again, having decided in his childish imagination that +the enemy could not pass the barrier--that was not to be allowed. + +But the enemy would creep forth, even from his book. Among the old books +which the old man had picked up were some with pictures which made a +profound impression on the child: they attracted and yet terrified him. +There were fantastic visions--temptations of St. Anthony--in which +skeletons of birds hung in bottles, and thousands of eggs writhe like worms +in disemboweled frogs, and heads walk on feet, and asses play trumpets, and +household utensils and corpses of animals walk gravely, wrapped in great +cloths, bowing like old ladies. Jean-Christophe was horrified by them, but +always returned to them, drawn on by disgust. He would look at them for a +long time, and every now and then look furtively about him to see what was +stirring in the folds of the curtains. A picture of a flayed man in an +anatomy book was still more horrible to him. He trembled as he turned the +page when he came to the place where it was in the book. This shapeless +medley was grimly etched for him. The creative power inherent in every +child's mind filled out the meagerness of the setting of them. He saw no +difference between the daubs and the reality. At night they had an even +more powerful influence over his dreams than the living things that he saw +during the day. + +He was afraid to sleep. For several years nightmares poisoned his rest. He +wandered in cellars, and through the manhole saw the grinning flayed man +entering. He was alone in a room, and he heard a stealthy footstep in the +corridor; he hurled himself against the door to close it, and was just in +time to hold the handle; but it was turned from the outside; he could not +turn the key, his strength left him, and he cried for help. He was with his +family, and suddenly their faces changed; they did crazy things. He was +reading quietly, and he felt that an invisible being was all _round_ him. +He tried to fly, but felt himself bound. He tried to cry out, but he was +gagged. A loathsome grip was about his neck. He awoke, suffocating, and +with his teeth chattering; and he went on trembling long after he was +awake; he could not be rid of his agony. + +The roam in which he slept was a hole without door or windows; an old +curtain hung up by a curtain-rod over the entrance was all that separated +it from the room of his father and mother. The thick air stifled him. His +brother, who slept in the same bed, used to kick him. His head burned, and +he was a prey to a sort of hallucination in which all the little troubles +of the day reappeared infinitely magnified. In this state of nervous +tension, bordering on delirium, the least shock was an agony to him. The +creaking of a plank terrified him. His father's breathing took on fantastic +proportions. It seemed to be no longer a human breathing, and the monstrous +sound was horrible to him; it seemed to him that there must be a beast +sleeping there. The night crushed him; it would never end; it must always +be so; he was lying there for months and months. He gasped for breath; he +half raised himself on his bed, sat up, dried his sweating face with his +shirt-sleeve. Sometimes he nudged his brother Rodolphe to wake him up; but +Rodolphe moaned, drew away from him the rest of the bedclothes, and went on +sleeping. + +So he stayed in feverish agony until a pale beam of light appeared on +the floor below the curtain. This timorous paleness of the distant dawn +suddenly brought him peace. He felt the light gliding into the room, when +it was still impossible to distinguish it from darkness. Then his fever +would die down, his blood would grow calm, like a flooded river returning +to its bed; an even warmth would flow through all his body, and his eyes, +burning from sleeplessness, would close in spite of himself. + +In the evening it was terrible to him to see the approach of the hour of +sleep. He vowed that he would not give way to it, to watch the whole night +through, fearing his nightmares, But in the end weariness always overcame +him, and it was always when he was least on his guard that the monsters +returned. + +Fearful night! So sweet to most children, so terrible to some!... He was +afraid to sleep. He was afraid of not sleeping. Waking or sleeping, he +was surrounded by monstrous shapes, the phantoms of his own brain, the +larvæ floating in the half-day and twilight of childhood, as in the dark +chiaroscuro of sickness. + +But these fancied terrors were soon to be blotted out in the great +Fear--that which is in the hearts of all men; that Fear which Wisdom does +in vain preen itself on forgetting or denying--Death. + + * * * * * + +One day when he was rummaging in a cupboard, he came upon several things +that he did not know--a child's frock and a striped bonnet. He took them in +triumph to his mother, who, instead of smiling at him, looked vexed, and +bade him, take them back to the place where he had found them. When he +hesitated to obey, and asked her why, she snatched them from him without +reply, and put them on a shelf where he could not reach them. Roused to +curiosity, he plied her with questions. At last she told him that there had +been a little brother who had died before Jean-Christophe came into the +world. He was taken aback--he had never heard tell of him. He was silent +for a moment, and then tried to find out more. His mother seemed to be lost +in thought; but she told him that the little brother was called +Jean-Christophe like himself, but was more sensible. He put more questions +to her, but she would not reply readily. She told him only that his brother +was in Heaven, and was praying for them all. Jean-Christophe could get no +more out of her; she bade him be quiet, and to let her go on with her work. +She seemed to be absorbed in her sewing; she looked anxious, and did not +raise her eyes. But after some time she looked at him where he was in the +corner, whither he had retired to sulk, began to smile, and told him to go +and play outside. + +These scraps of conversation profoundly agitated Jean-Christophe. There had +been a child, a little boy, belonging to his mother, like himself, bearing +the same name, almost exactly the same, and he was dead! Dead! He did not +exactly know what that was, but it was something terrible. And they never +talked of this other Jean-Christophe; he was quite forgotten. It would be +the same with him if he were to die? This thought was with him still in the +evening at table with his family, when he saw them all laughing and talking +of trifles. So, then, it was possible that they would be gay after he was +dead! Oh! he never would have believed that his mother could be selfish +enough to laugh after the death of her little boy! He hated them all. He +wanted to weep for himself, for his own death, in advance. At the same time +he wanted to ask a whole heap of questions, but he dared not; he remembered +the voice in which his mother had bid him be quiet. At last he could +contain himself no longer, and one night when he had gone to bed, and +Louisa came to kiss him, he asked: + +"Mother, did he sleep in my bed?" + +The poor woman trembled, and, trying to take on an indifferent tone of +voice, she asked: + +"Who?" + +"The little boy who is dead," said Jean-Christophe in a whisper. + +His mother clutched him with her hands. + +"Be quiet--quiet," she said. + +Her voice trembled. Jean-Christophe, whose head was leaning against her +bosom, heard her heart beating. There was a moment of silence, then she +said: + +"You must never talk of that, my dear.... Go to sleep.... No, it was not +his bed." + +She kissed him. He thought he felt her cheek wet against his. He wished he +could have been sure of it. He was a little comforted. There was grief in +her then! Then he doubted it again the next moment, when he heard her in +the next room talking in a quiet, ordinary voice. Which was true--that or +what had just been? He turned about for long in his bed without finding any +answer. He wanted his mother to suffer; not that he also did not suffer in +the knowledge that she was sad, but it would have done him so much good, in +spite of everything! He would have felt himself less alone. He slept, and +next day thought no more of it. + +Some weeks afterwards one of the urchins with whom he played in the street +did not come at the usual time. One of them said that he was ill, and they +got used to not seeing him in their games. It was explained, it was quite +simple. One evening Jean-Christophe had gone to bed; it was early, and from +the recess in which his bed was, he saw the light in the room. There was a +knock at the door. A neighbor had come to have a chat. He listened +absently, telling himself stories as usual. The words of their talk did not +reach him. Suddenly he heard the neighbor say: "He is dead." His blood +stopped, for he had understood who was dead. He listened and held his +breath. His parents cried out. Melchior's booming voice said: + +"Jean-Christophe, do you hear? Poor Fritz is dead." + +Jean-Christophe made an effort, and replied quietly: + +"Yes, papa." + +His bosom was drawn tight as in a vise. + +Melchior went on: + +"'Yes, papa.' Is that all you say? You are not grieved by it." + +Louisa, who understood the child, said: + +"'Ssh! Let him sleep!" + +And they talked in whispers. But Jean-Christophe, pricking his ears, +gathered all the details of illness--typhoid fever, cold baths, delirium, +the parents' grief. He could not breathe, a lump in his throat choked him. +He shuddered. All these horrible things took shape in his mind. Above all, +he gleaned that the disease was contagious--that is, that he also might die +in the same way--and terror froze him, for he remembered that he had shaken +hands with Fritz the last time he had seen him, and that very day had gone +past the house. But he made no sound, so as to avoid having to talk, and +when his father, after the neighbor had gone, asked him: "Jean-Christophe, +are you asleep?" he did not reply. He heard Melchior saying to Louisa: + +"The boy has no heart." + +Louisa did not reply, but a moment later she came and gently raised the +curtain and looked at the little bed. Jean-Christophe only just had time to +close his eyes and imitate the regular breathing which his brothers made +when they were asleep. Louisa went away on tip-toe. And yet how he wanted +to keep her! How he wanted to tell her that he was afraid, and to ask her +to save him, or at least to comfort him! But he was afraid of their +laughing at him, and treating him as a coward; and besides, he knew only +too well that nothing that they might say would be any good. And for hours +he lay there in agony, thinking that he felt the disease creeping over him, +and pains in his head, a stricture of the heart, and thinking in terror: +"It is the end. I am ill. I am going to die. I am going to die!"... Once he +sat up in his bed and called to his mother in a low voice; but they were +asleep, and he dared not wake them. + +From that time on his childhood was poisoned by the idea of death. His +nerves delivered him up to all sorts of little baseless sicknesses, to +depression, to sudden transports, and fits of choking. His imagination ran +riot with these troubles, and thought it saw in all of them the murderous +beast which was to rob him of his life. How many times he suffered agonies, +with his mother sitting only a few yards away from him, and she guessing +nothing! For in his cowardice he was brave enough to conceal all his terror +in a strange jumble of feeling--pride in not turning to others, shame of +being afraid, and the scrupulousness of a tenderness which forbade him to +trouble his mother. But he never ceased to think: "This time I am ill. I am +seriously ill. It is diphtheria...." He had chanced on the word +"diphtheria."... "Dear God! not this time!..." + +He had religious ideas: he loved to believe what his mother had told, him, +that after death the soul ascended to the Lord, and if it were pious +entered into the garden of paradise. But the idea of this journey rather +frightened than attracted him. He was not at all envious of the children +whom God, as a recompense, according to his mother, took in their sleep and +called to Him without having made them suffer. He trembled, as he went to +sleep, for fear that God should indulge this whimsy at his expense. It must +be terrible to be taken suddenly from the warmth of one's bed and dragged +through the void into the presence of God. He imagined God as an enormous +sun, with a voice of thunder. How it must hurt! It must barn the eyes, +ears--all one's soul! Then, God could punish--you never know.... And +besides, that did not prevent all the other horrors which he did not know +very well, though he could guess them from what he had heard--your body in +a box, all alone at the bottom of a hole, lost in the crowd of those +revolting cemeteries to which he was taken to pray.... God! God! How sad! +how sad!... + +And yet it was not exactly joyous to live, and be hungry, and see your +father drunk, and to be beaten, to suffer in so many ways from the +wickedness of other children, from the insulting pity of grown-up persons, +and to be understood by no one, not even by your mother. Everybody +humiliates you, no one loves you. You are alone--alone, and matter so +little! Yes; but it was just this that made him want to live. He felt in +himself a surging power of wrath. A strange thing, that power! It could do +nothing yet; it was as though it were afar off and gagged, swaddled, +paralyzed; he had no idea what it wanted, what, later on, it would be. But +it was in him; he was sure of it; he felt it stirring and crying out. +To-morrow--to-morrow, what a voyage he would take! He had a savage desire +to live, to punish the wicked, to do great things. "Oh! but how I will live +when I am ..." he pondered a little--"when I am eighteen!" Sometimes he put +it at twenty-one; that was the extreme limit. He thought that was enough +for the domination of the world. He thought of the heroes dearest to +him--of Napoleon, and of that other more remote hero, whom he preferred, +Alexander the Great. Surely he would be like them if only he lived for +another twelve--ten years. He never thought of pitying those who died at +thirty. They were old; they had lived their lives; it was their fault if +they hat failed. But to die now ... despair! Too terrible to pass while yet +a little child, and forever to be in the minds of men a little boy whom +everybody thinks he has the right to scold! He wept with rage at the +thought, as though he were already dead. + +This agony of death tortured his childish years--corrected only by disgust +with all life and the sadness of his own. + + * * * * * + +It was in the midst of these gloomy shadows, in the stifling night that +every moment seemed to intensify about him, that there began to shine, like +a star lost in the dark abysm of space, the light which was to illuminate +his life: divine music.... + +His grandfather gave the children an old piano, which one of his clients, +anxious to be rid of it, had asked him to take. His patient ingenuity had +almost put it in order. The present had not been very well received. Louisa +thought her room already too small, without filling it up any more; and +Melchior said that Jean Michel had not ruined himself over it: just +firewood. Only Jean-Christophe was glad of it without exactly knowing why. +It seemed to him a magic box, full of marvelous stories, just like the ones +in the fairy-book--a volume of the "Thousand and One Nights"--which his +grandfather read to him sometimes to their mutual delight. He had heard his +father try the piano on the day of its arrival, and draw from it a little +rain of arpeggios like the drops that a puff of wind shakes from the wet +branches of a tree after a shower. He clapped his hands, and cried +"Encore!" but Melchior scornfully closed the piano, saying that it was +worthless. Jean-Christophe did not insist, but after that he was always +hovering about the instrument. As soon as no one was near he would raise +the lid, and softly press down a key, just as if he were moving with his +finger the living shell of some great insect; he wanted to push out the +creature that was locked up in it. Sometimes in his haste he would strike +too hard, and then his mother would cry out, "Will you not be quiet? Don't +go touching everything!" or else he would pinch himself cruelly in closing +the piano, and make piteous faces as he sucked his bruised fingers.... + +Now his greatest joy is when his mother is gone out for a day's service, or +to pay some visit in the town. He listens as she goes down the stairs, and +into the street, and away. He is alone. He opens the piano, and brings up a +chair, and perches on it. His shoulders just about reach the keyboard; it +is enough for what he wants. Why does he wait until he is alone? No one +would prevent his playing so long as he did not make too much noise. But he +is ashamed before the others, and dare not. And then they talk and move +about: that spoils his pleasure. It is so much more beautiful when he is +alone! Jean-Christophe holds his breath so that the silence may be even +greater, and also because he is a little excited, as though he were going +to let off a gun. His heart beats as he lays his finger on the key; +sometimes he lifts his finger after he has the key half pressed down, and +lays it on another. Does he know what will come out of it, more than what +will come out of the other? Suddenly a sound issues from it; there are deep +sounds and high sounds, some tinkling, some roaring. The child listens to +them one by one as they die away and finally cease to be; they hover in the +air like bells heard far off, coming near in the wind, and then going away +again; then when you listen you hear in the distance other voices, +different, joining in and droning like flying insects; they seem to call to +you, to draw you away farther--farther and farther into the mysterious +regions, where they dive down and are lost.... They are gone!... No; still +they murmur.... A little beating of wings.... How strange it all is! They +are like spirits. How is it that they are so obedient? how is it that they +are held captive in this old box? But best of all is when you lay two +fingers on two keys at once. Then you never know exactly what will happen. +Sometimes the two spirits are hostile; they are angry with each other, and +fight; and hate each other, and buzz testily. Then voices are raised; they +cry out, angrily, now sorrowfully. Jean-Christophe adores that; it is as +though there were monsters chained up, biting at their fetters, beating +against the bars of their prison; they are like to break them, and burst +out like the monsters in the fairy-book--the genii imprisoned in the Arab +bottles under the seal of Solomon. Others flatter you; they try to cajole +you, but you feel that they only want to bite, that they are hot and +fevered. Jean-Christophe does not know what they want, but they lure him +and disturb him; they make him almost blush. And sometimes there are notes +that love each other; sounds embrace, as people do with their arms when +they kiss: they are gracious and sweet. These are the good spirits; their +faces are smiling, and there are no lines in them; they love little +Jean-Christophe, and little Jean-Christophe loves them. Tears come to his +eyes as he hears them, and he is never weary of calling them up. They are +his friends, his dear, tender friends.... + +So the child journeys through the forest of sounds, and round him he is +conscious of thousands of forces lying in wait for him, and calling to him +to caress or devour him.... + +One day Melchior came upon him thus. He made him jump with fear at the +sound of his great voice. Jean-Christophe, thinking he was doing wrong, +quickly put his hands up to his ears to ward off the blows he feared. But +Melchior did not scold him, strange to say; he was in a good temper, and +laughed. + +"You like that, boy?" he asked, patting his head kindly. "Would you like me +to teach you to play it?" + +Would he like!... Delighted, he murmured: "Yes." The two of them sat down +at the piano, Jean-Christophe perched this time on a pile of big books, and +very attentively he took his first lesson. He learned first of all that the +buzzing spirits have strange names, like Chinese names, of one syllable, or +even of one letter. He was astonished; he imagined them to be different +from that: beautiful, caressing names, like the princesses in the fairy +stories. He did not like the familiarity with which his father talked of +them. Again, when Melchior evoked them they were not the same; they seemed +to become indifferent as they rolled out from under his fingers. But +Jean-Christophe was glad to learn about the relationships between them, +their hierarchy, the scales, which were like a King commanding an army, or +like a band of negroes marching in single file. He was surprised to see +that each soldier, or each negro, could become a monarch in his turn, or +the head of a similar band, and that it was possible to summon whole +battalions from one end to the other of the keyboard. It amused him to hold +the thread which made them march. But it was a small thing compared with +what he had seen at first; his enchanted forest was lost. However, he set +himself to learn, for it was not tiresome, and he was surprised at his +father's patience. Melchior did not weary of it either; he made him begin +the same thing over again ten times. Jean-Christophe did not understand why +he should take so much trouble; his father loved him, then? That was good! +The boy worked away; his heart was filled with gratitude. + +He would have been less docile had he known what thoughts were springing +into being in his father's head. + + * * * * * + +From that day on Melchior took him to the house of a neighbor, where three +times a week there was chamber music. Melchior played first violin, Jean +Michel the violoncello. The other two were a bank-clerk and the old +watchmaker of the _Schillerstrasse_. Every now and then the chemist joined +them with his flute. They began at five, and went on till nine. Between +each piece they drank beer. Neighbors used to come in and out, and listen +without a word, leaning against the wall, and nodding their heads, and +beating time with their feet, and filling the room with clouds of +tobacco-smoke. Page followed page, piece followed piece, but the patience +of the musicians was never exhausted. They did not speak; they were all +attention; their brows were knit, and from time to time they grunted with +pleasure, but for the rest they were perfectly incapable not only of +expressing, but even of feeling, the beauty of what they played. They +played neither very accurately nor in good time, but they never went off +the rails, and followed faithfully the marked changes of tone. They had +that musical facility which is easily satisfied, that mediocre perfection +which, is so plentiful in the race which is said to be the most musical in +the world. They had also that great appetite which does not stickle for the +quality of its food, so only there be quantity--that healthy appetite to +which all music is good, and the more substantial the better--it sees no +difference between Brahms and Beethoven, or between the works of the same +master, between an empty concerto and a moving sonata, because they are +fashioned of the same stuff. + +Jean-Christophe sat apart in a corner, which was his own, behind the piano. +No one could disturb him there, for to reach it he had to go on all fours. +It was half dark there, and the boy had just room to lie on the floor if he +huddled up. The smoke of the tobacco filled his eyes and throat: dust, too; +there were large flakes of it like sheepskin, but he did not mind that, and +listened gravely, squatting there Turkish fashion, and widening the holes +in the cloth of the piano with his dirty little fingers. He did not like +everything that they played; but nothing that they played bored him, and he +never tried to formulate his opinions, for he thought himself too small to +know anything. Only some music sent him to sleep, some woke him up; it was +never disagreeable to him. Without his knowing it, it was nearly always +good music that excited him. Sure of not being seen, he made faces, he +wrinkled his nose, ground his teeth, or stuck out his tongue; his eyes +flashed with anger or drooped languidly; he moved his arms and legs with a +defiant and valiant air; he wanted to march, to lunge out, to pulverize the +world. He fidgeted so much that in the end a head would peer over the +piano, and say: "Hullo, boy, are you mad? Leave the piano.... Take your +hand away, or I'll pull your ears!" And that made him crestfallen and +angry. Why did they want to spoil his pleasure? He was not doing any harm. +Must he always be tormented! His father chimed in. They chid him for making +a noise, and said that he did not like music. And in the end he believed +it. These honest citizens grinding out concertos would have been astonished +if they had been told that the only person in the company who really felt +the music was the little boy. + +If they wanted him to keep quiet, why did they play airs which make you +march? In those pages were rearing horses, swords, war-cries, the pride of +triumph; and they wanted him, like them, to do no more than wag his head +and beat time with his feet! They had only to play placid dreams or some of +those chattering pages which talk so much and say nothing. There are plenty +of them, for example, like that piece of Goldmark's, of which the old +watchmaker had just said with a delighted smile: "It is pretty. There is no +harshness in it. All the corners are rounded off...." The boy was very +quiet then. He became drowsy. He did not know what they were playing hardly +heard it; but he was happy; his limbs were numbed, and he was dreaming. + +His dreams were not a consecutive story; they had neither head nor tail. It +was rarely that he saw a definite picture; his mother making a cake, and +with a knife removing the paste that clung to her fingers; a water-rat that +he had seen the night before swimming in the river; a whip that he wanted +to make with a willow wand.... Heaven knows why these things should have +cropped up in his memory at such a time! But most often he saw nothing at +all, and yet he felt things innumerable and infinite. It was as though +there were a number of very important things not to be spoken of, or not +worth speaking of, because they were so well known, and because they had +always been so. Some of them were sad, terribly sad; but there was nothing +painful in them, as there is in the things that belong to real life; they +were not ugly and debasing, like the blows that Jean-Christophe had from +his father, or like the things that were in his head when, sick at heart +with shame, he thought of some humiliation; they filled the mind with a +melancholy calm. And some were bright and shining, shedding torrents of +joy. And Jean-Christophe thought: "Yes, it is _thus_--thus that I will do +by-and-by." He did not know exactly what _thus_ was, nor why he said it, +but he felt that he had to say it, and that it was clear as day. He heard +the sound of a sea, and he was quite near to it, kept from it only by a +wall of dunes. Jean-Christophe had no idea what sea it was, or what it +wanted with him, but he was conscious that it would rise above the barrier +of dunes. And then!... Then all would be well, and he would be quite happy. +Nothing to do but to hear it, then, quite near, to sink to sleep to the +sound of its great voice, soothing away all his little griefs and +humiliations. They were sad still, but no longer shameful nor injurious; +everything seemed natural and almost sweet. + +Very often it was mediocre music that produced this intoxication in him. +The writers of it were poor devils, with no thought in their heads but the +gaining of money, or the hiding away of the emptiness of their lives by +tagging notes together according to accepted formulæ--or to be original, in +defiance of formulæ. But in the notes of music, even when handled by an +idiot, there is such a power of life that they can let loose storms in a +simple soul. Perhaps even the dreams suggested by the idiots are more +mysterious and more free than those breathed by an imperious thought which +drags you along by force; for aimless movement and empty chatter do not +disturb the mind in its own pondering.... + +So, forgotten and forgetting, the child stayed in his corner behind the +piano, until suddenly he felt ants climbing up his legs. And he remembered +then that he was a little boy wife dirty nails, and that he was rubbing his +nose against a white-washed wall, and holding his feet in his hands. + +On the day when Melchior, stealing on tiptoe, had surprised the boy at the +keyboard that was too high for him, he had stayed to watch him for a +moment, and suddenly there had flashed upon him: "A little prodigy!... Why +had he not thought of it?... What luck for the family!..." No doubt he had +thought that the boy would be a little peasant like his mother. "It would +cost nothing to try. What a great thing it would be! He would take him all +over Germany, perhaps abroad. It would be a jolly life, and noble to boot." +Melchior never failed to look for the nobility hidden in all he did, for it +was not often that he failed to find it, after some reflection. + +Strong in this assurance, immediately after supper, as soon as he had taken +his last mouthful, he dumped the child once more in front of the piano, and +made him go through the day's lesson until his eyes closed in weariness. +Then three times the next day. Then the day after that. Then every day. +Jean-Christophe soon tired of it; then he was sick to death of it; finally +he could stand it no more, and tried to revolt against it. There was no +point in what he was made to do: nothing but learning to run as fast as +possible over the keys, by loosening the thumb, or exercising the fourth +finger, which would cling awkwardly to the two next to it. It got on his +nerves; there was nothing beautiful in it. There was an end of the magic +sounds, and fascinating monsters, and the universe of dreams felt in one +moment.... Nothing but scales and exercises--dry, monotonous, dull--duller +than the conversation at meal-time, which was always the same--always about +the dishes, and always the same dishes. At first the child listened +absently to what his father said. When he was severely reprimanded he went +on with a bad grace. He paid no attention to abuse; he met it with bad +temper. The last straw was when one evening he heard Melchior unfold his +plans in the next room. So it was in order to put him on show like a trick +animal that he was so badgered and forced every day to move bits of ivory! +He was not even given time to go and see his beloved river. What was it +made them so set against him? He was angry, hurt in his pride, robbed of +his liberty. He decided that he would play no more, or as badly as +possible, and would discourage his father. It would be hard, but at all +costs he must keep his independence. + +The very next lesson he began to put his plan into execution. He set +himself conscientiously to hit the notes awry, or to bungle every touch. +Melchior cried out, then roared, and blows began to rain. He had a heavy +ruler. At every false note he struck the boy's fingers, and at the same +time shouted in his ears, so that he was like to deafen him. +Jean-Christophe's face twitched tinder the pain of it; he bit his lips to +keep himself from crying, and stoically went on hitting the notes all +wrong, bobbing his head down whenever he felt a blow coming. But his system +was not good, and it was not long before he began to see that it was so. +Melchior was as obstinate as his son, and he swore that even if they were +to stay there two days and two nights he would not let him off a single +note until it had been properly played. Then Jean-Christophe tried too +deliberately to play wrongly, and Melchior began to suspect the trick, as +he saw that the boy's hand fell heavily to one side at every note with +obvious intent. The blows became more frequent; Jean-Christophe was no +longer conscious of his fingers. He wept pitifully and silently, sniffing, +and swallowing down his sobs and tears. He understood that he had nothing +to gain by going on like that, and that he would have to resort to +desperate measures. He stopped, and, trembling at the thought of the storm +which was about to let loose, he said valiantly: + +"Papa, I won't play any more." + +Melchior choked. + +"What! What!..." he cried. + +He took and almost broke the boy's arm with shaking it. Jean-Christophe, +trembling more and more, and raising his elbow to ward off the blows, said +again: + +"I won't play any more. First, because I don't like being beaten. And +then...." + +He could not finish. A terrific blow knocked the wind out of him, and +Melchior roared: + +"Ah! you don't like being beaten? You don't like it?..." + +Blows rained. Jean-Christophe bawled through his sobs: + +"And then ... I don't like music!... I don't like music!..." + +He slipped down from his chair. Melchior roughly put him back, and knocked +his knuckles against the keyboard. He cried: + +"You shall play!" + +And Jean-Christophe shouted: + +"No! No! I won't play!" + +Melchior had to surrender. He thrashed the boy, thrust him from the room, +and said that he should have nothing to eat all day, or the whole month, +until he had played all his exercises without a mistake. He kicked him out +and slammed the door after him, + +Jean-Christophe found himself on the stairs, the dark and dirty stairs, +worm-eaten. A draught came through a broken pane in the skylight, and the +walls were dripping. Jean-Christophe sat on one of the greasy steps; his +heart was beating wildly with anger and emotion. In a low voice he cursed +his father: + +"Beast! That's what you are! A beast ... a gross creature ... a brute! Yes, +a brute!... and I hate you, I hate you!... Oh, I wish you were dead! I wish +you were dead!" + +His bosom swelled. He looked desperately at the sticky staircase and the +spider's web swinging in the wind above the broken pane. He felt alone, +lost in his misery. He looked at the gap in the banisters.... What if he +were to throw himself down?... or out of the window?... Yes, what if he +were to kill himself to punish them? How remorseful they would be! He heard +the noise of his fall from the stairs. The door upstairs opened suddenly. +Agonized voices cried: "He has fallen!--He has fallen!" Footsteps clattered +downstairs. His father and mother threw themselves weeping upon his body. +His mother sobbed: "It is your fault! You have killed him!" His father +waved his arms, threw himself on his knees, beat his head against the +banisters, and cried: "What a wretch am I! What a wretch am I!" The sight +of all this softened his misery. He was on the point of taking pity on +their grief; but then he thought that it was well for them, Had he enjoyed +his revenge.... + +When his story was ended, he found himself once more at the top of the +stairs in the dark; he looked down once more, and his desire to throw +himself down was gone. He even, shuddered a little, and moved away from the +edge, thinking that he might fall. Then he felt that he was a prisoner, +like a poor bird in a cage--a prisoner forever, with nothing to do but to +break his head and hurt himself. He wept, wept, and he robbed his eyes with +his dirty little hands, so that in a moment he was filthy. As he wept he +never left off looking at the things about him, and he found some +distraction in that. He stopped moaning for a moment to look at the spider +which, had just begun to move. Then he began with less conviction. He +listened to the sound of his own weeping, and went on, mechanically with +his sobbing, without much knowing why he did so. Soon he got up; he was +attracted by the window. He sat on the window-sill, retiring into the +background, and watched the spider furtively. It interested while it +revolted him. + +Below the Rhine flowed, washing the walls of the house. In the staircase +window it was like being suspended over the river in a moving sky. +Jean-Christophe never limped down the stairs without taking a long look at +it, but he had never yet seen it as it was to-day. Grief sharpens the +senses; it is as though everything were more sharply graven on the vision +after tears have washed away the dim traces of memory. The river was like +a living thing to the child--a creature inexplicable, but how much more +powerful than all the creatures that he knew! Jean-Christophe leaned +forward to see it better; he pressed his mouth and flattened his nose +against the pane. Where was _it_ going? What did _it_ want? _It_ looked +free, and sure of its road.... Nothing could stop _it_. At all hours of the +day or night, rain or sun, whether there were joy or sorrow in the house, +_it_ went on going by, and it was as though nothing mattered to _it_, as +though _it_ never knew sorrow, and rejoiced in its strength. What joy to +be like _it_, to run through the fields, and by willow-branches, and over +little shining pebbles and crisping sand, and to care for nothing, to be +cramped by nothing, to be free!... + +The boy looked and listened greedily; it was as though he were borne +along by the river, moving by with it.... When he closed his eyes he +saw color--blue, green, yellow, red, and great chasing shadows and +sunbeams.... What he sees takes shape. Now it is a large plain, reeds, corn +waving under a breeze scented with new grass and mint. Flowers on every +side--cornflowers, poppies, violets. How lovely it is! How sweet the air! +How good it is to lie down in the thick, soft grass!... Jean-Christophe +feels glad and a little bewildered, as he does when on feast-days his +father pours into his glass a little Rhine wine.... The river goes by.... +The country is changed.... Now there are trees leaning over the water; +their delicate leaves, like little hands, dip, move, and turn about in +the water. A village among the trees is mirrored in the river. There are +cypress-trees, and the crosses of the cemetery showing above the white wall +washed by the stream. Then there are rocks, a mountain gorge, vines on the +slopes, a little pine-wood, and ruined castles.... And once more the plain, +corn, birds, and the sun.... + +The great green mass of the river goes by smoothly, like a single +thought; there are no waves, almost no ripples--smooth, oily patches. +Jean-Christophe does not see it; he has closed his eyes to hear it better. +The ceaseless roaring fills him, makes him giddy; he is exalted by this +eternal, masterful dream which goes no man knows whither. Over the turmoil +of its depths rush waters, in swift rhythm, eagerly, ardently. And from the +rhythm ascends music, like a vine climbing a trellis--arpeggios from silver +keys, sorrowful violins, velvety and smooth-sounding flutes.... The country +has disappeared. The river has disappeared. There floats by only a strange, +soft, and twilight atmosphere. Jean-Christophe's heart flutters with +emotion. What does he see now? Oh! Charming faces!... A little girl with +brown tresses calls to him, slowly, softly, and mockingly.... A pale +boy's face looks at him with melancholy blue eyes.... Others smile; other +eyes look at him--curious and provoking eyes, and their glances make +him blush--eyes affectionate and mournful, like the eyes of a dog--eyes +imperious, eyes suffering.... And the pale face of a woman, with black +hair, and lips close pressed, and eyes so large that they obscure her other +features, and they gaze upon Jean-Christophe with an ardor that hurts +him.... And, dearest of all, that face which smiles upon him with clear +gray eyes and lips a little open, showing gleaming white teeth.... Ah! how +kind and tender is that smile! All his heart is tenderness from it! How +good it is to love! Again! Smile upon me again! Do not go!... Alas! it is +gone!... But it leaves in his heart sweetness ineffable. Evil, sorrow, +are no more; nothing is left.... Nothing, only an airy dream, like serene +music, floating down a sunbeam, like the gossamers on fine summer days.... +What has happened? What are these visions that fill the child with sadness +and sweet sorrow? Never had he seen them before, and yet he knew them and +recognized them. Whence come they? From what obscure abysm of creation? Are +they what has been ... _or what will be?_... + +Now all is done, every haunting form is gone. Once more through a misty +veil, as though he were soaring high above it, the river in flood appears, +covering the fields, and rolling by, majestic, slow, almost still. And far, +far away, like a steely light upon the horizon, a watery plain, a line of +trembling waves--the sea. The river runs down to it. The sea seems to run +up to the river. She fires him. He desires her. He must lose himself in +her.... The music hovers; lovely dance rhythms swing out madly; all the +world is rocked in their triumphant whirligig.... The soul, set free, +cleaves space, like swallows' flight, like swallows drunk with the air, +skimming across the sky with shrill cries.... Joy! Joy! There is nothing, +nothing!... Oh, infinite happiness!... + +Hours passed; it was evening; the staircase was in darkness. Drops of rain +made rings upon the river's gown, and the current bore them dancing away. +Sometimes the branch of a tree or pieces of black bark passed noiselessly +and disappeared. The murderous spider had withdrawn to her darkest corner. +And little Jean-Christophe was still leaning forward on the window-sill. +His face was pale and dirty; happiness shone in him. He was asleep. + + + + +III + + E la faccia del sol nascere ombrata. + _Purgatorio_, xxx. + + +He had to surrender. In spite of an obstinate and heroic resistance, blows +triumphed over his ill-will. Every morning for three hours, and for three +hours every evening, Jean-Christophe was set before the instrument of +torture. All on edge with attention and weariness, with large tears rolling +down his cheeks and nose, he moved his little red hands over the black and +white keys--his hands were often stiff with cold--under the threatening +ruler, which descended at every false note, and the harangues of his +master, which were more odious to him than the blows. He thought that he +hated music. And yet he applied himself to it with a zest which fear of +Melchior did not altogether explain. Certain words of his grandfather had +made an impression on him. The old man, seeing his grandson weeping, had +told him, with that gravity which he always maintained for the boy, that it +was worth while suffering a little for the most beautiful and noble art +given to men for their consolation and glory. And Jean-Christophe, who was +grateful to his grandfather for talking to him like a man, had been +secretly touched by these simple words, which sorted well with his childish +stoicism and growing pride. But, more than by argument, he was bound and +enslaved by the memory of certain musical emotions, bound and enslaved to +the detested art, against which he tried in vain to rebel. + +There was in the town, as usual in Germany, a theater, where opera, +opéra-comique, operetta, drama, comedy, and vaudeville are presented--every +sort of play of every style and fashion. There were performances three +times a week from six to nine in the evening. Old Jean Michel never missed +one, and was equally interested in everything. Once he took his grandson +with him. Several days beforehand he told him at length what the piece was +about. Jean-Christophe did not understand it, but he did gather that there +would be terrible things in it, and while he was consumed with the desire +to see them he was much afraid, though he dared not confess it. He knew +that there was to be a storm, and he was fearful of being struck by +lightning. He knew that there was to be a battle, and he was not at all +sure that he would not be killed. On the night before, in bed, he went +through real agony, and on the day of the performance he almost wished that +his grandfather might be prevented from coming for him. But when the hour +was near, and his grandfather did not come, he began to worry, and every +other minute looked out of the window. At last the old man appeared, and +they set out together. His heart leaped in his bosom; his tongue was dry, +and he could not speak. + +They arrived at the mysterious building which was so often talked about at +home. At the door Jean Michel met some acquaintances, and the boy, who was +holding his hand tight because he was afraid of being lost, could not +understand how they could talk and laugh quietly at such a moment. + +Jean Michel took his usual place in the first row behind the orchestra. He +leaned on the balustrade, and began a long conversation with the +contra-bass. He was at home there; there he was listened to because of his +authority as a musician, and he made the most of it; it might almost be +said that he abused it. Jean-Christophe could hear nothing. He was +overwhelmed by his expectation of the play, by the appearance of the +theater, which seemed magnificent to him, by the splendor of the audience, +who frightened him terribly. He dared not turn his head, for he thought +that all eyes were fixed on him. He hugged his little cap between his +knees, and he stared at the magic curtain with round eyes. + +At last three blows were struck. His grandfather blew his nose, and drew +the _libretto_ from his pocket. He always followed it scrupulously, so much +so that sometimes he neglected what was happening on the stage. The +orchestra began to play. With the opening chords Jean-Christophe felt more +at ease. He was at home in this world of sound, and from that moment, +however extravagant the play might be, it seemed natural to him. + +The curtain was raised, to reveal pasteboard trees and creatures who were +not much more real. The boy looked at it all, gaping with admiration, but +he was not surprised. The piece set in a fantastic East, of which he could +have had no idea. The poem was a web of ineptitudes, in which no human +quality was perceptible. Jean-Christophe hardly grasped it at all; he made +extraordinary mistakes, took one character for another, and pulled at his +grandfather's sleeve to ask him absurd questions, which showed that he had +understood nothing. He was not bored: passionately interested, on the +contrary. Bound the idiotic _libretto_ he built a romance of his own +invention, which had no sort of relation to the one that was represented on +the stage. Every moment some incident upset his romance, and he had to +repair it, but that did not worry him. He had made his choice of the people +who moved upon the stage, making all sorts of different sounds, and +breathlessly he followed the fate of those upon whom he had fastened his +sympathy. He was especially concerned with a fair lady, of uncertain age, +who had long, brilliantly fair hair, eyes of an unnatural size, and bare +feet. The monstrous improbabilities of the setting did not shock him. His +keen, childish eyes did not perceive the grotesque ugliness of the actors, +large and fleshy, and the deformed chorus of all sizes in two lines, nor +the pointlessness of their gestures, nor their faces bloated by their +shrieks, nor the full wigs, nor the high heels of the tenor, nor the +make-up of his lady-love, whose face was streaked with variegated +penciling. He was in the condition of a lover, whose passion blinds him to +the actual aspect of the beloved object. The marvelous power of illusion, +natural to children, stopped all unpleasant sensations on the way, and +transformed them. + +The music especially worked wonders. It bathed the whole scene in a misty +atmosphere, in which everything became beautiful, noble, and desirable. It +bred in the soul a desperate need of love, and at the same time showed +phantoms of love on all sides, to fill the void that itself had created. +Little Jean-Christophe was overwhelmed by his emotion. There were words, +gestures, musical phrases which disturbed him; he dared not then raise his +eyes; he knew not whether it were well or ill; he blushed and grew pale by +turns; sometimes there came drops of sweat upon his brow, and he was +fearful lest all the people there should see his distress. When the +catastrophe came about which inevitably breaks upon lovers in the fourth +act of an opera so as to provide the tenor and the _prima donna_ with an +opportunity for showing off their shrillest screams, the child thought he +must choke; his throat hurt him as though he had caught cold; he clutched +at his neck with his hands, and could not swallow his saliva; tears welled +up in him; his hands and feet were frozen. Fortunately, his grandfather was +not much less moved. He enjoyed the theater with a childish simplicity. +During the dramatic passages he coughed carelessly to hide his distress, +but Jean-Christophe saw it, and it delighted him. It was horribly hot; +Jean-Christophe was dropping with sleep, and he was very uncomfortable. But +he thought only: "Is there much longer? It cannot be finished!" Then +suddenly it was finished, without his knowing why. The curtain fell; the +audience rose; the enchantment was broken. + +They went home through the night, the two children--the old man and the +little boy. What a fine night! What a serene moonlight! They said nothing; +they were turning over their memories. At last the old man said: + +"Did you like it, boy?" + +Jean-Christophe could not reply; he was still fearful from emotion, and he +would not speak, so as not to break the spell; he had to make an effort to +whisper, with a sigh: + +"Oh yes." + +The old man smiled. After a time he went on: + +"It's a fine thing--a musician's trade! To create things like that, such +marvelous spectacles--is there anything more glorious? It is to be God on +earth!" + +The boy's mind leaped to that. What! a man had made all that! That had not +occurred to him. It had seemed that it must have made itself, must be the +work of Nature. A man, a musician, such as he would be some day! Oh, to be +that for one day, only one day! And then afterwards ... afterwards, +whatever you like! Die, if necessary! He asked: + +"What man made that, grandfather?" + +The old man told him of François Marie Hassler, a young German artist who +lived at Berlin. He had known him once. Jean-Christophe listened, all ears. +Suddenly he said: + +"And you, grandfather?" + +The old man trembled. + +"What?" he asked. + +"Did you do things like that--you too?" + +"Certainly," said the old man a little crossly. + +He was silent, and after they had walked a little he sighed heavily. It +was one of the sorrows of his life. He had always longed to write for the +theater, and inspiration had always betrayed him. He had in his desk one or +two acts written, but he had so little illusion as to their worth that he +had never dared to submit them to an outside judgment. + +They said no more until they reached home. Neither slept. The old man was +troubled. He took his Bible for consolation. In bed Jean-Christophe turned +over and over the events of the evening; he recollected the smallest +details, and the girl with the bare feet reappeared before him. As he dozed +off a musical phrase rang in his ears as distinctly as if the orchestra +were there. All his body leaped; he sat up on his pillow, his head buzzing +with music, and he thought: "Some day I also shall write. Oh, can I ever do +it?" + +From that moment he had only one desire, to go to the theater again, and he +set himself to work more keenly, because they made a visit to the theater +his reward. He thought of nothing but that; half the week he thought of the +last performance, and the other half he thought of the next. He was fearful +of being ill on a theater day, and this fear made him often, find in +himself the symptoms of three or four illnesses. When the day came he did +not eat; he fidgeted like a soul in agony; he looked at the clock fifty +times, and thought that the evening would never come; finally, unable to +contain himself, he would go out an hour before the office opened, for fear +of not being able to procure a seat, and, as he was the first in the empty +theater, he used to grow uneasy. His grandfather had told him that once +or twice the audience had not been large enough, and so the players +had preferred not to perform, and to give back the money. He watched +the arrivals and counted them, thinking: "Twenty-three, twenty-four, +twenty-five.... Oh, it is not enough ... there will never be enough!" 'And +when he saw some important person enter the circle or the stalls, his heart +was lighter, and he said to himself: "They will never dare to send him +away. Surely they will play for him." But he was not convinced; he would +not be reassured until the musicians took their places. And even then he +would be afraid that the curtain would rise, and they would announce, as +they had done one evening, a change of programme. With lynx eyes he watched +the stand of the contra-bass to see if the title written on his music was +that of the piece announced. And when he had seen it there, two minutes +later he would look again to make quite sure that he had not been wrong. +The conductor was not there. He must be ill. There was a stirring behind +the curtain, and a sound of voices and hurried footsteps. Was there an +accident, some untoward misfortune? Silence again. The conductor was at +his post. Everything seemed ready at last.... They did not begin! What +was happening? He boiled over with impatience. Then the bell rang. His +heart thumped away. The orchestra began the overture, and for a few hours +Jean-Christophe would swim in happiness, troubled only by the idea that it +must soon come to an end. + + * * * * * + +Some time after that a musical event brought even more excitement into +Jean-Christophe's thoughts. François Marie Hassler, the author of the +first opera which had so bowled him over, was to visit the town. He was to +conduct a concert consisting of his compositions. The town was excited. The +young musician was the subject of violent discussion in Germany, and for a +fortnight he was the only topic of conversation. It was a different matter +when he arrived. The friends of Melchior and old Jean Michel continually +came for news, and they went away with the most extravagant notions of the +musician's habits and eccentricities. The child followed these narratives +with eager attention. The idea that the great man was there in the town, +breathing the same air as himself, treading the same stones, threw him into +a state of dumb exaltation. He lived only in the hope of seeing him. + +Hassler was staying at the Palace as the guest of the Grand Duke. He hardly +went out, except to the theater for rehearsals, to which Jean-Christophe +was not admitted, and as he was very lazy, he went to and fro in +the Prince's carriage. Therefore, Jean-Christophe did not have many +opportunities of seeing him, and he only succeeded once in catching sight +of him as he drove in the carriage. He saw his fur coat, and wasted hours +in waiting in the street, thrusting and jostling his way to right and left, +and before and behind, to win and keep his place in front of the loungers. +He consoled himself with spending half his days watching the windows of the +Palace which had been pointed out as those of the master. Most often he +only saw the shutters, for Hassler got up late, and the windows were closed +almost all morning. This habit had made well-informed persons say that +Hassler could not bear the light of day, and lived in eternal night. + +At length Jean-Christophe was able to approach his hero. It was the day of +the concert. All the town was there. The Grand Duke and his Court occupied +the great royal box, surmounted with a crown supported by two chubby +cherubim. The theater was in gala array. The stage was decorated with +branches of oak and flowering laurel. All the musicians of any account made +it a point of honor to take their places in the orchestra. Melchior was at +his post, and Jean Michel was conducting the chorus. + +When Hassler appeared there was loud applause from every part of the house, +and the ladies rose to see him better. Jean-Christophe devoured him with +his eyes. Hassler had a young, sensitive face, though it was already rather +puffy and tired-looking; his temples were bald, and his hair was thin on +the crown of his head; for the rest, fair, curly hair. His blue eyes looked +vague. He had a little fair mustache and an expressive mouth, which was +rarely still, but twitched with a thousand imperceptible movements. He was +tall, and held himself badly--not from awkwardness, but from weariness or +boredom. He conducted capriciously and lithely, with his whole awkward body +swaying, like his music, with gestures, now caressing, now sharp and jerky. +It was easy to see that he was very nervous, and his music was the exact +reflection of himself. The quivering and jerky life of it broke through the +usual apathy of the orchestra. Jean-Christophe breathed heavily; in spite +of his fear of drawing attention to himself, he could not stand still in +his place; he fidgeted, got up, and the music gave him such violent and +unexpected shocks that he had to move his head, arms, and legs, to the +great discomfort of his neighbors, who warded off his kicks as best they +could. The whole audience was enthusiastic, fascinated by the success, +rather than by the compositions. At the end there was a storm of applause +and cries, in which the trumpets in the orchestra joined, German fashion, +with their triumphant blare in salute of the conqueror, Jean-Christophe +trembled with pride, as though these honors were for himself. He enjoyed +seeing Hassler's face light up with childish pleasure. The ladies threw +flowers, the men waved their hats, and the audience rushed for the +platform. Every one wanted to shake the master's hand. Jean-Christophe +saw one enthusiast raise the master's hand to his lips, another steal a +handkerchief that Hassler had left on the corner of his desk. He wanted +to reach the platform also, although he did not know why, for if at that +moment he had found himself near Hassler, he would have fled at once in +terror and emotion. But he butted with all his force, like a ram, among the +skirts and legs that divided him from Hassler. He was too small; he could +not break through. + +Fortunately, when the concert was over, his grandfather came and took him +to join in a party to serenade Hassler. It was night, and torches were +lighted. All the musicians of the orchestra were there. They talked only of +the marvelous compositions they had heard. They arrived outside the Palace, +and took up their places without a sound under the master's windows. They +took on an air of secrecy, although everybody, including Hassler, knew what +was to come. In the silence of the night they began to play certain famous +fragments of Hassler's compositions. He appeared at the window with the +Prince, and they roared in their honor. Both bowed. A servant came from the +Prince to invite the musicians to enter the Palace. They passed through +great rooms, with frescoes representing naked men with helmets; they were +of a reddish color, and were making gestures of defiance. The sky was +covered with great clouds like sponges. There were also men and women of +marble clad in waist-cloths made of iron. The guests walked on carpets so +thick that their tread was inaudible, and they came at length to a room +which was as light as day, and there were tables laden with drinks and good +things. + +The Grand Duke was there, but Jean-Christophe did not see him; he had eyes +only for Hassler. Hassler came towards them; he thanked them. He picked his +words carefully, stopped awkwardly in the middle of a sentence, and +extricated himself with a quip which made everybody laugh. They began to +eat. Hassler took four or five musicians aside. He singled out +Jean-Christophe's grandfather, and addressed very flattering words to him: +he recollected that Jean Michel had been one of the first to perform his +works, and he said that he had often heard tell of his excellence from a +friend of his who had been a pupil of the old man's. Jean-Christophe's +grandfather expressed his gratitude profusely; he replied with such +extraordinary eulogy that, in spite of his adoration of Hassler, the boy +was ashamed. But to Hassler they seemed to be pleasant and in the rational +order. Finally, the old man, who had lost himself in his rigmarole, took +Jean-Christophe by the hand, and presented him to Hassler. Hassler smiled +at Jean-Christophe, and carelessly patted his head, and when he learned +that the boy liked his music, and had not slept for several nights in +anticipation of seeing him, he took him in his arms and plied him with +questions. Jean-Christophe, struck, dumb and blushing with pleasure, dared +not look at him. Hassler took him by the chin and lifted his face up. +Jean-Christophe ventured to look. Hassler's eyes were kind and smiling; he +began to smile too. Then he felt so happy, so wonderfully happy in the +great man's arms, that he burst into tears. Hassler was touched by this +simple affection, and was more kind than ever. He kissed the boy and talked +to him tenderly. At the same time he said funny things and tickled him to +make him laugh; and Jean-Christophe could not help laughing through his +tears. Soon he became at ease, and answered Hassler readily, and of his own +accord he began to whisper in his ear all his small ambitions, as though he +and Hassler were old friends; he told him how he wanted to be a musician +like Hassler, and, like Hassler, to make beautiful things, and to be a +great man. He, was always ashamed, talked confidently; he did not know what +he was saying; he was in a sort of ecstasy, Hassler smiled at his prattling +and said: + +"When you are a man, and have become a good musician, you shall come and +see me in Berlin. I shall make something of you." + +Jean-Christophe was too delighted to reply. + +Hassler teased him. + +"You don't want to?" + +Jean-Christophe nodded his head violently five or six times, meaning "Yes." + +"It is a bargain, then?" + +Jean-Christophe nodded again. + +"Kiss me, then." + +Jean-Christophe threw his arms round Hassler's neck and hugged him with all +his strength. + +"Oh, you are wetting me! Let go! Your nose wants wiping!" + +Hassler laughed, and wiped the boy's nose himself, a little +self-consciously, though he was quite jolly. He put him down, then took him +by the hand and led him to a table, where he filled his pockets with cake, +and left him, saying: + +"Good-bye! Remember your promise." + +Jean-Christophe swam in happiness. The rest of the world had ceased to +exist for him. He could remember nothing of what had happened earlier in +the evening; he followed lovingly Hassler's every expression and gesture. +One thing that he said struck him. Hassler was holding a glass in his hand; +he was talking, and his face suddenly hardened, and he said: + +"The joy of such a day must not make us forget our enemies. We must never +forget our enemies. It is not their fault that we are not crushed out of +existence. It will not be our fault if that does not happen to them. That +is why the toast I propose is that there are people whose health ... we +will not drink!" + +Everybody applauded and laughed at this original toast. Hassler had laughed +with the others and his good-humored expression had returned. But +Jean-Christophe was put off by it. Although he did not permit himself to +criticise any action of his hero, it hurt him that he had thought ugly +things, when on such a night there ought to be nothing but brilliant +thoughts and fancies. But he did not examine what he felt, and the +impression that it made was soon driven out by his great joy and the drop +of champagne which he drank out of his grandfather's glass. + +On the way back the old man never stopped talking; he was delighted with +the praise that Hassler had given him; he cried out that Hassler was a +genius such as had not been known for a century. Jean-Christophe said +nothing, locking up in his heart his intoxication of love. _He_ had kissed +him. _He_ had held him in his arms! How good _he_ was! How great! + +"Ah," he thought in bed, as he kissed his pillow passionately, "I would die +for him--die for him!" + +The brilliant meteor which had flashed across the sky of the little town +that night had a decisive influence on Jean-Christophe's mind. All his +childhood Hassler was the model on which his eyes were fixed, and to follow +his example the little man of six decided that he also would write music. +To tell the truth, he had been doing so for long enough without knowing it, +and he had not waited to be conscious of composing before he composed. + +Everything is music for the born musician. Everything that throbs, or +moves, or stirs, or palpitates--sunlit summer days, nights when the wind +howls, flickering light, the twinkling of the stars, storms, the song of +birds, the buzzing of insects, the murmuring of trees, voices, loved or +loathed, familiar fireside sounds, a creaking door, blood moving in the +veins in the silence of the night--everything that is is music; all that is +needed is that it should be heard. All the music of creation found its echo +in Jean-Christophe. Everything that he saw, everything that he felt, was +translated into music without his being conscious of it. He was like a +buzzing hive of bees. But no one noticed it, himself least of all. + +Like all children, he hummed perpetually at every hour of the day. Whatever +he was doing--whether he were walking in the street, hopping on one foot, +or lying on the floor at his grandfather's, with his head in his hands, +absorbed in the pictures of a book, or sitting in his little chair in the +darkest corner of the kitchen, dreaming aimlessly in the twilight--always +the monotonous murmuring of his little trumpet was to be heard, played with +lips closed and cheeks blown out. His mother seldom paid any heed to it, +but, once in a while, she would protest. + +When he was tired of this state of half-sleep he would have to move and +make a noise. Then he made music, singing it at the top of his voice. He +had made tunes for every occasion. He had a tune for splashing in his +wash-basin in the morning, like a little duck. He had a tune for sitting on +the piano-stool in front of the detested instrument, and another for +getting off it, and this was a more brilliant affair than the other. He had +one for his mother putting the soup on the table; he used to go before her +then blowing a blare of trumpets. He played triumphal marches by which to +go solemnly from the dining-room to the bedroom. Sometimes he would +organize little processions with his two small brothers; all then would +file out gravely, one after another, and each had a tune to march to. But, +as was right and proper, Jean-Christophe kept the best for himself. Every +one of his tunes was strictly appropriated to its special occasion, and +Jean-Christophe never by any chance confused them. Anybody else would have +made mistakes, but he knew the shades of difference between them exactly. + +One day at his grandfather's house he was going round the room clicking his +heels, head up and chest out; he went round and round and round, so that it +was a wonder he did not turn sick, and played one of his compositions. The +old man, who was shaving, stopped in the middle of it, and, with his face +covered with lather, came to look at him, and said: + +"What are you singing, boy?" + +Jean-Christophe said he did not know. + +"Sing it again!" said Jean Michel. + +Jean-Christophe tried; he could not remember the tune. Proud of having +attracted his grandfather's attention, he tried to make him admire his +voice, and sang after his own fashion an air from some opera, but that was +not what the old man wanted. Jean Michel said nothing, and seemed not to +notice him any more. But he left the door of his room ajar while the boy +was playing alone in the next room. + +A few days later Jean-Christophe, with the chairs arranged about him, was +playing a comedy in music, which he had made up of scraps that he +remembered from the theater, and he was making steps and bows, as he had +seen them done in a minuet, and addressing himself to the portrait of +Beethoven which hung above the table. As he turned with a pirouette he saw +his grandfather watching him through the half-open door. He thought the old +man was laughing at him; he was abashed, and stopped dead; he ran to the +window, and pressed his face against the panes, pretending that he had been +watching something of the greatest interest. But the old man said nothing; +he came to him and kissed him, and Jean-Christophe saw that he was pleased. +His vanity made the most of these signs; he was clever enough to see that +he had been appreciated; but he did not know exactly which his grandfather +had admired most--his talent as a dramatic author, or as a musician, or as +a singer, or as a dancer. He inclined, to the latter, for he prided himself +on this. + +A week later, when he had forgotten the whole affair, his grandfather said +mysteriously that he had something to show him. He opened his desk, took +out a music-book, and put it on the rack of the piano, and told the boy to +play. Jean-Christophe was very much interested, and deciphered it fairly +well. The notes were written by hand in the old man's large handwriting, +and he had taken especial pains with it. The headings were adorned with +scrolls and flourishes. After some moments the old man, who was sitting +beside Jean-Christophe turning the pages for him, asked him what the music +was. Jean-Christophe had been too much absorbed in his playing to notice +what he had played, and said that he did not know it. + +"Listen!... You don't know it?" + +Yes; he thought he knew it, but he did not know where he had heard it. The +old man laughed. + +"Think." + +Jean-Christophe shook his head. + +"I don't know." + +A light was fast dawning in his mind; it seemed to him that the air.... +But, no! He dared not.... He would not recognize it. + +"I don't know, grandfather." + +He blushed. + +"What, you little fool, don't you see that it is your own?" + +He was sure of it, but to hear it said made his heart thump. + +"Oh! grandfather!..." + +Beaming, the old man showed him the book. + +"See: _Aria_. It is what you were singing on Tuesday when you were lying on +the floor. _March_. That is what I asked you to sing again last week, and +you could not remember it. _Minuet_. That is what you were dancing by the +armchair. Look!" + +On the cover was written in wonderful Gothic letters: + +"_The Pleasures of Childhood: Aria, Minuetto, Valse, and Marcia, Op. 1, by +Jean-Christophe Krafft_." + +Jean-Christophe was dazzled by it. To see his name, and that fine title, +and that large book--his work!... He went on murmuring: + +"Oh! grandfather! grandfather!..." + +The old man drew him to him. Jean-Christophe threw himself on his knees, +and hid his head in Jean Michel's bosom. He was covered with blushes from +his happiness. The old man was even happier, and went on, in a voice which +he tried to make indifferent, for he felt that he was on the point of +breaking down: + +"Of course, I added the accompaniment and the harmony to fit the song. And +then"--he coughed--"and then, I added a _trio_ to the minuet, because ... +because it is usual ... and then.... I think it is not at all bad." + +He played it. Jean-Christophe was very proud of collaborating with his +grandfather. + +"But, grandfather, you must put your name to it too." + +"It is not worth while. It is not worth while others besides yourself +knowing it. Only"--here his voice trembled--"only, later on, when I am no +more, it will remind you of your old grandfather ... eh? You won't forget +him?" + +The poor old man did not say that he had been unable to resist the quite +innocent pleasure of introducing one of his own unfortunate airs into his +grandson's work, which he felt was destined to survive him; but his desire +to share in this imaginary glory was very humble and very touching, since +it was enough for him anonymously to transmit to posterity a scrap of his +own thought, so as not altogether to perish. Jean-Christophe was touched by +it, and covered his face with kisses, and the old man, growing more and +more tender, kissed his hair. + +"You will remember me? Later on, when you are a good musician, a great +artist, who will bring honor to his family, to his art, and to his country, +when you are famous, you will remember that it was your old grandfather who +first perceived it, and foretold what you would be?" + +There were tears in his eyes as he listened to his own words. He was +reluctant to let such signs of weakness be seen. He had an attack of +coughing, became moody, and sent the boy away hugging the precious +manuscript. + +Jean-Christophe went home bewildered by his happiness. The stones danced +about him. The reception he had from his family sobered him a little. When +he blurted out the splendor of his musical exploit they cried out upon him. +His mother laughed at him. Melchior declared that the old man was mad, and +that he would do better to take care of himself than to set about turning +the boy's head. As for Jean-Christophe, he would oblige by putting such +follies from his mind, and sitting down _illico_ at the piano and playing +exercises for four hours. He must first learn to play properly; and as for +composing, there was plenty of time for that later on when he had nothing +better to do. + +Melchior was not, as these words of wisdom might indicate, trying to keep +the boy from the dangerous exaltation of a too early pride. On the +contrary, he proved immediately that this was not so. But never having +himself had any idea to express in music, and never having had the least +need to express an idea, he had come, as a _virtuoso_, to consider +composing a secondary matter, which was only given value by the art of the +executant. He was not insensible of the tremendous enthusiasm roused by +great composers like Hassler. For such ovations he had the respect which he +always paid to success--mingled, perhaps, with a little secret +jealousy--for it seemed to him that such applause was stolen from him. But +he knew by experience that the successes of the great _virtuosi_ are no +less remarkable, and are more personal in character, and therefore more +fruitful of agreeable and flattering consequences. He affected to pay +profound homage to the genius of the master musicians; but he took a great +delight in telling absurd anecdotes of them, presenting their intelligence +and morals in a lamentable light. He placed the _virtuoso_ at the top of +the artistic ladder, for, he said, it is well known that the tongue is the +noblest member of the body, and what would thought be without words? What +would music be without the executant? But whatever may have been the reason +for the scolding that he gave Jean-Christophe, it was not without its uses +in restoring some common sense to the boy, who was almost beside himself +with his grandfather's praises. It was not quite enough. Jean-Christophe, +of course, decided that his grandfather was much cleverer than his father, +and though he sat down at the piano without sulking, he did so not so much +for the sake of obedience as to be able to dream in peace, as he always did +while his fingers ran, mechanically over the keyboard. While he played his +interminable exercises he heard a proud voice inside himself saying over +and over again: "I am a composer--a great composer." + +From that day on, since he was a composer, he set himself to composing. +Before he had even learned to write, he continued to cipher crotchets and +quavers on scraps of paper, which he tore from the household account-books. +But in the effort to find out what he was thinking, and to set it down in +black and white, he arrived at thinking nothing, except when he wanted to +think something. But he did not for that give up making musical phrases, +and as he was a born musician he made them somehow, even if they meant +nothing at all. Then he would take them in triumph to his grandfather, who +wept with joy over them--he wept easily now that he was growing old--and +vowed that they were wonderful. + +All this was like to spoil him altogether. Fortunately, his own good sense +saved him, helped by the influence of a man who made no pretension of +having any influence over anybody, and set nothing before the eyes of the +world but a commonsense point of view. This man was Louisa's brother. + +Like her, he was small, thin, puny, and rather round-shouldered. No one +knew exactly how old he was; he could not be more than forty, but he looked +more than fifty. He had a little wrinkled face, with a pink complexion, and +kind pale blue eyes, like faded forget-me-nots. When he took off his cap, +which he used fussily to wear everywhere from his fear of draughts, he +exposed a little pink bald head, conical in shape, which was the great +delight of Jean-Christophe and his brothers. They never left off teasing +him about it, asking him what he had done with his hair, and, encouraged by +Melchior's pleasantries, threatening to smack it. He was the first to laugh +at them, and put up with their treatment of him patiently. He was a +peddler; he used to go from village to village with a pack on his back, +containing everything--groceries, stationery, confectionery, handkerchiefs, +scarves, shoes, pickles, almanacs, songs, and drugs. Several attempts had +been made to make him settle down, and to buy him a little business--a +store or a drapery shop. But he could not do it. One night he would get up, +push the key under the door, and set off again with his pack. Weeks and +months went by before he was seen again. Then he would reappear. Some +evening they would hear him fumbling at the door; it would half open, and +the little bald head, politely uncovered, would appear with its kind eyes +and timid smile. He would say, "Good-evening, everybody," carefully wipe +his shoes before entering, salute everybody, beginning with the eldest, and +go and sit in the most remote corner of the room. There he would light his +pipe, and sit huddled up, waiting quietly until the usual storm of +questions was over. The two Kraffts, Jean-Christophe's father and +grandfather, had a jeering contempt for him. The little freak seemed +ridiculous to them, and their pride was touched by the low degree of the +peddler. They made him feel it, but he seemed to take no notice of it, and +showed them a profound respect which disarmed them, especially the old man, +who was very sensitive to what people thought of him. They used to crush +him with heavy pleasantries, which often brought the blush to Louisa's +cheeks. Accustomed to bow without dispute to the intellectual superiority +of the Kraffts, she had no doubt that her husband and father-in-law were +right; but she loved her brother, and her brother had for her a dumb +adoration. They were the only members of their family, and they were both +humble, crushed, and thrust aside by life; they were united in sadness and +tenderness by a bond of mutual pity and common suffering, borne in secret. +With the Kraffts--robust, noisy, brutal, solidly built for living, and +living joyously--these two weak, kindly creatures, out of their setting, so +to speak, outside life, understood and pitied each other without ever +saying anything about it. + +Jean-Christophe, with the cruel carelessness of childhood, shared the +contempt of his father and grandfather for the little peddler. He made fun +of him, and treated him as a comic figure; he worried him with stupid +teasing, which his uncle bore with his unshakable phlegm. But +Jean-Christophe loved him, without quite knowing why. He loved him first of +all as a plaything with which he did what he liked. He loved him also +because he always gave him something nice--a dainty, a picture, an amusing +toy. The little man's return was a joy for the children, for he always had +some surprise for them. Poor as he was, he always contrived to bring them +each a present, and he never forgot the birthday of any one of the family. +He always turned up on these august days, and brought out of his pocket +some jolly present, lovingly chosen. They were so used to it that they +hardly thought of thanking him; it seemed natural, and he appeared to be +sufficiently repaid by the pleasure he had given. But Jean-Christophe, who +did not sleep very well, and during the night used to turn over in his mind +the events of the day, used sometimes to think that his uncle was very +kind, and he used to be filled with floods of gratitude to the poor man. He +never showed it when the day came, because he thought that the others would +laugh at him. Besides, he was too little to see in kindness all the rare +value that it has. In the language of children, kind and stupid are almost +synonymous, and Uncle Gottfried seemed to be the living proof of it. + +One evening when Melchior was dining out, Gottfried was left alone in the +living-room, while Louisa put the children to bed. He went out, and sat by +the river a few yards away from the house. Jean-Christophe, having nothing +better to do, followed him, and, as usual, tormented him with his puppy +tricks until he was out of breath, and dropped down on the grass at his +feet. Lying on his belly, he buried his nose in the turf. When he had +recovered his breath, he cast about for some new crazy thing to say. When +he found it he shouted it out, and rolled about with laughing, with his +face still buried in the earth. He received no answer. Surprised by the +silence, he raised his head, and began to repeat his joke. He saw +Gottfried's face lit up by the last beams of the setting sun cast through +golden mists. He swallowed down his words. Gottfried smiled with his eyes +half closed and his mouth half open, and in his sorrowful face was an +expression of sadness and unutterable melancholy. Jean-Christophe, with his +face in his hands, watched him. The night came; little by little +Gottfried's face disappeared. Silence reigned. Jean-Christophe in his turn +was filled with the mysterious impressions which had been reflected on +Gottfried's face. He fell into a vague stupor. The earth was in darkness, +the sky was bright; the stars peeped out. The little waves of the river +chattered against the bank. The boy grew sleepy. Without seeing them, he +bit off little blades of grass. A grasshopper chirped near him. It seemed +to him that he was going to sleep. + +Suddenly, in the dark, Gottfried began to sing. He sang in a weak, husky +voice, as though to himself; he could not have been heard twenty yards +away. But there was sincerity and emotion in his voice; it was as though he +were thinking aloud, and that through the song, as through clear water, the +very inmost heart of him was to be seen. Never had Jean-Christophe heard +such singing, and never had he heard such a song. Slow, simple, childish, +it moved gravely, sadly, a little monotonously, never hurrying--with long +pauses--then setting out again on its way, careless where it arrived, and +losing itself in the night. It seemed to come from far away, and it went no +man knows whither. Its serenity was full of sorrow, and beneath its seeming +peace there dwelt an agony of the ages. Jean-Christophe held his breath; he +dared not move; he was cold with emotion. When it was done he crawled +towards Gottfried, and in a choking voice said: + +"Uncle!" + +Gottfried did not reply. + +"Uncle!" repeated the boy, placing his hands and chin on Gottfried's knees. + +Gottfried said kindly: + +"Well, boy..." + +"What is it, uncle? Tell me! What were you singing?" + +"I don't know." + +"Tell me what it is!" + +"I don't know. Just a song." + +"A song that you made." + +"No, not I! What an idea!... It is an old song." + +"Who made it?" + +"No one knows...." + +"When?" + +"No one knows...." + +"When you were little?" + +"Before I was born, before my father was born, and before his father, and +before his father's father.... It has always been." + +"How strange! No one has ever told me about it." + +He thought for a moment. + +"Uncle, do you know any other?" + +"Yes." + +"Sing another, please." + +"Why should I sing another? One is enough. One sings when one wants to +sing, when one has to sing. One must not sing for the fun of it." + +"But what about when one makes music?" + +"That is not music." + +The boy was lost in thought. He did not quite understand. But he asked for +no explanation. It was true, it was not music, not like all the rest. He +went on: + +"Uncle, have you ever made them?" + +"Made what?" + +"Songs!" + +"Songs? Oh! How should I make them? They can't be made." + +With his usual logic the boy insisted: + +"But, uncle, it must have been made once...." + +Gottfried shook his head obstinately. + +"It has always been." + +The boy returned to the attack: + +"But, uncle, isn't it possible to make other songs, new songs?" + +"Why make them? There are enough for everything. There are songs for when +you are sad, and for when you are gay; for when you are weary, and for when +you are thinking of home; for when you despise yourself, because you have +been a vile sinner, a worm upon the earth; for when you want to weep, +because people have not been kind to you; and for when your heart is glad +because the world is beautiful, and you see God's heaven, which, like Him, +is always kind, and seems to laugh at you.... There are songs for +everything, everything. Why should I make them?" + +"To be a great man!" said the boy, full of his grandfather's teaching and +his simple dreams. + +Gottfried laughed softly. Jean-Christophe, a little hurt, asked him: + +"Why are you laughing?" + +Gottfried said: + +"Oh! I?... I am nobody." + +He kissed the boy's head, and said: + +"You want to be a great man?" + +"Yes," said Jean-Christophe proudly. He thought Gottfried would admire him. +But Gottfried replied: + +"What for?" + +Jean-Christophe was taken aback. He thought for a moment, and said: + +"To make beautiful songs!" + +Gottfried laughed again, and said: + +"You want to make beautiful songs, so as to be a great man; and you want to +be a great man, so as to make beautiful songs. You are like a dog chasing +its own tail." + +Jean-Christophe was dashed. At any other time he would not have borne his +uncle laughing at him, he at whom he was used to laughing. And, at the same +time, he would never have thought Gottfried clever enough to stump him with +an argument. He cast about for some answer or some impertinence to throw at +him, but could find none. Gottfried went on: + +"When you are as great as from here to Coblentz, you will never make a +single song." + +Jean-Christophe revolted on that. + +"And if I will!..." + +"The more you want to, the less you can. To make songs, you have to be like +those creatures. Listen...." + +The moon had risen, round and gleaming, behind the fields. A silvery mist +hovered above the ground and the shimmering waters. The frogs croaked, and +in the meadows the melodious fluting of the toads arose. The shrill tremolo +of the grasshoppers seemed to answer the twinkling of the stars. The wind +rustled softly in the branches of the alders. From the hills above the +river there came down the sweet light song of a nightingale. + +"What need is there to sing?" sighed Gottfried, after a long silence. (It +was not clear whether he were talking to himself or to Jean-Christophe.) +"Don't they sing sweeter than anything that you could make?" + +Jean-Christophe had often heard these sounds of the night, and he loved +them. But never had he heard them as he heard them now. It was true: what +need was there to sing?... His heart was full of tenderness and sorrow. He +was fain to embrace the meadows, the river, the sky, the clear stars. He +was filled with love for his uncle Gottfried, who seemed to him now the +best, the cleverest, the most beautiful of men. He thought how he had +misjudged him, and he thought that his uncle was sad because he, +Jean-Christophe, had misjudged him. He was remorseful. He wanted to cry +out: "Uncle, do not be sad! I will not be naughty again. Forgive me, I love +you!" But he dared not. And suddenly he threw himself into Gottfried's +arms, but the words would not come, only he repeated, "I love you!" and +kissed him passionately. Gottfried was surprised and touched, and went on +saying, "What? What?" and kissed him. Then he got up, took him by the hand, +and said: "We must go in." Jean-Christophe was sad because his uncle had +not understood him. But as they came to the house, Gottfried said: "If you +like we'll go again to hear God's music, and I will sing you some more +songs." And when Jean-Christophe kissed him gratefully as they said +good-night, he saw that his uncle had understood. + +Thereafter they often went for walks together in the evening, and they +walked without a word along by the river, or through the fields. Gottfried +slowly smoked his pipe, and Jean-Christophe, a little frightened by the +darkness, would give him his hand. They would sit down on the grass, and +after a few moments of silence Gottfried would talk to him about the stars +and the clouds; he taught him to distinguish the breathing of the earth, +air, and water, the songs, cries, and sounds of the little worlds of +flying, creeping, hopping, and swimming things swarming in the darkness, +and the signs of rain and fine weather, and the countless instruments of +the symphony of the night. Sometimes Gottfried would sing tunes, sad or +gay, but always of the same kind, and always in the end Jean-Christophe +would be brought to the same sorrow. But he would never sing more than one +song in an evening, and Jean-Christophe noticed that he did not sing gladly +when he was asked to do so; it had to come of itself, just when he wanted +to. Sometimes they had to wait for a long time without speaking, and just +when Jean-Christophe was beginning to think, "He is not going to sing this +evening," Gottfried would make up his mind. + +One evening, when nothing would induce Gottfried to sing, Jean-Christophe +thought of submitting to him one of his own small compositions, in the +making of which he found so much trouble and pride. He wanted to show what +an artist he was. Gottfried listened very quietly, and then said: + +"That is very ugly, my poor dear Jean-Christophe!" + +Jean-Christophe was so hurt that he could find nothing to say. Gottfried +went on pityingly: + +"Why did you do it? It is so ugly! No one forced you to do it." + +Hot with anger, Jean-Christophe protested: + +"My grandfather thinks my music fine." + +"Ah!" said Gottfried, not turning a hair. "No doubt he is right. He is a +learned man. He knows all about music. I know nothing about it...." + +And after a moment: + +"But I think that is very ugly." + +He looked quietly at Jean-Christophe, and saw his angry face, and smiled, +and said: + +"Have you composed any others? Perhaps I shall like the others better than +that." + +Jean-Christophe thought that his other compositions might wipe out the +impression of the first, and he sang them all. Gottfried said nothing; he +waited until they were finished. Then he shook his head, and with profound +conviction said: + +"They are even more ugly." + +Jean-Christophe shut his lips, and his chin trembled; he wanted to cry. +Gottfried went on as though he himself were upset. + +"How ugly they are!" + +Jean-Christophe, with tears in his voice, cried out: "But why do you say +they are ugly?" + +Gottfried looked at him with his frank eyes. + +"Why?... I don't know.... Wait.... They are ugly ... first, because they +are stupid.... Yes, that's it.... They are stupid, they don't mean +anything.... You see? When you wrote, you had nothing to say. Why did you +write them?" + +"I don't know," said Jean-Christophe, in a piteous voice. "I wanted to +write something pretty." + +"There you are! You wrote for the sake of writing. You wrote because you +wanted to be a great musician, and to be admired. You have been proud; you +have been a liar; you have been punished.... You see! A man is always +punished when he is proud and a liar in music. Music must be modest and +sincere--or else, what is it? Impious, a blasphemy of the Lord, who has +given us song to tell the honest truth." + +He saw the boy's distress, and tried to kiss him. But Jean-Christophe +turned angrily away, and for several days he sulked. He hated Gottfried. +But it was in vain that he said over and over to himself: "He is an ass! He +knows nothing--nothing! My grandfather, who is much cleverer, likes my +music." In his heart he knew that his uncle was right, and Gottfried's +words were graven on his inmost soul; he was ashamed to have been a liar. + +And, in spite of his resentment, he always thought of it when he was +writing music, and often he tore up what he had written, being ashamed +already of what Gottfried would have thought of it. When he got over it, +and wrote a melody which he knew to be not quite sincere, he hid it +carefully from his uncle; he was fearful of his judgment, and was quite +happy when Gottfried just said of one of his pieces: "That is not so very +ugly.... I like it...." + +Sometimes, by way of revenge, he used to trick him by giving him as his own +melodies from the great musicians, and he was delighted when it happened +that Gottfried disliked them heartily. But that did not trouble Gottfried. +He would laugh loudly when he saw Jean-Christophe clap his hands and dance +about him delightedly, and he always returned to his usual argument: "It is +well enough written, but it says nothing." He always refused to be present +at one of the little concerts given in Melchior's house. However beautiful +the music might be, he would begin to yawn and look sleepy with boredom. +Very soon he would be unable to bear it any longer, and would steal away +quietly. He used to say: + +"You see, my boy, everything that you write in the house is not music. +Music in a house is like sunshine in a room. Music is to be found outside +where you breathe God's dear fresh air." + +He was always talking of God, for he was very pious, unlike the two +Kraffts, father and son, who were free-thinkers, and took care to eat meat +on Fridays. + + * * * * * + +Suddenly, for no apparent reason, Melchior changed his opinion. Not only +did he approve of his father having put together Jean-Christophe's +inspirations, but, to the boy's great surprise, he spent several evenings +in making two or three copies of his manuscript. To every question put to +him on the subject, he replied impressively, "We shall see; ..." or he +would rub his hands and laugh, smack the boy's head by way of a joke, or +turn him up and blithely spank him. Jean-Christophe loathed these +familiarities, but he saw that his father was pleased, and did not know +why. + +Then there were mysterious confabulations between Melchior and his father. +And one evening Jean-Christophe, to his astonishment, learned that he, +Jean-Christophe, had dedicated to H.S.H. the Grand Duke Leopold the +_Pleasures of Childhood_. Melchior had sounded the disposition of the +Prince, who had shown himself graciously inclined to accept the homage. +Thereupon Melchior declared that without losing a moment they must, +_primo_, draw up the official request to the Prince; _secondo_, publish the +work; _tertio_, organize a concert to give it a hearing. + +There were further long conferences between Melchior and Jean Michel. They +argued heatedly for two or three evenings. It was forbidden to interrupt +them. Melchior wrote, erased; erased, wrote. The old man talked loudly, as +though he were reciting verses. Sometimes they squabbled or thumped on the +table because they could not find a word. + +Then Jean-Christophe was called, made to sit at the table with a pen in his +hand, his father on his right, his grandfather on his left, and the old man +began to dictate words which he did not understand, because he found it +difficult to write every word in his enormous letters, because Melchior was +shouting in his ear, and because the old man declaimed with such emphasis +that Jean-Christophe, put out by the sound of the words, could not bother +to listen to their meaning. The old man was no less in a state of emotion. +He could not sit still, and he walked up and down the room, involuntarily +illustrating the text of what he read with gestures, but he came every +minute to look over what the boy had written, and Jean-Christophe, +frightened by the two large faces looking over his shoulder, put out his +tongue, and held his pen clumsily. A mist floated before his eyes; he made +too many strokes, or smudged what he had written; and Melchior roared, and +Jean Michel stormed; and he had to begin again, and then again, and when he +thought that they had at last come to an end, a great blot fell on the +immaculate page. Then they pulled his ears, and he burst into tears; but +they forbade him to weep, because he was spoiling the paper, and they began +to dictate, beginning all over again, and he thought it would go on like +that to the end of his life. + +At last it was finished, and Jean Michel leaned against the mantelpiece, +and read over their handiwork in a voice trembling with pleasure, while +Melchior sat straddled across a chair, and looked at the ceiling and wagged +his chair and, as a connoisseur, rolled round his tongue the style of the +following epistle: + + "_Most Noble and Sublime Highness! Most + Gracious Lord!_ + +"From my fourth year Music has been the first occupation of my childish +days. So soon as I allied myself to the noble Muse, who roused my soul to +pure harmony, I loved her, and, as it seemed to me, she returned my love. +Now I am in my sixth year, and for some time my Muse in hours of +inspiration has whispered in my ears: 'Be bold! Be bold! Write down the +harmonies of thy soul!' 'Six years old,' thought I, 'and how should I be +bold? What would the learned in the art say of me?' I hesitated. I +trembled. But my Muse insisted. I obeyed. I wrote. + +"And now shall I, + + "_O Most Sublime Highness!_ + +"--shall I have the temerity and audacity to place upon the steps of Thy +Throne the first-fruits of my youthful labors?... Shall I make so bold as +to hope that Thou wilt let fall upon them the august approbation of Thy +paternal regard?... + +"Oh, yes! For Science and the Arts have ever found in Thee their sage +Mæcenas, their generous champion, and talent puts forth its flowers under +the ægis of Thy holy protection. + +"In this profound and certain faith I dare, then, approach Thee with these +youthful efforts. Receive them as a pure offering of my childish +veneration, and of Thy goodness deign, + +"_O Most Sublime Highness!_ + +"to glance at them, and at their young author, who bows at Thy feet deeply +and in humility! + +"_From the most submissive, faithful, and obedient servant of His Most +Noble and Most Sublime Highness_, + +"JEAN-CHRISTOPHE KRAFFT." + +Jean-Christophe heard nothing. He was very happy to have finished, and, +fearing that he would be made to begin again, he ran away to the fields. He +had no idea of what he had written, and he cared not at all. But when the +old man had finished his reading he began again to taste the full flavor of +it, and when the second reading came to an end Melchior and he declared +that it was a little masterpiece. That was also the opinion of the Grand +Duke, to whom the letter was presented, with a copy of the musical work. He +was kind enough to send word that he found both quite charming. He granted +permission for the concert, and ordered that the hall of his Academy of +Music should be put at Melchior's disposal, and deigned to promise that he +would have the young artist presented to himself on the day of the +performance. + +Melchior set about organizing the concert as quickly as possible. He +engaged the support of the _Hof Musik Verein_, and as the success of his +first ventures had blown out his sense of proportion, he undertook at the +same time to publish a magnificent edition of the _Pleasures of Childhood_. +He wanted to have printed on the cover of it a portrait of Jean-Christophe +at the piano, with himself, Melchior, standing by his side, violin in hand. +He had to abandon that, not on account of the cost--Melchior did not stop +at any expense--but because there was not time enough. He fell back on an +allegorical design representing a cradle, a trumpet, a drum, a wooden +horse, grouped round a lyre which put forth rays like the sun. The +title-page bore, together with a long dedication, in which the name of the +Prince stood out in enormous letters, a notice to the effect that "Herr +Jean-Christophe Krafft was six years old." He was, in fact, seven and a +half. The printing of the design was very expensive. To meet the bill for +it, Jean Michel had to sell an old eighteenth-century chest, carved with +faces, which he had never consented to sell, in spite of the repeated +offers of Wormser, the furniture-dealer. But Melchior had no doubt but the +subscriptions would cover the cost, and beyond that the expenses of +printing the composition. + +One other question occupied his mind: how to dress Jean-Christophe on the +day of the concert. There was a family council to decide the matter. +Melchior would have liked the boy to appear in a short frock and bare legs, +like a child of four. But Jean-Christophe was very large for his age, and +everybody knew him. They could not hope to deceive any one. Melchior had a +great idea. He decided that the boy should wear a dress-coat and white tie. +In vain did Louisa protest that they would make her poor boy ridiculous. +Melchior anticipated exactly the success and merriment that would be +produced by such an unexpected appearance. It was decided on, and the +tailor came and measured Jean-Christophe for his little coat. He had also +to have fine linen and patent-leather pumps, and all that swallowed up +their last penny. Jean-Christophe was very uncomfortable in his new +clothes. To make him used to them they made him try on his various +garments. For a whole month he hardly left the piano-stool. They taught him +to bow. He had never a moment of liberty. He raged against it, but dared +not rebel, for he thought that he was going to accomplish something +startling. He was both proud and afraid of it. They pampered him; they were +afraid he would catch cold; they swathed his neck in scarves; they warmed +his boots in case they were wet; and at table he had the best of +everything. + +At last the great day arrived. The barber came to preside over his toilet +and curl Jean-Christophe's rebellious hair. He did not leave it until he +had made it look like a sheep-skin. All the family walked round +Jean-Christophe and declared that he was superb. Melchior, after looking +him up and down, and turning him about and about, was seized with an idea, +and went off to fetch a large flower, which he put in his buttonhole. But +when Louisa saw him she raised her hands, and cried out distressfully that +he looked like a monkey. That hurt him cruelly. He did not know whether to +be ashamed or proud of his garb. Instinctively he felt humiliated, and he +was more so at the concert. Humiliation was to be for him the outstanding +emotion of that memorable day. + + * * * * * + +The concert was about to begin. The hall was half empty; the Grand Duke had +not arrived. One of those kindly and well-informed friends who always +appear on these occasions came and told them that there was a Council being +held at the Palace, and that the Grand Duke would not come. He had it on +good authority. Melchior was in despair. He fidgeted, paced up and down, +and looked repeatedly out of the window. Old Jean Michel was also in +torment, but he was concerned, for his grandson. He bombarded him with +instructions. Jean-Christophe was infected by the nervousness of his +family. He was not in the least anxious about his compositions, but he was +troubled by the thought of the bows that he had to make to the audience, +and thinking of them brought him to agony. + +However, he had to begin; the audience was growing impatient. The orchestra +of the _Hof Musik Verein_ began the _Coriolan Overture_. The boy knew +neither Coriolan nor Beethoven, for though he had often heard Beethoven's +music, he had not known it. He never bothered about the names of the works +he heard. He gave them names of his own invention, while he created little +stories or pictures for them. He classified them usually in three +categories: fire, water, and earth, with a thousand degrees between each. +Mozart belonged almost always to water. He was a meadow by the side of a +river, a transparent mist floating over the water, a spring shower, or a +rainbow. Beethoven was fire--now a furnace with gigantic flames and vast +columns of smoke; now a burning forest, a heavy and terrible cloud, +flashing lightning; now a wide sky full of quivering stars, one of which +breaks free, swoops, and; dies on a fine September night setting the heart +beating. Now; the imperious ardor of that heroic soul burned him like fire. +Everything else disappeared. What was it all to him?--Melchior in despair, +Jean Michel agitated, all the busy world, the audience, the Grand Duke, +little Jean-Christophe. What had.' he to do with all these? What lay +between them and him? Was that he--he, himself?... He was given up to the +furious will that carried him headlong. He followed it breathlessly, with +tears in his eyes, and his legs numb, thrilling from the palms of his hands +to the soles of his feet. His blood drummed! "Charge!" and he trembled in +every limb. And as he listened so intensely, Hiding behind a curtain, his +heart suddenly leaped violently. The orchestra had stopped short in the +middle of a bar, and after a moment's silence, it broke into a crashing of +brass and cymbals with a military march, officially strident. The +transition from one sort of music to another was so brutal, so unexpected, +that Jean-Christophe ground his teeth and stamped his foot with rage, and +shook his fist at the wall. But Melchior rejoiced. The Grand Duke had come +in, and the orchestra was saluting him with the National Anthem. And in a +trembling voice Jean Michel gave his last instructions to his grandson. + +The overture began again, and this time was finished. It was now +Jean-Christophe's turn. Melchior had arranged the programme to show off at +the same time the skill of both father and son. They were to play together +a sonata of Mozart for violin and piano. For the sake of effect he had +decided that Jean-Christophe should enter alone. He was led to the entrance +of the stage and showed the piano at the front, and for the last time it +was explained what he had to do, and then he was pushed on from the wings. + +He was not much afraid, for he was used to the theater; but when he found +himself alone on the platform, with hundreds of eyes staring at him, he +became suddenly so frightened that instinctively he moved backwards and +turned towards the wings to go back again. He saw his father there +gesticulating and with his eyes blazing. He had to go on. Besides, the +audience had seen him. As he advanced there arose a twittering of +curiosity, followed soon by laughter, which grew louder and louder. +Melchior had not been wrong, and the boy's garb had all the effect +anticipated. The audience rocked with laughter at the sight of the child +with his long hair and gipsy complexion timidly trotting across the +platform in the evening dress of a man of the world. They got up to see him +better. Soon the hilarity was general. There was nothing unkindly in it, +but it would have made the most hardened musician lose his head. +Jean-Christophe, terrified by the noise, and the eyes watching, and the +glasses turned upon him, had only one idea: to reach the piano as quickly +as possible, for it seemed to him a refuge, an island in the midst of the +sea. With head down, looking neither to right nor left, he ran quickly +across the platform, and when he reached the middle of it, instead of +bowing to the audience, as had been arranged, he turned his back on it, and +plunged straight for the piano. The chair was too high for him to sit down +without his father's help, and in his distress, instead of waiting, he +climbed up on to it on his knees. That increased the merriment of the +audience, but now Jean-Christophe was safe. Sitting at his instrument, he +was afraid of no one. + +Melchior came at last. He gained by the good-humor of the audience, who +welcomed him with warm applause. The sonata began. The boy played it with +imperturbable certainty, with his lips pressed tight in concentration, his +eyes fixed on the keys, his little legs hanging down from the chair. He +became more at ease as the notes rolled out; he was among friends that he +knew. A murmur of approbation reached him, and waves of pride and +satisfaction surged through him as he thought that all these people were +silent to listen to him and to admire him. But hardly had he finished when +fear overcame him again, and the applause which greeted him gave him more +shame than pleasure. His shame increased when Melchior took him by the +hand, and advanced with him to the edge of the platform, and made him bow +to the public. He obeyed, and bowed very low, with a funny awkwardness; but +he was humiliated, and blushed for what he had done, as though it were a +thing ridiculous and ugly. + +He had to sit at the piano again, and he played the _Pleasures of +Childhood_. Then the audience was enraptured. After each piece they shouted +enthusiastically. They wanted him to begin again, and he was proud of his +success and at the same time almost hurt by such applause, which was also a +command. At the end the whole audience rose to acclaim him; the Grand Duke +led the applause. But as Jean-Christophe was now alone on the platform he +dared not budge from his seat. The applause redoubled. He bent his head +lower and lower, blushing and hang-dog in expression, and he looked +steadily away from the audience. Melchior came. He took him in his arms, +and told him to blow kisses. He pointed out to him the Grand Duke's box. +Jean-Christophe turned a deaf ear. Melchior took his arm, and threatened +him in a low voice. Then he did as he was told passively, but he did not +look at anybody, he did not raise his eyes, but went on turning his head +away, and he was unhappy. He was suffering; how, he did not know. His +vanity was suffering. He did not like the people who were there at all. It +was no use their applauding; he could not forgive them for having laughed +and for being amused by his humiliation; he could not forgive them for +having seen him in such a ridiculous position--held in mid-air to blow +kisses. He disliked them even for applauding, and when Melchior did at last +put him down, he ran away to the wings. A lady threw a bunch of violets up +at him as he went. It brushed his face. He was panic-stricken and ran as +fast as he could, turning over a chair that was in his way. The faster he +ran the more they laughed, and the more they laughed the faster he ran. + +At last he reached the exit, which was filled with people looking at him. +He forced his way through, butting, and ran and hid himself at the back of +the anteroom. His grandfather was in high feather, and covered him with +blessings. The musicians of the orchestra shouted with laughter, and +congratulated the boy, who refused to look at them or to shake hands with +them. Melchior listened intently, gaging the applause, which had not yet +ceased, and wanted to take Jean-Christophe on to the stage again. But the +boy refused angrily, clung to his grandfather's coat-tails, and kicked at +everybody who came near him. At last he burst into tears, and they had to +let him be. + +Just at this moment an officer came to say that the Grand Duke wished the +artists to go to his box. How could the child be presented in such a state? +Melchior swore angrily, and his wrath only had the effect of making +Jean-Christophe's tears flow faster. To stop them, his grandfather promised +him a pound of chocolates if he would not cry any more, and +Jean-Christophe, who was greedy, stopped dead, swallowed down his tears, +and let them carry him off; but they had to swear at first most solemnly +that they would not take him on to the platform again. + +In the anteroom of the Grand Ducal box he was presented to a gentleman in a +dress-coat, with a face like a pug-dog, bristling mustaches, and a short, +pointed beard--a little red-faced man, inclined to stoutness, who addressed +him with bantering familiarity, and called him "Mozart _redivivus_!" This +was the Grand Duke. Then, he was presented in turn to the Grand Duchess and +her daughter, and their suite. But as he did not dare raise his eyes, the +only thing he could remember of this brilliant company was a series of +gowns and uniforms from, the waist down to the feet. He sat on the lap of +the young Princess, and dared not move or breathe. She asked him questions, +which Melchior answered in an obsequious voice with formal replies, +respectful and servile; but she did not listen to Melchior, and went on +teasing the child. He grew redder and redder, and, thinking that everybody +must have noticed it, he thought he must explain it away and said with a +long sigh: + +"My face is red. I am hot." + +That made the girl shout with laughter. But Jean-Christophe did not mind it +in her, as he had in his audience just before, for her laughter was +pleasant, and she kissed him, and he did not dislike that. + +Then he saw his grandfather in the passage at the door of the box, beaming +and bashful. The old man was fain to show himself, and also to say a few +words, but he dared not, because no one had spoken to him. He was enjoying +his grandson's glory at a distance. Jean-Christophe became tender, and felt +an irresistible impulse to procure justice also for the old man, so that +they should know his worth. His tongue was loosed, and he reached up to the +ear of his new friend and whispered to her: + +"I will tell you a secret." + +She laughed, and said: + +"What?" + +"You know," he went on--"you know the pretty _trio_ in my _minuetto_, the +_minuetto_ I played?... You know it?..." (He hummed it gently.) "... Well, +grandfather wrote it, not I. All the other airs are mine. But that is the +best. Grandfather wrote it. Grandfather did not want me to say anything. +You won't tell anybody?..." (He pointed out the old man.) "That is my +grandfather. I love him; he is very kind to me." + +At that the young Princess laughed again, said that he was a darling, +covered him with kisses, and, to the consternation of Jean-Christophe and +his grandfather, told everybody. Everybody laughed then, and the Grand Duke +congratulated the old man, who was covered with confusion, tried in vain to +explain himself, and stammered like a guilty criminal. But Jean-Christophe +said not another word to the girl, and in spite of her wheedling he +remained dumb and stiff. He despised her for having broken her promise. His +idea of princes suffered considerably from this disloyalty. He was so angry +about it that he did not hear anything that was said, or that the Prince +had appointed him laughingly his pianist in ordinary, his _Hof Musicus_. + +He went out with his relatives, and found himself surrounded in +the corridors of the theater, and even in the street, with people +congratulating him or kissing him. That displeased him greatly, for he did +not like being kissed, and did not like people meddling with him without +asking his permission. + +At last they reached home, and then hardly was the door closed than +Melchior began to call him a "little idiot" because he had said that the +_trio_ was not his own. As the boy was under the impression that he had +done a fine thing, which deserved praise, and not blame, he rebelled, and +was impertinent. Melchior lost his temper, and said that he would box his +ears, although he had played his music well enough, because with his idiocy +he had spoiled the whole effect of the concert. Jean-Christophe had a +profound sense of justice. He went and sulked in a corner; he visited his +contempt upon his father, the Princess, and the whole world. He was hurt +also because the neighbors came and congratulated his parents and laughed +with them, as if it were they who had played, and as if it were their +affair. + +At this moment a servant of the Court came with a beautiful gold watch from +the Grand Duke and a box of lovely sweets from the young Princess. Both +presents gave great pleasure to Jean-Christophe, and he did not know which +gave him the more; but he was in such a bad temper that he would not +admit it to himself, and he went on sulking, scowling at the sweets, and +wondering whether he could properly accept a gift from a person who had +betrayed his confidence. As he was on the point of giving in his father +wanted to set him down at once at the table, and make him write at his +dictation a letter of thanks. This was too much. Either from the nervous +strain of the day, or from instinctive shame at beginning the letter, +as Melchior wanted him to, with the words, "The little servant and +musician--_Knecht und Musicus_--of Your Highness ..." he burst into tears, +and was inconsolable. The servant waited and scoffed. Melchior had to +write the letter. That did not make him exactly kindly disposed towards +Jean-Christophe. As, a crowning misfortune, the boy let his watch fall and +broke it, A storm of reproaches broke upon him. Melchior shouted that he +would have to go without dessert. Jean-Christophe said angrily that that +was what he wanted. To punish him, Louisa, said that she would begin by +confiscating his sweets. Jean-Christophe was up in arms at that, and said +that the box was his, and no one else's, and that no one should take it +away from him! He was smacked, and in a fit of anger snatched the box +from his mother's hands, hurled it on the floor, and stamped on it He was +whipped, taken to his room, undressed, and put to bed. + +In the evening he heard his parents dining with friends--a magnificent +repast, prepared a week before in honor of the concert. He was like to die +with wrath at such injustice. They laughed loudly, and touched glasses. +They had told the guests that the boy was tired, and no one bothered about +him. Only after dinner, when the party was breaking up, he heard a slow, +shuffling step come into his room, and old Jean Michel bent over his bed +and kissed him, and said: "Dear little Jean-Christophe!..." Then, as if he +were ashamed, he went away without another word. He had slipped into his +hand some sweetmeats which he had hidden in his pocket. + +That softened Jean-Christophe; but he was so tired with all the day's +emotions that he had not the strength to think about what his grandfather +had done. He had not even the strength to reach out to the good things the +old man had given him. He was worn out, and went to sleep almost at once. + +His sleep was light. He had acute nervous attacks, like electric shocks, +which shook his whole body. In his dreams he was haunted by wild music. He +awoke in the night. The Beethoven overture that he had heard at the concert +was roaring in his ears. It filled the room with its mighty beat. He sat, +up in his bed, rubbed his eyes and ears, and asked himself if he were +asleep. No; he was not asleep. He recognized the sound, he recognized +those roars of anger, those savage cries; he heard the throbbing of that +passionate heart leaping in his bosom, that tumult of the blood; he felt +on his face the frantic heating of the wind; lashing and destroying, then +stopping suddenly, cut off by an Herculean will. That Titanic soul entered +his body, blew out his limbs and his soul, and seemed to give them colossal +proportions. He strode over all the world. He was like a mountain, and +storms raged within him--storms of wrath, storms of sorrow!... Ah, what +sorrow!... But they were nothing! He felt so strong!... To suffer--still to +suffer!... Ah, how good it is to be strong! How good it is to suffer when a +man is strong!... + +He laughed. His laughter rang out in the silence of the night. His father +woke up and cried: + +"Who is there?" + +His mother whispered: + +"Ssh! the boy is dreaming!" + +All then were silent; round them all was silence. The music died away, and +nothing sounded but the regular breathing of the human creatures asleep in +the room, comrades in misery, thrown together by Fate in the same frail +barque, bound onwards by a wild whirling force through the night. + +(Jean-Christophe's letter to the Grand Duke Leopold is inspired by +Beethoven's letter to the Prince Elector of Bonn, written when he was +eleven.) + + + + +MORNING + + +I + +THE DEATH OF JEAN MICHEL + + +Years have passed. Jean-Christophe is nearly eleven. His musical education +is proceeding. He is learning harmony with Florian Holzer, the organist of +St. Martin's, a friend of his grandfather's, a very learned man, who +teaches him that the chords and series of chords that he most loves, and +the harmonica which softly greet his heart and ear, those that he cannot +hear without a little thrill running down his spine, are bad and forbidden. +When he asks why, no reply is forthcoming but that it is so; the rules +forbid them. As he is naturally in revolt against discipline, he loves them +only the more. His delight is to find examples of them in the great and +admired musicians, and to take them to his grandfather or his master. His +grandfather replies that in the great musicians they are admirable, and +that Beethoven and Bach can take any liberty. His master, less +conciliatory, is angry, and says acidly that the masters did better things. + +Jean-Christophe has a free pass for the concerts and the theater. He has +learned to play every instrument a little. He is already quite skilful with +the violin, and his father procured him a seat in the orchestra. He +acquitted himself so well there that after a few months' probation he was +officially appointed second violin in the _Hof Musik Verein_. He has begun +to earn his living. Not too soon either, for affairs at home have gone from +bad to worse. Melchior's intemperance has swamped him, and his grandfather +is growing old. + +Jean-Christophe has taken in the melancholy situation. He is already as +grave and anxious as a man. He fulfils his task valiantly, though it does +not interest him, and he is apt to fall asleep in the orchestra in the +evenings, because it is late and he is tired. The theater no longer rouses +in him the emotion it used to do when he was little. When he was +little--four years ago--his greatest ambition had been to occupy the place +that he now holds. But now he dislikes most of the music he is made to +play. He dare not yet pronounce judgment upon it, but he does find it +foolish; and if by chance they do play lovely things, he is displeased by +the carelessness with which they are rendered, and his best-beloved works +are made to appear like his neighbors and colleagues in the orchestra, who, +as soon as the curtain has fallen, when they have done with blowing and +scraping, mop their brows and smile and chatter quietly, as though they had +just finished an hour's gymnastics. And he has been close to his former +flame, the fair barefooted singer. He meets her quite often during the +_entr'acte_ in the saloon. She knows that he was once in love with her, and +she kisses him often. That gives him no pleasure. He is disgusted by her +paint and scent and her fat arms and her greediness. He hates her now. + +The Grand Duke did not forget his pianist in ordinary. Not that the small +pension, which was granted to him with this title was regularly paid--it +had to be asked for--but from time to time Jean-Christophe used to receive +orders to go to the Palace when there were distinguished guests, or simply +when Their Highnesses took it into their heads that they wanted to hear +him. It was almost always in the evening, at the time when Jean-Christophe +wanted to be alone. He had to leave everything and hurry off. Sometimes he +was made to wait in the anteroom, because dinner was not finished. The +servants, accustomed to see him, used to address him familiarly. Then he +would be led into a great room full of mirrors and lights, in which +well-fed men and women used to stare at him with horrid curiosity. He had +to cross the waxed floor to kiss Their Highnesses' hands, and the more he +grew the more awkward he became, for he felt that he was in a ridiculous +position, and his pride used to suffer. + +When it was all done he used to sit at the piano and have to play for these +idiots. He thought them idiots. There were moments when their indifference +so oppressed him as he played that he was often on the point of stopping in +the middle of a piece. There was no air about him; he was near suffocation, +seemed losing his senses. When he finished he was overwhelmed with +congratulations and laden with compliments; he was introduced all round. He +thought they looked at him like some strange animal in the Prince's +menagerie, and that the words of praise were addressed rather to his master +than to himself. He thought himself brought low, and he developed a morbid +sensibility from which he suffered the more as he dared not show it. He saw +offense in the most simple actions. If any one laughed in a corner of the +room, he imagined himself to be the cause of it, and he knew not whether it +were his manners, or his clothes, or his person, or his hands, or his feet, +that caused the laughter. He was humiliated by everything. He was +humiliated if people did not talk to him, humiliated if they did, +humiliated if they gave him sweets like a child, humiliated especially when +the Grand Duke, as sometimes happened, in princely fashion dismissed him by +pressing a piece of money into his hand. He was wretched at being poor and +at being treated as a poor boy. One evening, as he was going home, the +money that he had received weighed so heavily upon him that he threw it +through a cellar window, and then immediately he would have done anything +to get it back, for at home there was a month's old account with the +butcher to pay. + +His relatives never suspected these injuries to his pride. They were +delighted at his favor with the Prince. Poor Louisa could conceive of +nothing finer for her son than these evenings at the Palace in splendid +society. As for Melchior, he used to brag of it continually to his +boon-fellows. But Jean-Christophe's grandfather was happier than any. He +pretended to be independent and democratic, and to despise greatness, but +he had a simple admiration for money, power, honors, social distinction, +and he took unbounded pride in seeing his grandson, moving among those who +had these things. He delighted in them as though such glory was a +reflection upon himself, and in spite of all his efforts to appear calm and +indifferent, his face used to glow. On the evenings when Jean-Christophe +went to the Palace, old Jean Michel used always to contrive to stay about +the house on some pretext or another. He used to await his grandson's +return with childish impatience, and when Jean-Christophe came in he would +begin at once with a careless air to ply him with seeming idle questions, +such as: + +"Well, did things go well to-night?" + +Or he would make little hints like: + +"Here's our Jean-Christophe; he can tell us some news." + +Or he would produce some ingenious compliment by way of flattery: + +"Here's our young nobleman!" + +But Jean-Christophe, out of sorts and out of temper, would reply with a +curt "Good-evening!" and go and sulk in a corner. But the old man would +persist, and ply him with more direct questions, to which the boy replied +only "Yes," or "No." Then the others would join in and ask for details. +Jean-Christophe would look more and more thunderous. They had to drag the +words from his lips until Jean Michel would lose his temper and hurl +insults at him. Then Jean-Christophe would reply with scant respect, and +the end would be a rumpus. The old man would go out and slam the door. So +Jean-Christophe spoiled the joy of these poor people, who had no inkling of +the cause of his bad temper. It was not their fault if they had the souls +of servants, and never dreamed that it is possible to be otherwise. + +Jean-Christophe was turned into himself, and though he never judged his +family, yet he felt a gulf between himself and them. No doubt he +exaggerated what lay between them, and in spite of their different ways of +thought it is quite probable that they could have understood each other if +he had been able to talk intimately to them. But it is known that nothing +is more difficult than absolute intimacy between children and parents, even +when there is much love between them, for on the one side respect +discourages confidence, and on the other the idea, often erroneous, of the +superiority of age and experience prevents them taking seriously enough the +child's feelings, which are often just as interesting as those of grown-up +persons, and almost always more sincere. + +But the people that Jean-Christophe saw at home and the conversation that +he heard there widened the distance between himself and his family. + +Melchior's friends used to frequent the house--mostly musicians of the +orchestra, single men and hard drinkers. They were not bad fellows, but +vulgar. They made the house shake with their footsteps and their laughter. +They loved music, but they spoke of it with a stupidity that was revolting. +The coarse indiscretion of their enthusiasm wounded the boy's modesty of +feeling. When they praised a work that he loved it was as though they were +insulting him personally. He would stiffen himself and grow pale, frozen, +and pretend not to take any interest in music. He would have hated it had +that been possible. Melchior used to say: + +"The fellow has no heart. He feels nothing. I don't know where he gets it +from." + +Sometimes they used to sing German four-part songs--four-footed as +well--and these were all exactly like themselves--slow-moving, solemn and +broad, fashioned of dull melodies. Then Jean-Christophe used to fly to the +most distant room and hurl insults at the wall. + +His grandfather also had friends: the organist, the furniture-dealer, the +watch-maker, the contra-bass--garrulous old men, who used always to pass +round the same jokes and plunge into interminable discussions on art, +politics, or the family trees of the countryside, much less interested in +the subjects of which they talked than happy to talk and to find an +audience. + +As for Louisa, she used only to see some of her neighbors who brought her +the gossip of the place, and at rare intervals a "kind lady," who, under +pretext of taking an interest in her, used to come and engage her services +for a dinner-party, and pretend to watch over the religious education of +the children. + +But of all who came to the house, none was more repugnant to +Jean-Christophe than his Uncle Theodore, a stepson of his grandfather's, a +son by a former marriage of his grandmother Clara, Jean Michel's first +wife. He was a partner in a great commercial house which did business in +Africa and the Far East. He was the exact type of one of those Germans of +the new style, whose affectation it is scoffingly to repudiate the old +idealism of the race, and, intoxicated by conquest, to maintain a cult of +strength and success which shows that they are not accustomed to seeing +them on their side. But as it is difficult at once to change the age-old +nature of a people, the despised idealism sprang up again in him at every +turn in language, manners, and moral habits and the quotations from Goethe +to fit the smallest incidents of domestic life, for he was a singular +compound of conscience and self-interest. There was in him a curious effort +to reconcile the honest principles of the old German _bourgeoisie_ with the +cynicism of these new commercial _condottieri_--a compound which forever +gave out a repulsive flavor of hypocrisy, forever striving to make of +German strength, avarice, and self-interest the symbols of all right, +justice, and truth. + +Jean-Christophe's loyalty was deeply injured by all this. He could not tell +whether his uncle were right or no, but he hated him, and marked him down +for an enemy. His grandfather had no great love for him either, and was in +revolt against his theories; but he was easily crushed in argument by +Theodore's fluency, which was never hard put to it to turn into ridicule +the old man's simple generosity. In the end Jean Michel came to be ashamed +of his own good-heartedness, and by way of showing that he was not so much +behind the times as they thought, he used to try to talk like Theodore; but +the words came hollow from his lips, and he was ill at ease with them. +Whatever he may have thought of him, Theodore did impress him. He felt +respect for such practical skill, which he admired the more for knowing +himself to be absolutely incapable of it. He used to dream of putting one +of his grandsons to similar work. That was Melchior's idea also. He +intended to make Rodolphe follow in his uncle's footsteps. And so the whole +family set itself to flatter this rich relation of whom they expected help. +He, seeing that he was necessary to them, took advantage of it to cut a +fine masterful figure, He meddled in everything, gave advice upon +everything, and made no attempt to conceal his contempt for art and +artists. Rather, he blazoned it abroad for the mere pleasure of humiliating +his musicianly relations, and he used to indulge in stupid jokes at their +expense, and the cowards used to laugh. + +Jean-Christophe, especially, was singled out as a butt for his uncle's +jests. He was not patient under them. He would say nothing, but he used to +grind his teeth angrily, and his uncle used to laugh at his speechless +rage. But one day, when Theodore went too far in his teasing, +Jean-Christophe, losing control of himself, spat in his face. It was a +fearful affair. The insult was so monstrous that his uncle was at first +paralyzed by it; then words came back to him, and he broke out into a flood +of abuse. Jean-Christophe sat petrified by the enormity of the thing that +he had done, and did not even feel the blows that rained down upon him; but +when they tried to force him down on his knees before his uncle, he broke +away, jostled his mother aside, and ran out of the house. He did not stop +until he could breathe no more, and then he was right out in the country. +He heard voices calling him, and he debated within himself whether he had +not better throw himself into the river, since he could not do so with his +enemy. He spent the night in the fields. At dawn he went and knocked at his +grandfather's door. The old man had been so upset by Jean-Christophe's +disappearance--he had not slept for it--that he had not the heart to scold +him. He took him home, and then nothing was said to him, because it was +apparent that he was still in an excited condition, and they had to smooth +him down, for he had to play at the Palace that evening. But for several +weeks Melchior continued to overwhelm him with his complaints, addressed to +nobody in particular, about the trouble that a man takes to give an example +of an irreproachable life and good manners to unworthy creatures who +dishonor him. And when his Uncle Theodore met him in the street, he turned +his head and held his nose by way of showing his extreme disgust. + +Finding so little sympathy at home, Jean-Christophe spent as little time +there as possible. He chafed against the continual restraint which they +strove to set upon him. There were too many things, too many people, that +he had to respect, and he was never allowed to ask why, and Jean-Christophe +did not possess the bump of respect. The more they tried to discipline him +and to turn him into an honest little German _bourgeois_, the more he felt +the need of breaking free from it all. It would have been his pleasure +after the dull, tedious, formal performances which he had to attend in the +orchestra or at the Palace to roll in the grass like a fowl, and to slide +down the grassy slope on the seat of his new trousers, or to have a +stone-fight with the urchins of the neighborhood. It was not because he was +afraid of scoldings and thwackings that he did not do these things more +often, but because he had no playmates. He could not get on with other +children. Even the little guttersnipes did not like playing with him, +because he took every game too seriously, and struck too lustily. He had +grown used to being driven in on himself, and to living apart from children +of his own age. He was ashamed of not being clever at games, and dared not +take part in their sport. And he used to pretend to take no interest in it, +although he was consumed by the desire to be asked to play with them. But +they never said anything to him, and then he would go away hurt, but +assuming indifference. + +He found consolation in wandering with Uncle Gottfried when he was in the +neighborhood. He became more and more friendly with him, and sympathized +with his independent temper. He understood so well now Gottfried's delight +in tramping the roads without a tie in the world! Often they used to go out +together in the evening into the country, straight on, aimlessly, and as +Gottfried always forgot the time, they used to come back very late, and +then were scolded. Gottfried knew that it was wrong, but Jean-Christophe +used to implore, and he could not himself resist the pleasure of it. About +midnight he would stand in front of the house and whistle, an agreed +signal. Jean-Christophe would be in his bed fully dressed. He would slip +out with his shoes in his hand, and, holding his breath, creep with all the +artful skill of a savage to the kitchen window, which opened on to the +road. He would climb on to the table; Gottfried would take him on his +shoulders, and then off they would go, happy as truants. + +Sometimes they would go and seek out Jeremy the fisherman, a friend of +Gottfried's, and then they would slip out in his boat under the moon. The +water dropping from the oars gave out little arpeggios, then chromatic +scales. A milky vapor hung tremulous over the surface of the waters. The +stars quivered. The cocks called to each other from either bank, and +sometimes in the depths of the sky they heard the trilling of larks +ascending from earth, deceived by the light of the moon. They were silent. +Gottfried hummed a tune. Jeremy told strange tales of the lives of the +beasts--tales that gained in mystery from the curt and enigmatic manner of +their telling. The moon hid herself behind the woods. They skirted the +black mass of the hills. The darkness of the water and the sky mingled. +There was never a ripple on the water. Sounds died down. The boat glided +through the night. Was she gliding? Was she moving? Was she still?... The +reeds parted with a sound like the rustling of silk. The boat grounded +noiselessly. They climbed out on to the bank, and returned on foot. They +would not return until dawn. They followed the river-bank. Clouds of silver +ablets, green as ears of corn, or blue as jewels, teemed in the first light +of day. They swarmed like the serpents of Medusa's head, and flung +themselves greedily at the bread thrown to them; they plunged for it as it +sank, and turned in spirals, and then darted away in a flash, like a ray of +light. The river took on rosy and purple hues of reflection. The birds woke +one after another. The truants hurried back. Just as carefully as when they +had set out, they returned to the room, with its thick atmosphere, and +Jean-Christophe, worn out, fell into bed, and slept at once, with his body +sweet-smelling with the smell of the fields. + +All was well, and nothing would have been known, but that one day Ernest, +his younger brother, betrayed Jean-Christophe's midnight sallies. From that +moment they were forbidden, and he was watched. But he contrived to escape, +and he preferred the society of the little peddler and his friends to any +other. His family was scandalized. Melchior said that he had the tastes of +a laborer. Old Jean Michel was jealous of Jean-Christophe's affection for +Gottfried, and used to lecture him about lowering himself so far as to like +such vulgar company when he had the honor of mixing with the best people +and of being the servant of princes. It was considered that Jean-Christophe +was lacking in dignity and self-respect. + +In spite of the penury which increased with Melchior's intemperance and +folly, life was tolerable as long as Jean Michel was there. He was the only +creature who had any influence over Melchior, and who could hold him back +to a certain extent from his vice. The esteem in which he was generally +held did serve to pass over the drunkard's freaks, and he used constantly +to come to the aid of the household with money. Besides the modest pension +which he enjoyed as retired _Kapellmeister_, he was still able to earn +small sums by giving lessons and tuning pianos. He gave most of it to his +daughter-in-law, for he perceived her difficulties, though she strove to +hide them from him. Louisa hated the idea that he was denying himself for +them, and it was all the more to the old man's credit in that he had always +been accustomed to a large way of living and had great needs to satisfy. +Sometimes even his ordinary sacrifices were not sufficient, and to meet +some urgent debt Jean Michel would have secretly to sell a piece of +furniture or books, or some relic that he set store by. Melchior knew that +his father made presents to Louisa that were concealed from himself, and +very often he would lay hands on them, in spite of protest. But when this +came to the old man's ears--not from Louisa, who said nothing of her +troubles to him, but from one of his grandchildren--he would fly into a +terrible passion, and there were frightful scenes between the two men. They +were both extraordinarily violent, and they would come to round oaths and +threats--almost it seemed as though they would come to blows. But even in +his most angry passion respect would hold Melchior in check, and, however +drunk he might be, in the end he would bow his head to the torrent of +insults and humiliating reproach which his father poured out upon him. But +for that he did not cease to watch for the first opportunity of breaking +out again, and with his thoughts on the future, Jean Michel would be filled +with melancholy and anxious fears. + +"My poor children," he used to say to Louisa, "what will become, of you +when I am no longer here?... Fortunately," he would add, fondling +Jean-Christophe, "I can go on until this fellow pulls you out of the mire." +But he was out in his reckoning; he was at the end of his road. No one +would have suspected it. He was surprisingly strong. He was past eighty; he +had a full head of hair, a white mane, still gray in patches, and in his +thick beard were still black hairs. He had only about ten teeth left, but +with these he could chew lustily. It was a pleasure to see him at table. He +had a hearty appetite, and though, he reproached Melchior for drinking, he +always emptied his bottle himself. He had a preference for white Moselle. +For the rest--wine, beer, cider--he could do justice to all the good things +that the Lord hath made. He was not so foolish as to lose his reason in his +cups, and he kept to his allowance. It is true that it was a plentiful +allowance, and that a feebler intelligence must have been made drunk by it. +He was strong of foot and eye, and indefatigably active. He got up at six, +and performed his ablutions scrupulously, for he cared for his appearance +and respected his person. He lived alone in his house, of which he was sole +occupant, and never let his daughter-in-law meddle with his affairs. He +cleaned out his room, made his own coffee, sewed on his buttons, nailed, +and glued, and altered; and going to and fro and up and down stairs in his +shirt-sleeves, he never stopped singing in a sounding bass which he loved +to let ring out as he accompanied himself with operatic gestures. And then +he used to go out in all weathers. He went about his business, omitting +none, but he was not often punctual. He was to be seen at every street +corner arguing with some acquaintance or joking with some woman whose face +he had remembered, for he loved pretty women and old friends. And so he was +always late, and never knew the time. But he never let the dinner-hour slip +by. He dined wherever he might be, inviting himself, and he would not go +home until late--after nightfall, after a visit to his grandchildren. Then +he would go to bed, and before he went to sleep read a page of his old +Bible, and during the night--for he never slept for more than an hour or +two together--he would get up to take down one of his old books, bought +second-hand--history, theology, belles-lettres, or science. He used to read +at random a few pages, which interested and bored him, and he did not +rightly understand them, though he did not skip a word, until sleep came to +him again. On Sunday he would go to church, walk with the children, and +play bowls. He had never been ill, except for a little gout in his toes, +which used to make him swear at night while he was reading his Bible. It +seemed as though he might live to be a hundred, and he himself could see no +reason why he should not live longer. When people said that he would die a +centenarian, he used to think, like another illustrious old man, that no +limit can be appointed to the goodness of Providence, The only sign that he +was growing old was that he was more easily brought to tears, and was +becoming every day more irritable. The smallest impatience with him could +throw him into a violent fury. His red face and short neck would grow +redder than ever. He would stutter angrily, and have to stop, choking. The +family doctor, an old friend, had warned him to take care and to moderate +both his anger and his appetite. But with an old man's obstinacy he plunged +into acts of still greater recklessness out of bravado, and he laughed at +medicine and doctors. He pretended to despise death, and did not mince his +language when he declared that he was not afraid of it. + +One summer day, when it was very hot, and he had drunk copiously, and +argued in the market-place, he went home and began to work quietly in his +garden. He loved digging. Bareheaded under the sun, still irritated by his +argument, he dug angrily. Jean-Christophe was sitting in the arbor with a +book in his hand, but he was not reading. He was dreaming and listening to +the cheeping of the crickets, and mechanically following his grandfather's +movements. The old man's back was towards him; he was bending and plucking +out weeds. Suddenly Jean-Christophe saw him rise, beat against the air with +his arms, and fall heavily with his face to the ground. For a moment he +wanted to laugh; then he saw that the old man did not stir. He called to +him, ran to him, and shook him with all his strength. Fear seized him. He +knelt, and with his two hands tried to raise the great head from the +ground. It was so heavy and he trembled so that he could hardly move it. +But when he saw the eyes turned up, white and bloody, he was frozen with +horror and, with a shrill cry, let the head fall. He got up in terror, ran +away and out of the place. He cried and wept. A man passing by stopped the +boy. Jean-Christophe could not speak, but he pointed to the house. The man +went in, and Jean-Christophe followed him. Others had heard his cries, and +they came from the neighboring houses. Soon the garden was full of people. +They trampled the flowers, and bent down over the old man. They cried +aloud. Two or three men lifted him up. Jean-Christophe stayed by the gate, +turned to the wall, and hid his face in his hands. He was afraid to look, +but he could not help himself, and when they passed him he saw through his +fingers the old man's huge body, limp and flabby. One arm dragged along the +ground, the head, leaning against the knee of one of the men carrying the +body, bobbed at every step, and the face was scarred, covered with mud, +bleeding. The mouth was open and the eyes were fearful. He howled again, +and took to flight. He ran as though something were after him, and never +stopped until he reached home. He burst into the kitchen with frightful +cries. Louisa was cleaning vegetables. He hurled himself at her, and hugged +her desperately, imploring her help. His face was distorted with his sobs; +he could hardly speak. But at the first word she understood. She went +white, let the things fall from her hands, and without a word rushed from +the house. + +Jean-Christophe was left alone, crouching against a cupboard. He went on +weeping. His brothers were playing. He could not make out quite what had +happened. He did not think of his grandfather; he was thinking only of the +dreadful sights he had just seen, and he was in terror lest he should be +made to return to see them again. + +And as it turned out in the evening, when the other children, tired of +doing every sort of mischief in the house, were beginning to feel wearied +and hungry, Louisa rushed in again, took them by the hand, and led them to +their grandfather's house. She walked very fast, and Ernest and Rodolphe +tried to complain, as usual; but Louisa bade them be silent in such a tone +of voice that they held their peace. An instinctive fear seized them, and +when they entered the house they began to weep. It was not yet night. The +last hours of the sunset cast strange lights over the inside of the +house--on the door-handle, on the mirror, on the violin hung on the wall in +the chief room, which was half in darkness. But in the old man's room a +candle was alight, and the flickering flame, vying with the livid, dying +day, made the heavy darkness of the room more oppressive. Melchior was +sitting near the window, loudly weeping. The doctor, leaning over the bed, +hid from sight what was lying there. Jean-Christophe's heart beat so that +it was like to break. Louisa made the children kneel at the foot of the +bed. Jean-Christophe stole a glance. He expected something so terrifying +after what he had seen in the afternoon that at the first glimpse he was +almost comforted. His grandfather lay motionless, and seemed to be asleep. +For a moment the child believed that the old man was better, and that all +was at an end. But when he heard his heavy breathing; when, as he looked +closer, he saw the swollen face, on which the wound that he had come by in +the fall had made a broad scar; when he understood that here was a man at +point of death, he began to tremble; and while he repeated Louisa's prayer +for the restoration of his grandfather, in his heart he prayed that if the +old man could not get well he might be already dead. He was terrified at +the prospect of what was going to happen. + +The old man had not been conscious since the moment of his fall. He only +returned to consciousness for a moment, enough to learn his condition, and +that was lamentable. The priest was there, and recited the last prayers +over him. They raised the old man on his pillow. He opened his eyes slowly, +and they seemed no longer to obey his will. He breathed noisily, and with +unseeing eyes looked at the faces and the lights, and suddenly he opened +his mouth. A nameless terror showed on his features. + +"But then ..." he gasped--"but I am going to die!" + +The awful sound of his voice pierced Jean-Christophe's heart. Never, never +was it to fade from his memory. The old man said no more. He moaned like a +little child. The stupor took him once more, but his breathing became more +and more difficult. He groaned, he fidgeted with his hands, he seemed to +struggle against the mortal sleep. In his semi-consciousness he cried once: + +"Mother!" + +Oh, the biting impression that it made, this mumbling of the old man, +calling in anguish on his mother, as Jean-Christophe would himself have +done--his mother, of whom he was never known to talk in life, to whom he +now turned instinctively, the last futile refuge in the last terror!... +Then he seemed to be comforted for a moment. He had once more a flicker of +consciousness. His heavy eyes, the pupils of which seemed to move +aimlessly, met those of the boy frozen in his fear. They lit up. The old +man tried to smile and speak. Louisa took Jean-Christophe and led him to +the bedside. Jean Michel moved his lips, and tried to caress his head with +his hand, but then he fell back into his torpor. It was the end. + +They sent the children into the next room, but they had too much to do to +worry about them, and Jean-Christophe, under the attraction of the horror +of it, peeped through the half-open door at the tragic face on the pillow; +the man strangled by the firm, clutch that had him by the neck; the face +which grew ever more hollow as he watched; the sinking of the creature into +the void, which seemed to suck it down like a pump; and the horrible +death-rattle, the mechanical breathing, like a bubble of air bursting on +the surface of waters; the last efforts of the body, which strives to live +when the soul is no longer. Then the head fell on one side on the pillow. +All, all was silence. + +A few moments later, in the midst of the sobs and prayers and the confusion +caused by the death, Louisa saw the child, pale, wide-eyed, with gaping +mouth, clutching convulsively at the handle of the door. She ran to him. He +had a seizure in her arms. She carried him away. He lost consciousness. He +woke up to find himself in his bed. He howled in terror, because he had +been left alone for a moment, had another seizure, and fainted again. For +the rest of the night and the next day he was in a fever. Finally, he grew +calm, and on the next night fell into a deep sleep, which lasted until the +middle of the following day. He felt that some one was walking in his room, +that his mother was leaning over his bed and kissing him. He thought he +heard the sweet distant sound of bells. But he would not stir; he was in a +dream. + +When he opened his eyes again his Uncle Gottfried was sitting at the foot +of his bed. Jean-Christophe was worn out, and could remember nothing. Then +his memory returned, and: he began to weep. Gottfried got up and kissed +him. + +"Well, my boy--well?" he said gently. + +"Oh, uncle, uncle!" sobbed the boy, clinging to him. + +"Cry, then ..." said Gottfried. "Cry!" + +He also was weeping. + +When he was a little comforted Jean-Christophe dried his eyes and looked at +Gottfried. Gottfried understood that he wanted to ask something. + +"No," he said, putting a finger to his lips, "you must not talk. It is good +to cry, bad to talk." + +The boy insisted. + +"It is no good." + +"Only one thing--only one!..." + +"What?" + +Jean-Christophe hesitated. + +"Oh, uncle!" he asked, "where is he now?" + +Gottfried answered: + +"He is with the Lord, my boy." + +But that was not what Jean-Christophe had asked. + +"No; you do not understand. Where is he--he _himself_?" (He meant the +body.) + +He went on in a trembling voice: + +"Is _he_ still in the house?" + +"They buried the good man this morning," said Gottfried. "Did you not hear +the bells?" + +Jean-Christophe was comforted. Then, when he thought that he would never +see his beloved grandfather again, he wept once more bitterly. + +"Poor little beast!" said Gottfried, looking pityingly at the child. + +Jean-Christophe expected Gottfried to console him, but Gottfried made no +attempt to do so, knowing that it was useless. + +"Uncle Gottfried," asked the boy, "are not you afraid of it, too?" + +(Much did he wish that Gottfried should not have been afraid, and would +tell him the secret of it!) + +"'Ssh!" he said, in a troubled voice.... + +"And how is one not to be afraid?" he said, after a moment. "But what can +one do? It is so. One must put up with it." + +Jean-Christophe shook his head in protest. + +"One has to put up with it, my boy," said Gottfried. "_He_ ordered it up +yonder. One has to love what _He_ has ordered." + +"I hate Him!" said Jean-Christophe, angrily shaking his fist at the sky. + +Gottfried fearfully bade him be silent. Jean-Christophe himself was afraid +of what he had just said, and he began to pray with Gottfried. But blood +boiled, and as he repeated the words of servile humility and resignation +there was in his inmost heart a feeling of passionate revolt and horror of +the abominable thing and the monstrous Being who had been able to create +it. + +Days passed and nights of rain over the freshly-turned earth under which +lay the remains of poor old Jean Michel. At the moment Melchior wept and +cried and sobbed much, but the week was not out before Jean-Christophe +heard him laughing heartily. When the name of the dead man was pronounced +in his presence, his face grew longer and a lugubrious expression came into +it, but in a moment he would begin to talk and gesticulate excitedly. He +was sincerely afflicted, but it was impossible for him to remain sad for +long. + +Louisa, passive and resigned, accepted the misfortune as she accepted +everything. She added a prayer to her daily prayers; she went regularly to +the cemetery, and cared for the grass as if it were part of her household. + +Gottfried paid touching attention to the little patch of ground where the +old man slept. When he came to the neighborhood, he brought a little +souvenir--a cross that he had made, or flowers that Jean Michel had loved. +He never missed, even if he were only in the town for a few hours, and he +did it by stealth. + +Sometimes Louisa took Jean-Christophe with her on her visits to the +cemetery. Jean-Christophe revolted in disgust against the fat patch of +earth clad in its sinister adornment of flowers and trees, and against the +heavy scent which mounts to the sun, mingling with the breath of the +sonorous cypress. But he dared not confess his disgust, because he +condemned it in himself as cowardly and impious. He was very unhappy. His +grandfather's death haunted him incessantly, and yet he had long known what +death was, and had thought about it and been afraid of it. But he had never +before seen it, and he who sees it for the first time learns that he knew +nothing, neither of death nor of life. One moment brings everything +tottering. Reason is of no avail. You thought you were alive, you thought +you had some experience of life; you see then that you knew nothing, that +you have been living in a veil of illusions spun by your own mind to hide +from your eyes the awful countenance of reality. There is no connection +between the idea of suffering and the creature who bleeds and suffers. +There is no connection between the idea of death and the convulsions of +body and soul in combat and in death. Human language, human wisdom, are +only a puppet-show of stiff mechanical dolls by the side of the grim charm +of reality and the creatures of mind and blood, whose desperate and vain +efforts are strained to the fixing of a life which crumbles away with every +day. + +Jean-Christophe thought of death day and night. Memories of the last agony +pursued him. He heard that horrible breathing; every night, whatever he +might be doing, he saw his grandfather again. All Nature was changed; it +seemed as though there were an icy vapor drawn over her. Round him, +everywhere, whichever way he turned, he felt upon his face the fatal +breathing of the blind, all-powerful Beast; he felt himself in the grip of +that fearful destructive Form, and he felt that there was nothing to be +done. But, far from crushing him, the thought of it set him aflame with +hate and indignation. He was never resigned to it. He butted head down +against the impossible; it mattered nothing that he broke his head, and was +forced to realize that he was not the stronger. He never ceased to revolt +against suffering. From that time on his life was an unceasing struggle +against the savagery of a Fate which he could not admit. + +The very misery of his life afforded him relief from the obsession of his +thoughts. The ruin of his family, which only Jean Michel had withheld, +proceeded apace when he was removed. With him the Kraffts had lost their +chief means of support, and misery entered the house. + +Melchior increased it. Far from working more, he abandoned himself utterly +to his vice when he was free of the only force that had held him in check. +Almost every night he returned home drunk, and he never brought back his +earnings. Besides, he had lost almost all his lessons. One day he had +appeared at the house of one of his pupils in a state of complete +intoxication, and, as a consequence of this scandal, all doors were closed +to him. He was only tolerated in the orchestra out of regard for the memory +of his father, but Louisa trembled lest he should he dismissed any day +after a scene. He had already been threatened with it on several evenings +when he had turned up in his place about the end of the performance. + +Twice or thrice he had forgotten altogether to put in an appearance. And of +what was he not capable in those moments of stupid excitement when he was +taken with the itch to do and say idiotic things! Had he not taken it into +his head one evening to try and play his great violin concerto in the +middle of an act of the _Valkyrie_? They were hard put to it to stop him. +Sometimes, too, he would shout with laughter in the middle of a performance +at the amusing pictures that were presented on the stage or whirling in his +own brain. He was a joy to his colleagues, and they passed over many things +because he was so funny. But such indulgence was worse than severity, and +Jean-Christophe could have died for shame. + +The boy was now first violin in the orchestra. He sat so that he could +watch over his father, and, when necessary, beseech him, and make him be +silent. It was not easy, and the best thing was not to pay any attention +to him, for if he did, as soon as the sot felt that eyes were upon +him, he would take to making faces or launch out into a speech. Then +Jean-Christophe would turn away, trembling with fear lest he should commit +some outrageous prank. He would try to be absorbed in his work, but he +could not help hearing Melchior's utterances and the laughter of his +colleagues. Tears would come into his eyes. The musicians, good fellows +that they were, had seen that, and were sorry for him. They would hush +their laughter, and only talk about his father when Jean-Christophe was not +by. But Jean-Christophe was conscious of their pity. He knew that as soon +as he had gone their jokes would break out again, and that Melchior was the +laughing-stock of the town. He could not stop him, and he was in torment. +He used to bring his father home after the play. He would take his arm, put +up with his pleasantries, and try to conceal the stumbling in his walk. But +he deceived no one, and in spite of all his efforts it was very rarely that +he could succeed in leading Melchior all the way home. At the corner of the +street Melchior would declare that he had an urgent appointment with some +friends, and no argument could dissuade him from keeping this engagement. +Jean-Christophe took care not to insist too much, so as not to expose +himself to a scene and paternal imprecations which might attract the +neighbors to their windows. + +All the household money slipped away in this fashion. Melchior was not +satisfied with drinking away his earnings; he drank away all that his wife +and son so hardly earned. Louisa used to weep, but she dared not resist, +since her husband had harshly reminded her that nothing in the house +belonged to her, and that he had married her without a sou. Jean-Christophe +tried to resist. Melchior boxed his ears, treated him like a naughty child, +and took the money out of his hands. The boy was twelve or thirteen. He was +strong, and was beginning to kick against being beaten; but he was still +afraid to rebel, and rather than expose himself to fresh humiliations of +the kind he let himself be plundered. The only resource that Louisa and +Jean-Christophe had was to hide their money; but Melchior was singularly +ingenious in discovering their hiding-places when they were not there. + +Soon that was not enough for him. He sold the things that he had inherited +from his father. Jean-Christophe sadly saw the precious relics go--the +books, the bed, the furniture, the portraits of musicians. He could say +nothing. But one day, when Melchior had crashed into Jean Michel's old +piano, he swore as he rubbed his knee, and said that there was no longer +room to move about in his own house, and that he would rid the house of +all such gimcrackery. Jean-Christophe cried aloud. It was true that the +rooms were too full, since all Jean Michel's belongings were crowded +into them, so as to be able to sell the house, that dear house in which +Jean-Christophe had spent the happiest hours of his childhood. It was true +also that the old piano was not worth much, that it was husky in tone, and +that for a long time Jean-Christophe had not used it, since he played on +the fine new piano due to the generosity of the Prince; but however old and +useless it might be, it was Jean-Christophe's best friend. It had awakened +the child to the boundless world of music; on its worn yellow keys he had +discovered with his fingers the kingdom of sounds and its laws; it had been +his grandfather's work (months had gone to repairing it for his grandson), +and he was proud of it; it was in some sort a holy relic, and +Jean-Christophe protested that his father had no right to sell it. Melchior +bade him be silent. Jean-Christophe cried louder than ever that the piano +was his, and that he forbade any one to touch it; but Melchior looked at +him with an evil smile, and said nothing. + +Next day Jean-Christophe had forgotten the affair. He came home tired, but +in a fairly good temper. He was struck by the sly looks of his brothers. +They pretended to be absorbed in their books, but they followed him with +their eyes, and watched all his movements, and bent over their books +again when he looked at them. He had no doubt that they had played some +trick upon him, but he was used to that, and did not worry about it, but +determined, when he had found it out, to give them a good thrashing, as he +always did on such occasions. He scorned to look into the matter, and he +began to talk to his father, who was sitting by the fire, and questioned +him as to the doings of the day with an affectation of interest which +suited him but ill; and while he talked he saw that Melchior was exchanging +stealthy nods and winks with the two children. Something caught at his +heart. He ran into his room. The place where the piano had stood was empty! +He gave a cry of anguish. In the next room he heard the stifled laughter of +his brothers. The blood rushed to his face. He rushed in to them, and +cried: + +"My piano!" + +Melchior raised his head with an air of calm bewilderment which made +the children roar with laughter. He could not contain himself when he +saw Jean-Christophe's piteous look, and he turned aside to guffaw. +Jean-Christophe no longer knew what he was doing. He hurled himself like +a mad thing on his father. Melchior, lolling in his chair, had no time to +protect himself. The boy seized him by the throat and cried: + +"Thief! Thief!" + +It was only for a moment. Melchior shook himself, and sent Jean-Christophe +rolling down on to the tile floor, though in his fury he was clinging +to him like grim death. The boy's head crashed against the tiles. +Jean-Christophe got upon his knees. He was livid, and he went on saying in +a choking voice: + +"Thief, thief!... You are robbing us--mother and me.... Thief!... You are +selling my grandfather!" + +Melchior rose to his feet, and held his fist above Jean-Christophe's head. +The boy stared at him with hate; in his eyes. He was trembling with rage. +Melchior began to tremble, too. + +He sat down, and hid his face in his hands. The two children had run away +screaming. Silence followed the uproar. Melchior groaned and mumbled. +Jean-Christophe, against the wall, never ceased glaring at him with +clenched teeth, and he trembled in every limb. Melchior began to blame +himself. + +"I am a thief! I rob my family! My children despise me! It were better if +I were dead!" + +When he had finished whining, Jean-Christophe did not budge, but asked him +harshly: + +"Where is the piano?" + +"At Wormser's," said Melchior, not daring to look at him. + +Jean-Christophe took a step forward, and said: + +"The money!" + +Melchior, crushed, took the money from his pocket and gave it to his son. +Jean-Christophe turned towards the door. Melchior called him: + +"Jean-Christophe!" + +Jean-Christophe stopped. Melchior went on in a quavering voice: + +"Dear Jean-Christophe ... do not despise me!" + +Jean-Christophe flung his arms round his neck and sobbed: + +"No, father--dear father! I do not despise you! I am so unhappy!" + +They wept loudly. Melchior lamented: + +"It is not my fault. I am not bad. That's true, Jean-Christophe? I am not +bad?" + +He promised that he would drink no more. Jean-Christophe wagged his head +doubtfully, and Melchior admitted that he could not resist it when he had +money in his hands. Jean-Christophe thought for a moment and said: + +"You see, father, we must..." + +He stopped. + +"What then?" + +"I am ashamed..." + +"Of whom?" asked Melchior naïvely. + +"Of you." + +Melchior made a face and said: + +"That's nothing." + +Jean-Christophe explained that they would have to put all the family money, +even Melchior's contribution, into the hands of some one else, who would +dole it out to Melchior day by day, or week by week, as he needed it. +Melchior, who was in humble mood--he was not altogether starving--agreed +to the proposition, and declared that he would then and there write a +letter to the Grand Duke to ask that the pension which came to him should +be regularly paid over in his name to Jean-Christophe. Jean-Christophe +refused, blushing for his father's humiliation. But Melchior, thirsting +for self-sacrifice, insisted on writing. He was much moved by his own +magnanimity. Jean-Christophe refused to take the letter, and when Louisa +came in and was acquainted with the turn of events, she declared that she +would rather beg in the streets than expose her husband to such an insult. +She added that she had every confidence in him, and that she was sure he +would make amends out of love for the children and herself. In the end +there was a scene of tender reconciliation and Melchior's letter was left +on the table, and then fell under the cupboard, where it remained +concealed. + +But a few days later, when she was cleaning up, Louisa found it there, and +as she was very unhappy about Melchior's fresh outbreaks--he had forgotten +all about it--instead of tearing it up, she kept it. She kept it for +several months, always rejecting the idea of making use of it, in spite of +the suffering she had to endure. But one day, when she saw Melchior once +more beating Jean-Christophe and robbing him of his money, she could bear +it no longer, and when she was left alone with the boy, who was weeping, +she went and fetched the letter, and gave it him, and said: + +"Go!" + +Jean-Christophe hesitated, but he understood that there was no other way +if they wished to save from the wreck the little that was left to them. +He went to the Palace. He took nearly an hour to walk a distance that +ordinarily took twenty minutes. He was overwhelmed by the shame of what +he was doing. His pride, which had grown great in the years of sorrow and +isolation, bled at the thought of publicly confessing his father's vice. +He knew perfectly well that it was known to everybody, but by a strange +and natural inconsequence he would not admit it, and pretended to notice +nothing, and he would rather have been hewn in pieces than agree. And now, +of his own accord, he was going!... Twenty times he was on the point of +turning back. He walked two or three times round the town, turning away +just as he came near the Palace. He was not alone in his plight. His mother +and brothers had also to be considered. Since his father had deserted them +and betrayed them, it was his business as eldest son to take his place and +come to their assistance. There was no room for hesitation or pride; he +had to swallow down his shame. He entered the Palace. On the staircase he +almost turned and fled. He knelt down on a step; he stayed for several +minutes on the landing, with his hand on the door, until some one coming +made him go in. + +Every one in the offices knew him. He asked to see His Excellency the +Director of the Theaters, Baron de Hammer Langbach. A young clerk, sleek, +bald, pink-faced, with a white waistcoat and a pink tie, shook his hand +familiarly, and began to talk about the opera of the night before. +Jean-Christophe repeated his question. The clerk replied that His +Excellency was busy for the moment, but that if Jean-Christophe had a +request to make they could present it with other documents which were to +be sent in for His Excellency's signature. Jean-Christophe held out his +letter. The clerk read it, and gave a cry of surprise. + +"Oh, indeed!" he said brightly. "That is a good idea. He ought to have +thought of that long ago! He never did anything better in his life! Ah, the +old sot! How the devil did he bring himself to do it?" + +He stopped short. Jean-Christophe had snatched the paper out of his hands, +and, white with rage, shouted: + +"I forbid you!... I forbid you to insult me!" + +The clerk was staggered. + +"But, my dear Jean-Christophe," he began to say, "whoever thought of +insulting you? I only said what everybody thinks, and what you think +yourself." + +"No!" cried Jean-Christophe angrily. + +"What! you don't think so? You don't think that he drinks?" + +"It is not true!" said Jean-Christophe. + +He stamped his foot. + +The clerk shrugged his shoulders. + +"In that case, why did he write this letter?" + +"Because," said Jean-Christophe (he did not know what to say)--"because, +when I come for my wages every month, I prefer to take my father's at the +same time. It is no good our both putting ourselves out.... My father is +very busy." + +He reddened at the absurdity of his explanation. The clerk looked at him +with pity and irony in his eyes. Jean-Christophe crumpled the paper in his +hands, and turned to go. The clerk got up and took him by the arm. + +"Wait a moment," he said. "I'll go and fix it up for you." + +He went into the Director's office. Jean-Christophe waited, with the eyes +of the other clerks upon him. His blood boiled. He did not know what he was +doing, what to do, or what he ought to do. He thought of going away before +the answer was brought to him, and he had just made up his mind to that +when the door opened. + +"His Excellency will see you," said the too obliging clerk. + +Jean-Christophe had to go in. + +His Excellency Baron de Hammer Langbach, a little neat old man with +whiskers, mustaches, and a shaven chin, looked at Jean-Christophe over his +golden spectacles without stopping writing, nor did he give any response to +the boy's awkward bow. + +"So," he said, after a moment, "you are asking, Herr Krafft ...?" + +"Your Excellency," said Jean-Christophe hurriedly, "I ask your pardon. I +have thought better of it. I have nothing to ask." + +The old man sought no explanation for this sudden reconsideration. He +looked more closely at Jean-Christophe, coughed, and said: + +"Herr Krafft, will you give me the letter that is in your hand?" + +Jean-Christophe saw that the Director's gaze was fixed on the paper which +he was still unconsciously holding crumpled up in his hand. + +"It is no use, Your Excellency," he murmured. "It is not worth while now." + +"Please give it me," said the old man quietly, as though he had not heard. + +Mechanically Jean-Christophe gave him the crumpled letter, but he plunged +into a torrent of stuttered words while he held out his hand for the +letter. His Excellency carefully smoothed out the paper, read it, looked at +Jean-Christophe, let him flounder about with his explanations, then checked +him, and said with a malicious light in his eyes: + +"Very well, Herr Krafft; the request is granted." + +He dismissed him with a wave of his hand and went on with his writing. + +Jean-Christophe went out, crushed. + +"No offense, Jean-Christophe!" said the clerk kindly, when the boy came +into the office again. Jean-Christophe let him shake his hand without +daring to raise his eyes. He found himself outside the Palace. He was cold +with shame. Everything that had been said to him recurred in his memory, +and he imagined that there was an insulting irony in the pity of the people +who honored and were sorry for him. He went home, and answered only with a +few irritable words Louisa's questions, as though he bore a grudge against +her for what he had just done. He was racked by remorse when he thought of +his father. He wanted to confess everything to him, and to beg his pardon. +Melchior was not there. Jean-Christophe kept awake far into the night, +waiting for him. The more he thought of him the more his remorse quickened. +He idealized him; he thought of him as weak, kind, unhappy, betrayed by his +own family. As soon as he heard his step on the stairs he leaped from his +bed to go and meet him, and throw himself in his arms; but Melchior was in +such a disgusting state of intoxication that Jean-Christophe had not even +the courage to go near him, and he went to bed again, laughing bitterly at +his own illusions. + +When Melchior learned a few days later of what had happened, he was in a +towering passion, and, in spite of all Jean-Christophe's entreaties, he +went and made a scene at the Palace. But he returned with his tail between +his legs, and breathed not a word of what had happened. He had been +very badly received. He had been told that he would have to take a very +different tone about the matter, that the pension had only been continued +out of consideration for the worth of his son, and that if in the +future there came any scandal concerning him to their ears, it would be +suppressed. And so Jean-Christophe was much surprised and comforted to see +his father accept his living from day to day, and even boast about having +taken, the initiative in the _sacrifice_. + +But that did not keep Melchior from complaining outside that he had been +robbed by his wife and children, that he had put himself out for them all +his life, and that now they let him want for everything. He tried also to +extract money from Jean-Christophe by all sorts of ingenious tricks and +devices, which often used to make Jean-Christophe laugh, although he was +hardly ever taken in by them. But as Jean-Christophe held firm, Melchior +did not insist. He was curiously intimidated by the severity in the eyes +of this boy of fourteen who judged him. He used to avenge himself by some +stealthy, dirty trick. He used to go to the cabaret and eat and drink as +much as he pleased, and then pay nothing, pretending that his son would +pay his debts. Jean-Christophe did not protest, for fear of increasing +the scandal, and he and Louisa exhausted their resources in discharging +Melchior's debts. In the end Melchior more and more lost interest in his +work as violinist, since he no longer received his wages, and his absence +from the theater became so frequent that, in spite of Jean-Christophe's +entreaties, they had to dismiss him. The boy was left to support his +father, his brothers, and the whole household. + +So at fourteen Jean-Christophe became the head of the family. + + * * * * * + +He stoutly faced his formidable task. His pride would not allow him to +resort to the charity of others. He vowed that he would pull through alone. +From his earliest days he had suffered too much from seeing his mother +accept and even ask for humiliating charitable offerings. He used to argue +the matter with her when she returned home triumphant with some present +that she had obtained from one of her patronesses. She saw no harm in it, +and was glad to be able, thanks to the money, to spare Jean-Christophe a +little, and to bring another meager dish forth for supper. But +Jean-Christophe would become gloomy, and would not talk all evening, and +would even refuse, without giving any reason, to touch food gained in this +way. Louisa was vexed, and clumsily urged her son to eat. He was not to be +budged, and in the end she would lose her temper, and say unkind things to +him, and he would retort. Then he would fling his napkin on the table and +go out. His father would shrug his shoulders and call him a _poseur_; his +brothers would laugh at him and eat his portion. + +But he had somehow to find a livelihood. His earnings from the orchestra +were not enough. He gave lessons. His talents as an instrumentalist, his +good reputation, and, above all, the Prince's patronage, brought him a +numerous _clientèle_ among the middle classes. Every morning from nine +o'clock on he taught the piano to little girls, many of them older than +himself, who frightened him horribly with their coquetry and maddened him +with the clumsiness of their playing. They were absolutely stupid as far +as music went, but, on the other hand, they had all, more or less, a keen +sense of ridicule, and their mocking looks spared none of Jean-Christophe's +awkwardnesses. It was torture for him. Sitting by their side on the edge of +his chair, stiff, and red in the face; bursting with anger, and not daring +to stir; controlling himself so as not to say stupid things, and afraid of +the sound of his own voice, so that he could hardly speak a word; trying +to look severe, and feeling that his pupil was looking at him out of the +corner of her eye, he would lose countenance, grow confused in the middle +of a remark; fearing to make himself ridiculous, he would become so, and +break out into violent reproach. But it was very easy for his pupils to +avenge themselves, and they did not fail to do so, and upset him by a +certain way of looking at him, and by asking him the simplest questions, +which made him blush up to the roots of his hair; or they would ask him to +do them some small service, such as fetching something they had forgotten +from a piece of furniture, and that was for him a most painful ordeal, for +he had to cross the room under fire of malicious looks, which pitilessly +remarked the least awkwardness in his movements and his clumsy legs, his +stiff arms, his body cramped by his shyness. + +From these lessons he had to hasten to rehearsal at the theater. Often he +had no time for lunch, and he used to carry a piece of bread and some cold +meat in his pocket to eat during the interval. Sometimes he had to take +the place of Tobias Pfeiffer, the _Musik Direktor_, who was interested in +him, and sometimes had him to conduct the orchestra rehearsals instead of +himself. And he had also to go on with his own musical education. Other +piano lessons filled his day until the hour of the performance, and very +often in the evening after the play he was sent for to play at the Palace. +There he had to play for an hour or two. The Princess laid claim to a +knowledge of music. She was very fond of it, but had never been able +to perceive the difference between good and bad. She used to make +Jean-Christophe play through strange programmes, in which dull rhapsodies +stood side by side with masterpieces. But her greatest pleasure was to make +him improvise, and she used to provide him with heartbreakingly sentimental +themes. + +Jean-Christophe used to leave about midnight, worn out, with his hands +burning, his head aching, his stomach empty. He was in a sweat, and outside +snow would be falling, or there would be an icy fog. He had to walk across +half the town to reach home. He went on foot, his teeth chattering, longing +to sleep and to cry, and he had to take care not to splash his only evening +dress-suit in the puddles. + +He would go up to his room, which he still shared with his brothers, and +never was he so overwhelmed by disgust and despair with his life as at the +moment when in his attic, with its stifling smell, he was at last permitted +to take off the halter of his misery. He had hardly the heart to undress +himself. Happily, no sooner did his head touch the pillow than he would +sink into a heavy sleep which deprived him of all consciousness of his +troubles. + +But he had to get up by dawn in summer, and before dawn in winter. He +wished to do his own work. It was all the free time that he had between +five o'clock and eight. Even then he had to waste some of it by work to +command, for his title of _Hof Musicus_ and his favor with the Grand Duke +exacted from him official compositions for the Court festivals. + +So the very source of his life was poisoned. Even his dreams were not free, +but, as usual, this restraint made them only the stronger. When nothing +hampers action, the soul has fewer reasons for action, and the closer the +walls of Jean-Christophe's prison of care and banal tasks were drawn about +him, the more his heart in its revolt felt its independence. In a life +without obstacles he would doubtless have abandoned himself to chance and +to the voluptuous sauntering of adolescence. As he could be free only for +an hour or two a day, his strength flowed into that space of time like a +river between walls of rock. It is a good discipline for art for a man to +confine his efforts between unshakable bounds. In that sense it may be said +that misery is a master, not only of thought, but of style; it teaches +sobriety to the mind as to the body. When time is doled out and thoughts +measured, a man says no word too much, and grows accustomed to thinking +only what is essential; so he lives at double pressure, having less time +for living. + +This had happened in Jean-Christophe's case. Under his yoke he took +full stock of the value of liberty and he never frittered away the +precious minutes with useless words or actions. His natural tendency +to write diffusely, given up to all the caprice of a mind sincere but +indiscriminating, found correction in being forced to think and do as much +as possible in the least possible time. Nothing had so much influence on +his artistic and moral development--not the lessons of his masters, nor the +example of the masterpieces. During the years when the character is formed +he came to consider music as an exact language, in which every sound has a +meaning, and at the same time he came to loathe those musicians who talk +without saying anything. + +And yet the compositions which he wrote at this time were still far from +expressing himself completely, because he was still very far from having +completely discovered himself. He was seeking himself through the mass of +acquired feelings which education imposes on a child as second nature. He +had only intuitions of his true being, until he should feel the passions +of adolescence, which strip the personality of its borrowed garments as a +thunder-clap purges the sky of the mists that hang over it. Vague and great +forebodings were mingled in him with strange memories, of which he could +not rid himself. He raged against these lies; he was wretched to see how +inferior what he wrote was to what he thought; he had bitter doubts of +himself. But he could not resign himself to such a stupid defeat. He longed +passionately to do better, to write great things, and always he missed +fire. After a moment of illusion as he wrote, he saw that what he had done +was worthless. He tore it up; he burned everything that he did; and, to +crown his humiliation, he had to see his official works, the most mediocre +of all, preserved, and he could not destroy them--the concerto, _The +Royal Eagle_, for the Prince's birthday and the cantata, _The Marriage +of Pallas_, written on the occasion of the marriage of Princess +Adelaide--published at great expense in _éditions de luxe_, which +perpetuated his imbecilities for posterity; for he believed in posterity. +He wept in his humiliation. + +Fevered years! No respite, no release--nothing to create a diversion from +such maddening toil; no games, no friends. How should he have them? In the +afternoon, when other children played, young Jean-Christophe, with his +brows knit in attention, was at his place in the orchestra in the dusty and +ill-lighted theater; and in the evening, when other children were abed, he +was still there, sitting in his chair, bowed with weariness. + +No intimacy with his brothers. The younger, Ernest, was twelve. He was a +little ragamuffin, vicious and impudent, who spent his days with other +rapscallions like himself, and from their company had caught not only +deplorable manners, but shameful habits which good Jean-Christophe, who +had never so much as suspected their existence, was horrified to see one +day. The other, Rodolphe, the favorite of Uncle Theodore, was to go into +business. He was steady, quiet, but sly. He thought himself much superior +to Jean-Christophe, and did not admit his authority in the house, although +it seemed natural to him to eat the food that he provided. He had espoused +the cause of Theodore and Melchior's ill-feeling against Jean-Christophe +and used to repeat their absurd gossip. Neither of the brothers cared for +music, and Rodolphe, in imitation of his uncle, affected to despise it. +Chafing against Jean-Christophe's authority and lectures--for he took +himself very seriously as the head of the family--the two boys had tried to +rebel; but Jean-Christophe, who had lusty fists and the consciousness of +right, sent them packing. Still they did not for that cease to do with him +as they liked. They abused his credulity, and laid traps for him, into +which he invariably fell. They used to extort money from him with barefaced +lies, and laughed at him behind his back. Jean-Christophe was always taken +in. He had so much need of being loved that an affectionate word was enough +to disarm his rancor. He would have forgiven them everything for a little +love. But his confidence was cruelly shaken when he heard them laughing at +his stupidity after a scene of hypocritical embracing which had moved him +to tears, and they had taken advantage of it to rob him of a gold watch, a +present from the Prince, which they coveted. He despised them, and yet went +on letting himself be taken in from his unconquerable tendency to trust and +to love. He knew it. He raged against himself, and he used to thrash his +brothers soundly when he discovered once more that they had tricked him. +That did not keep him from swallowing almost immediately the fresh hook +which it pleased them to bait for him. + +A more bitter cause of suffering was in store for him. He learned from +officious neighbors that his father was speaking ill of him. After having +been proud of his son's successes, and having boasted of them everywhere, +Melchior was weak and shameful enough to be jealous of them. He tried to +decry them. It was stupid to weep; Jean-Christophe could only shrug his +shoulders in contempt. It was no use being angry about it, for his father +did not know what he was doing, and was embittered by his own downfall. The +boy said nothing. He was afraid, if he said anything, of being too hard; +but he was cut to the heart. + +They were melancholy gatherings at the family evening meal round the lamp, +with a spotted cloth, with all the stupid chatter and the sound of the jaws +of these people whom he despised and pitied, and yet loved in spite of +everything. Only between himself and his brave mother did Jean-Christophe +feel a bond of affection. But Louisa, like himself, exhausted herself +during the day, and in the evening she was worn out and hardly spoke, and +after dinner used to sleep in her chair over her darning. And she was so +good that she seemed to make no difference in her love between her husband +and her three sons. She loved them all equally. Jean-Christophe did not +find in her the trusted friend that he so much needed. + +So he was driven in upon himself. For days together he would not speak, +fulfilling his tiresome and wearing task with a sort of silent rage. Such +a mode of living was dangerous, especially for a child at a critical age, +when he is most sensitive, and is exposed to every agent of destruction +and the risk of being deformed for the rest of his life. Jean-Christophe's +health suffered seriously. He had been endowed by his parents with a +healthy constitution and a sound and healthy body; but his very healthiness +only served to feed his suffering when the weight of weariness and too +early cares had opened up a gap by which it might enter. Quite early in +life there were signs of grave nervous disorders. When he was a small boy +he was subject to fainting-fits and convulsions and vomiting whenever he +encountered opposition. When he was seven or eight, about the time of the +concert, his sleep had been troubled. He used to talk, cry, laugh and weep +in his sleep, and this habit returned to him whenever he had too much to +think of. Then he had cruel headaches, sometimes shooting pains at the base +of his skull or the top of his head, sometimes a leaden heaviness. His eyes +troubled him. Sometimes it was as though red-hot needles were piercing his +eyeballs. He was subject to fits of dizziness, when he could not see to +read, and had to stop for a minute or two. Insufficient and unsound food +and irregular meals ruined the health of his stomach. He was racked by +internal pains or exhausted by diarrhea. But nothing brought him more +suffering than his heart. It beat with a crazy irregularity. Sometimes it +would leap in his bosom, and seem like to break; sometimes it would hardly +beat at all, and seem like to stop. At night his temperature would vary +alarmingly; it would change suddenly from fever-point to next to nothing. +He would burn, then shiver with cold, pass through agony. His throat would +go dry; a lump in it would prevent his breathing. Naturally his imagination +took fire. He dared not say anything to his family of what he was going +through, but he was continually dissecting it with a minuteness which +either enlarged his sufferings or created new ones. He decided that he had +every known illness one after the other. He believed that he was going +blind, and as he sometimes used to turn giddy as he walked, he thought that +he was going to fall down dead. Always that dreadful fear of being stopped +on his road, of dying before his time, obsessed him, overwhelmed him, and +pursued him. Ah, if he had to die, at least let it not be now, not before +he had tasted victory!... + +Victory ... the fixed idea which never ceases to burn within him without +his being fully aware of it--the idea which bears him up through all his +disgust and fatigues and the stagnant morass of such a life! A dim and +great foreknowledge of what he will be some day, of what he is already!... +What is he? A sick, nervous child, who plays the violin in the orchestra +and writes mediocre concertos? No; far more than such a child. That is no +more than the wrapping, the seeming of a day; that is not his Being. There +is no connection between his Being and the existing shape of his face and +thought. He knows that well. When he looks at himself in the mirror he does +not know himself. That broad red face, those prominent eyebrows, those +little sunken eyes, that short thick nose, that sullen mouth--the whole +mask, ugly and vulgar, is foreign to himself. Neither does he know himself +in his writings. He judges, he knows that what he does and what he is are +nothing; and yet he is sure of what he will be and do. Sometimes he falls +foul of such certainty as a vain lie. He takes pleasure in humiliating +himself and bitterly mortifying himself by way of punishment. But his +certainty endures; nothing can alter it. Whatever he does, whatever he +thinks, none of his thoughts, actions, or writings contain him or express +him, He knows, he has this strange presentiment, that the more that he is, +is not contained in the present but is what he _will be_, what he _will be +to-morrow. He will be!_... He is fired by that faith, he is intoxicated by +that light! Ah, if only _To-day_ does not block the way! If only he does +not fall into one of the cunning traps which _To-day_ is forever laying for +him! + +So he steers his bark across the sea of days, turning his eyes neither to +right nor left, motionless at the helm, with his gaze fixed on the bourne, +the refuge, the end that he has in sight. In the orchestra, among the +talkative musicians, at table with his own family, at the Palace, while he +is playing without a thought of what he is playing, for the entertainment +of Royal folk--it is in that future, that future which a speck may bring +toppling to earth--no matter, it is in that that he lives. + + * * * * * + +He is at his old piano, in his garret, alone. Night falls. The dying light +of day is cast upon his music. He strains his eyes to read the notes until +the last ray of light is dead. The tenderness of hearts that are dead +breathed forth from the dumb page fills him with love. His eyes are filled +with tears. It seems to him that a beloved creature is standing behind him, +that soft breathing caresses his cheek, that two arms are about his neck. +He turns, trembling. He feels, he knows, that he is not alone. A soul that +loves and is loved is there, near him. He groans aloud because he cannot +perceive it, and yet that shadow of bitterness falling upon his ecstasy +has sweetness, too. Even sadness has its light. He thinks of his beloved +masters, of the genius that is gone, though its soul lives on in the music +which it had lived in its life. His heart is overflowing with love; he +dreams of the superhuman happiness which must have been the lot of these +glorious men, since the reflection only of their happiness is still so much +aflame. He dreams of being like them, of giving out such love as this, with +lost rays to lighten his misery with a godlike smile. In his turn to be a +god, to give out the warmth of joy, to be a sun of life!... + +Alas! if one day he does become the equal of those whom he loves, if he +does achieve that brilliant happiness for which he longs, he will see the +illusion that was upon him.... + + + + +II + +OTTO + + +One Sunday when Jean-Christophe had been invited by his _Musik Direktor_ +to dine at the little country house which Tobias Pfeiffer owned an hour's +journey from the town, he took the Rhine steamboat. On deck he sat next to +a boy about his own age, who eagerly made room for him. Jean-Christophe +paid no attention, but after a moment, feeling that his neighbor had never +taken his eyes off him, he turned and looked at him. He was a fair boy, +with round pink cheeks, with his hair parted on one side, and a shade of +down on his lip. He looked frankly what he was--a hobbledehoy--though he +made great efforts to seem grown up. He was dressed with ostentatious +care--flannel suit, light gloves, white shoes, and a pale blue tie--and he +carried a little stick in his hand. He looked at Jean-Christophe out of +the corner of his eye without turning his head, with his neck stiff, like +a hen; and when Jean-Christophe looked at him he blushed up to his ears, +took a newspaper from his pocket, and pretended to be absorbed in it, and +to look important over it. But a few minutes later he dashed to pick up +Jean-Christophe's hat, which had fallen. Jean-Christophe, surprised at +such politeness, looked once more at the boy, and once more he blushed. +Jean-Christophe thanked him curtly, for he did not like such obsequious +eagerness, and he hated to be fussed with. All the same, he was flattered +by it. + +Soon it passed from his thoughts; his attention was occupied by the view. +It was long since he had been able to escape from the town, and so he had +keen pleasure in the wind that beat against his face, in the sound of the +water against the boat, in the great stretch of water and the changing +spectacle presented by the banks--bluffs gray and dull, willow-trees half +under water, pale vines, legendary rocks, towns crowned with Gothic towers +and factory chimneys belching black smoke. And as he was in ecstasy over it +all, his neighbor in a choking voice timidly imparted a few historic facts +concerning the ruins that they saw, cleverly restored and covered with ivy. +He seemed to be lecturing to himself. Jean-Christophe, roused to interest, +plied him with questions. The other replied eagerly, glad to display his +knowledge, and with every sentence he addressed himself directly to +Jean-Christophe, calling him "_Herr Hof Violinist_." + +"You know me, then?" said Jean-Christophe. + +"Oh yes," said the boy, with a simple admiration that tickled +Jean-Christophe's vanity. + +They talked. The boy had often seen Jean-Christophe at concerts, and his +imagination had been touched by everything that he had heard about him. He +did not say so to Jean-Christophe, but Jean-Christophe felt it, and was +pleasantly surprised by it. He was not used to being spoken to in this tone +of eager respect. He went on questioning his neighbor about the history +of the country through which they were passing. The other set out all the +knowledge that he had, and Jean-Christophe admired his learning. But that +was only the peg on which their conversation hung. What interested them was +the making of each other's acquaintance. They dared not frankly approach +the subject; they returned to it again and again with awkward questions. +Finally they plunged, and Jean-Christophe learned that his new friend was +called Otto Diener, and was the son of a rich merchant in the town. It +appeared, naturally, that they had friends in common, and little by little +their tongues were loosed. They were talking eagerly when the boat arrived +at the town at which Jean-Christophe was to get out. Otto got out, too. +That surprised them, and Jean-Christophe proposed that they should take +a walk together until dinner-time. They struck out across the fields. +Jean-Christophe had taken Otto's arm familiarly, and was telling him his +plans as if he had known him from his birth. He had been so much deprived +of the society of children of his own age that he found an inexpressible +joy in being with this boy, so learned and well brought up, who was in +sympathy with him. + +Time passed, and Jean-Christophe took no count of it. Diener, proud of the +confidence which the young musician showed him, dared not point out that +the dinner-hour had rung. At last he thought that he must remind him of +it, but Jean-Christophe, who had begun the ascent of a hill in the woods, +declared that they most go to the top, and when they reached it he lay down +on the grass as though he meant to spend the day there. After a quarter +of an hour Diener, seeing that he seemed to have no intention of moving, +hazarded again: + +"And your dinner?" + +Jean-Christophe, lying at full length, with his hands behind his head, said +quietly: + +"Tssh!" + +Then he looked at Otto, saw his scared look, and began to laugh. + +"It is too good here," he explained. "I shan't go. Let them wait for me!" + +He half rose. + +"Are you in a hurry? No? Do you know what we'll do? We'll dine together. I +know of an inn." + +Diener would have had many objections to make--not that any one was waiting +for him, but because it was hard for him to come to any sudden decision, +whatever it might be. He was methodical, and needed to be prepared +beforehand. But Jean-Christophe's question was put in such a tone as +allowed of no refusal. He let himself be dragged off, and they began to +talk again. + +At the inn their eagerness died down. Both were occupied with the question +as to who should give the dinner, and each within himself made it a point +of honor to give it--Diener because he was the richer, Jean-Christophe +because he was the poorer. They made no direct reference to the matter, +but Diener made great efforts to assert his right by the tone of authority +which he tried to take as he asked for the menu. Jean-Christophe understood +what he was at and turned the tables on him by ordering other dishes of a +rare kind. He wanted to show that he was as much at his ease as anybody, +and when Diener tried again by endeavoring to take upon himself the choice +of wine, Jean-Christophe crushed him with a look, and ordered a bottle of +one of the most expensive vintages they had in the inn. + +When they found themselves seated before a considerable repast, they were +abashed by it. They could find nothing to say, ate mincingly, and were +awkward and constrained in their movements. They became conscious suddenly +that they were strangers, and they watched each other. They made vain +efforts to revive the conversation; it dropped immediately. Their first +half-hour was a time of fearful boredom. Fortunately, the meat and drink +soon had an effect on them, and they looked at each other more confidently. +Jean-Christophe especially, who was not used to such good things, became +extraordinarily loquacious. He told of the difficulties of his life, and +Otto, breaking through his reserve, confessed that he also was not happy. +He was weak and timid, and his schoolfellows put upon him. They laughed +at him, and could not forgive him for despising their vulgar manners. +They played all sorts of tricks on him. Jean-Christophe clenched his +fists, and said they had better not try it in his presence. Otto also was +misunderstood by his family. Jean-Christophe knew the unhappiness of that, +and they commiserated each other on their common misfortunes. Diener's +parents wanted him to become a merchant, and to step into his father's +place, but he wanted to be a poet. He would be a poet, even though he had +to fly the town, like Schiller, and brave poverty! (His father's fortune +would all come to him, and it was considerable.) He confessed blushingly +that he had already written verses on the sadness of life, but he could not +bring himself to recite them, in spite of Jean-Christophe's entreaties. +But in the end he did give two or three of them, dithering with emotion. +Jean-Christophe thought them admirable. They exchanged plans. Later on they +would work together; they would write dramas and song-cycles. They admired +each other. Besides his reputation as a musician, Jean-Christophe's +strength and bold ways made an impression on Otto, and Jean-Christophe was +sensible of Otto's elegance and distinguished manners--everything in this +world is relative--and of his ease of manner--that ease of manner which he +looked and longed for. + +Made drowsy by their meal, with their elbows on the table, they talked and +listened to each other with softness in their eyes. The afternoon drew +on; they had to go. Otto made a last attempt to procure the bill, but +Jean-Christophe nailed him to his seat with an angry look which made it +impossible for him to insist. Jean-Christophe was only uneasy on one +point--that he might be asked for more than he had. He would have given his +watch and everything that he had about him rather than admit it to Otto. +But he was not called on to go so far. He had to spend on the dinner almost +the whole of his month's money. + +They went down the hill again. The shades of evening were beginning to fall +over the pine-woods. Their tops were still bathed in rosy light; they swung +slowly with a surging sound. The carpet of purple pine-needles deadened the +sound of their footsteps. They said no word. Jean-Christophe felt a strange +sweet sadness welling through his heart. He was happy; he wished to talk, +but was weighed down with his sweet sorrow. He stopped for a moment, and +so did Otto. All was silence. Flies buzzed high above them in a ray of +sunlight; a rotten branch fell. Jean-Christophe took Otto's hand, and in a +trembling voice said: + +"Will you be my friend?" + +Otto murmured: + +"Yes." + +They shook hands; their hearts beat; they dared hardly look at each other. + +After a moment they walked on. They were a few paces away from each other, +and they dared say no more until they were out of the woods. They were +fearful of each other, and of their strange emotion. They walked very fast, +and never stopped until they had issued from the shadow of the trees; then +they took courage again, and joined hands. They marveled at the limpid +evening falling, and they talked disconnectedly. + +On the boat, sitting at the bows in the brilliant twilight, they tried to +talk of trivial matters, but they gave no heed to what they were saying. +They were lost in their own happiness and weariness. They felt no need to +talk, or to hold hands, or even to look at each other; they were near each +other. + +When they were near their journey's end they agreed to meet again on the +following Sunday, Jean-Christophe took Otto to his door. Under the light +of the gas they timidly smiled and murmured _au revoir_. They were glad to +part, so wearied were they by the tension at which they had been living for +those hours and by the pain it cost them to break the silence with a single +word. + +Jean-Christophe returned alone in the night. His heart was singing: "I have +a friend! I have a friend!" He saw nothing, he heard nothing, he thought of +nothing else. + +He was very sleepy, and fell asleep as soon as he reached his room; but he +was awakened twice or thrice during the night, as by some fixed idea. He +repeated, "I have a friend," and went to sleep again at once. + +Next morning it seemed to be all a dream. To test the reality of it, he +tried to recall the smallest details of the day. He was absorbed by this +occupation while he was giving his lessons, and even during the afternoon +he was so absent during the orchestra rehearsal that when he left he could +hardly remember what he had been playing. + +When he returned home he found a letter waiting for him. He had no need to +ask himself whence it came. He ran and shut himself up in his room to read +it. It was written on pale blue paper in a labored, long, uncertain hand, +with very correct flourishes: + +DEAR HERR JEAN-CHRISTOPHE--dare I say HONORED FRIEND?-- + +I am thinking much of our doings yesterday, and I do thank you tremendously +for your kindness to me. I am so grateful for all that you have done, and +for your kind words, and the delightful walk and the excellent dinner! I am +only worried that you should have spent so much money on it. What a lovely +day! Do you not think there was something providential in that strange +meeting? It seems to me that it was Fate decreed that we should meet. How +glad I shall be to see you again on Sunday! I hope you will not have had +too much unpleasantness for having missed the _Hof Musik Direktor's_ +dinner. I should be so sorry if you had any trouble because of me. + +Dear Herr Jean-Christophe, I am always + +Your very devoted servant and friend, + +OTTO DIENER. + +P.S.--On Sunday please do not call for me at home. It would be better, if +you will, for us to meet at the _Schloss Garten_. + +Jean-Christophe read the letter with tears in his eyes. He kissed it; he +laughed aloud; he jumped about on his bed. Then he ran to the table and +took pen in hand to reply at once. He could not wait a moment. But he was +not used to writing. He could not express what was swelling in his heart; +he dug into the paper with his pen, and blackened his fingers with ink; he +stamped impatiently. At last, by dint of putting out his tongue and making +five or six drafts, he succeeded in writing in malformed letters, which +flew out in all directions, and with terrific mistakes in spelling: + +"MY SOUL,-- + +"How dare you speak of gratitude, because I love you? Have I not told you +how sad I was and lonely before I knew you? Your friendship is the greatest +of blessings. Yesterday I was happy, happy!--for the first time in my life. +I weep for joy as I read your letter. Yes, my beloved, there is no doubt +that it was Fate brought us together. Fate wishes that we should be friends +to do great things. Friends! The lovely word! Can it be that at last I have +a friend? Oh! you will never leave me? You will be faithful to me? Always! +always!... How beautiful it will be to grow up together, to work together, +to bring together--I my musical whimsies, and all the crazy things that go +chasing through my mind; you your intelligence and amazing learning! How +much you know! I have never met a man so clever as you. There are moments +when I am uneasy. I seem to be unworthy of your friendship. You are so +noble and so accomplished, and I am so grateful to you for loving so coarse +a creature as myself!... But no! I have just said, let there be no talk of +gratitude. In friendship there is no obligation nor benefaction. I would +not accept any benefaction! We are equal, since we love. How impatient +I am to see you! I will not call for you at home, since you do not +wish it--although, to tell the truth, I do not understand all these +precautions--but you are the wiser; you are surely right.... + +"One word only! No more talk of money. I hate money--the word and the thing +itself. If I am not rich, I am yet rich enough to give to my friend, and it +is my joy to give all I can for him. Would not you do the same? And if I +needed it, would you not be the first to give me all your fortune? But that +shall never be! I have sound fists and a sound head, and I shall always be +able to earn the bread that I eat. Till Sunday! Dear God, a whole week +without seeing you! And for two days I have not seen you! How have I been +able to live so long without you? + +"The conductor tried to grumble, but do not bother about it any more than I +do. What are others to me? I care nothing what they think or what they may +ever think of me. Only you matter. Love me well, my soul; love me as I love +you! I cannot tell you how much I love you. I am yours, yours, yours, from +the tips of my fingers to the apple of my eye. + +"Yours always, + +"JEAN-CHRISTOPHE." + +Jean-Christophe was devoured with impatience for the rest of the week. He +would go out of his way, and make long turns to pass by Otto's house. Not +that he counted on seeing him, but the sight of the house was enough to +make him grow pale and red with emotion. On the Thursday he could bear it +no longer, and sent a second letter even more high-flown than the first. +Otto answered it sentimentally. + +Sunday came at length, and Otto was punctually at the meeting-place. But +Jean-Christophe had been there for an hour, waiting impatiently for the +walk. He began to imagine dreadfully that Otto would not come. He trembled +lest Otto should be ill, for he did not suppose for a moment that Otto +might break his word. He whispered over and over again, "Dear God, let him +come--let him come!" and he struck at the pebbles in the avenue with his +stick, saying to himself that if he missed three times Otto would not come, +but if he hit them Otto would appear at once. In spite of his care and +the easiness of the test, he had just missed three times when he saw Otto +coming at his easy, deliberate pace; for Otto was above all things correct, +even when he was most moved. Jean-Christophe ran to him, and with his +throat dry wished him "Good-day!" Otto replied, "Good-day!" and they found +that they had nothing more to say to each other, except that the weather +was fine and that it was five or six minutes past ten, or it might be ten +past, because the castle clock was always slow. + +They went to the station, and went by rail to a neighboring place which was +a favorite excursion from the town. On the way they exchanged not more than +ten words. They tried to make up for it by eloquent looks, but they were +no more successful. In vain did they try to tell each other what friends +they were; their eyes would say nothing at all. They were just playacting. +Jean-Christophe saw that, and was humiliated. He did not understand how +he could not express or even feel all that had filled his heart an hour +before. Otto did not, perhaps, so exactly take stock of their failure, +because he was less sincere, and examined himself with more circumspection, +but he was just as disappointed. The truth is that the boys had, during +their week of separation, blown out their feelings to such a diapason that +it was impossible for them to keep them actually at that pitch, and when +they met again their first impression must of necessity be false. They had +to break away from it, but they could not bring themselves to agree to it. + +All day they wandered in the country without ever breaking through the +awkwardness and constraint that were upon them. It was a holiday. The inns +and woods were filled with a rabble of excursionists--little _bourgeois_ +families who made a great noise and ate everywhere. That added to their +ill-humor. They attributed to the poor people the impossibility of again +finding the carelessness of their first walk. But they talked, they +took great pains to find subjects of conversation; they were afraid of +finding that they had nothing to say to each other. Otto displayed his +school-learning; Jean-Christophe entered into technical explanations of +musical compositions and violin-playing. They oppressed each other; they +crushed each other by talking; and they never stopped talking, trembling +lest they should, for then there opened before them abysses of silence +which horrified them. Otto came near to weeping, and Jean-Christophe was +near leaving him and running away as hard as he could, he was so bored and +ashamed. + +Only an hour before they had to take the train again did they thaw. In the +depths of the woods a dog was barking; he was hunting on his own account. +Jean-Christophe proposed that they should hide by his path to try and see +his quarry. They ran into the midst of the thicket. The dog came near them, +and then went away again. They went to right and left, went forward and +doubled. The barking grew louder: the dog was choking with impatience in +his lust for slaughter. He came near once more. Jean-Christophe and Otto, +lying on the dead leaves in the rut of a path, waited and held their +breath. The barking stopped; the dog had lost the scent. They heard his yap +once again in the distance; then silence came upon the woods. Not a sound, +only the mysterious hum of millions of creatures, insects, and creeping +things, moving unceasingly, destroying the forest--the measured breathing +of death, which never stops. The boys listened, they did not stir. Just +when they got up, disappointed, and said, "It is all over; he will not +come!" a little hare plunged out of the thicket. He came straight upon +them. They saw him at the same moment, and gave a cry of joy. The hare +turned in his tracks and jumped aside. They saw him dash into the brushwood +head over heels. The stirring of the rumpled leaves vanished away like a +ripple on the face of waters. Although they were sorry for having cried +out, the adventure filled them with joy. They rocked with laughter as they +thought of the hare's terrified leap, and Jean-Christophe imitated it +grotesquely. Otto did the same. Then they chased each other. Otto was the +hare, Jean-Christophe the dog. They plunged through woods and meadows, +dashing through hedges and leaping ditches. A peasant shouted at them, +because they had rushed over a field of rye. They did not stop to hear him. +Jean-Christophe imitated the hoarse barking of the dog to such perfection +that Otto laughed until he cried. At last they rolled down a slope, +shouting like mad things. When they could not utter another sound they sat +up and looked at each other, with tears of laughter in their eyes. They +were quite happy and pleased with themselves. They were no longer trying to +play the heroic friend; they were frankly what they were--two boys. + +They came back arm-in-arm, singing senseless songs, and yet, when they were +on the point of returning to the town, they thought they had better resume +their pose, and under the last tree of the woods they carved their initials +intertwined. But then good temper had the better of their sentimentality, +and in the train they shouted with laughter whenever they looked at +each other. They parted assuring each other that they had had a "hugely +delightful" (_kolossal entzückend_) day, and that conviction gained with +them when they were alone once more. + + * * * * * + +They resumed their work of construction more patient and ingenious even +than that of the bees, for of a few mediocre scraps of memory they +fashioned a marvelous image of themselves and their friendship. After +having idealized each other during the week, they met again on the Sunday, +and in spite of the discrepancy between the truth and their illusion, they +got used to not noticing it and to twisting things to fit in with their +desires. + +They were proud of being friends. The very contrast of their natures +brought them together. Jean-Christophe knew nothing so beautiful as Otto. +His fine hands, his lovely hair, his fresh complexion, his shy speech, +the politeness of his manners, and his scrupulous care of his appearance +delighted him. Otto was subjugated by Jean-Christophe's brimming strength +and independence. Accustomed by age-old inheritance to religious respect +for all authority, he took a fearful joy in the company of a comrade in +whose nature was so little reverence for the established order of things. +He had a little voluptuous thrill of terror whenever he heard him decry +every reputation in the town, and even mimic the Grand Duke himself. +Jean-Christophe knew the fascination that he exercised over his friend, +and used to exaggerate his aggressive temper. Like some old revolutionary, +he hewed away at social conventions and the laws of the State. Otto would +listen, scandalized and delighted. He used timidly to try and join in, but +he was always careful to look round to see if any one could hear. + +Jean-Christophe never failed, when they walked together, to leap the fences +of a field whenever he saw a board forbidding it, or he would pick fruit +over the walls of private grounds. Otto was in terror lest they should be +discovered. But such feelings had for him an exquisite savor, and in the +evening, when he had returned, he would think himself a hero. He admired +Jean-Christophe fearfully. His instinct of obedience found a satisfying +quality in a friendship in which he had only to acquiesce in the will of +his friend. Jean-Christophe never put him to the trouble of coming to a +decision. He decided everything, decreed the doings of the day, decreed +even the ordering of life, making plans, which admitted of no discussion, +for Otto's future, just as he did for his own family. Otto fell in +with them, though he was a little put aback by hearing Jean-Christophe +dispose of his fortune for the building later on of a theater of his own +contriving. But, intimidated by his friend's imperious tones, he did not +protest, being convinced also by his friend's conviction that the money +amassed by _Commerzienrath_ Oscar Diener could be put to no nobler use. +Jean-Christophe never for a moment had any idea that he might be violating +Otto's will. He was instinctively a despot, and never imagined that his +friend's wishes might be different from his own. Had Otto expressed a +desire different from his own, he would not have hesitated to sacrifice his +own personal preference. He would have sacrificed even more for him. He was +consumed by the desire to run some risk for him. He wished passionately +that there might appear some opportunity of putting his friendship to the +test. When they were out walking he used to hope that they might meet some +danger, so that he might fling himself forward to face it. He would have +loved to die for Otto. Meanwhile, he watched over him with a restless +solicitude, gave him his hand in awkward places, as though he were a girl. +He was afraid that he might be tired, afraid that he might be hot, afraid +that he might be cold. When they sat down under a tree he took off his coat +to put it about his friend's shoulders; when they walked he carried his +cloak. He would have carried Otto himself. He used to devour him with his +eyes like a lover, and, to tell the truth, he was in love. + +He did not know it, not knowing yet what love was. But sometimes, when they +were together, he was overtaken by a strange unease--the same that had +choked him on that first day of their friendship in the pine-woods--and the +blood would rush to his face and set his cheeks aflame. He was afraid. By +an instinctive unanimity the two boys used furtively to separate and run +away from each other, and one would lag behind on the road. They would +pretend to be busy looking for blackberries in the hedges, and they did not +know what it was that so perturbed them. + +But it was in their letters especially that their feelings flew high. They +were not then in any danger of being contradicted by facts, and nothing +could check their illusions or intimidate them. They wrote to each other +two or three times a week in a passionately lyric style. They hardly ever +spoke of real happenings or common things; they raised great problems in an +apocalyptic manner, which passed imperceptibly from enthusiasm to despair. +They called each other, "My blessing, my hope, my beloved, my Self." They +made a fearful hash of the word "Soul." They painted in tragic colors the +sadness of their lot, and were desolate at having brought into the +existence of their friend the sorrows of their existence. + +"I am sorry, my love," wrote Jean-Christophe, "for the pain which I bring +you. I cannot bear that you should suffer. It must not be. _I will not have +it_." (He underlined the words with a stroke of the pen that dug into the +paper.) "If you suffer, where shall I find strength to live? I have no +happiness but in you. Oh, be happy! I will gladly take all the burden of +sorrow upon myself! Think of me! Love me! I have such great need of being +loved. From your love there comes to me a warmth which gives me life. If +you knew how I shiver! There is winter and a biting wind in my heart. I +embrace your soul." + +"My thought kisses yours," replied Otto. + +"I take your face in my hands," was Jean-Christophe's answer, "and what I +have not done and will not do with my lips I do with all my being. I kiss +you as I love you, Prudence!", + +Otto pretended to doubt him. + +"Do you love me as much as I love you?" + +"O God," wrote Jean-Christophe, "not as much, but ten a hundred, a thousand +times more! What! Do you not feel it? What would you have me do to stir +your heart?" + +"What a lovely friendship is ours!" sighed Otto. "Was, there ever its like +in history? It is sweet and fresh as a dream. If only it does not pass +away! If you were to cease to love me!" + +"How stupid you are, my beloved!" replied Jean-Christophe. "Forgive me, but +your weakling fear enrages me. How can you ask whether I shall cease to +love you! For me to live is to love you. Death is powerless against my +love. You yourself could do nothing if you wished to destroy it. Even if +you betrayed me, even if you rent my heart, I should die with a blessing +upon you for the love with which you fill me. Once for all, then, do not be +uneasy, and vex me no more with these cowardly doubts!" + +But a week later it was he who wrote: + +"It is three days now since I heard a word fall from your lips. I tremble. +Would you forget me? My blood freezes at the thought.... Yes, doubtless.... +The other day only I saw your coldness towards me. You love me no longer! +You are thinking of leaving me!... Listen! If you forget me, if you ever +betray me, I will kill you like a dog!" + +"You do me wrong, my dear heart," groaned Otto. "You draw tears from me. I +do not deserve this. But you can do as you will. You have such rights over +me that, if you were to break my soul, there would always be a spark left +to live and love you always!" + +"Heavenly powers!" cried Jean-Christophe. "I have made my friend weep!... +Heap insults on me, beat me, trample me underfoot! I am a wretch! I do not +deserve your love!" + +They had special ways of writing the address on their letters, of placing +the stamp--upside down, askew, at bottom in a corner of the envelope--to +distinguish their letters from those which they wrote to persons who did +not matter. These childish secrets had the charm of the sweet mysteries of +love. + + * * * * * + +One day, as he was returning from a lesson, Jean-Christophe saw Otto +in the street with a boy of his own age. They were laughing and talking +familiarly. Jean-Christophe went pale, and followed them with his eyes +until they had disappeared round the corner of the street. They had not +seen him. He went home. It was as though a cloud had passed over the sun; +all was dark. + +When they met on the following Sunday, Jean-Christophe said nothing at +first; but after they had been walking for half an hour he said in a +choking voice: + +"I saw you on Wednesday in the _Königgasse_." + +"Ah!" said Otto. + +And he blushed. + +Jean-Christophe went on: + +"You were not alone." + +"No," said Otto; "I was with some one." + +Jean-Christophe swallowed down his spittle and asked in a voice which he +strove to make careless: + +"Who was it?" + +"My cousin Franz." + +"Ah!" said Jean-Christophe; and after a moment: "You have never said +anything about him to me." + +"He lives at Rheinbach." + +"Do you see him often?" + +"He comes here sometimes." + +"And you, do you go and stay with him?" + +"Sometimes." + +"Ah!" said Jean-Christophe again. + +Otto, who was not sorry to turn the conversation, pointed out a bird who +was pecking at a tree. They talked of other things. Ten minutes later +Jean-Christophe broke out again: + +"Are you friends with him?" + +"With whom?" asked Otto. + +(He knew perfectly who was meant.) + +"With your cousin." + +"Yes. Why?" + +"Oh, nothing!" + +Otto did not like his cousin much, for he used to bother him with bad +jokes; but a strange malign instinct made him add a few moments later: + +"He is very nice." + +"Who?" asked Jean-Christophe. + +(He knew quite well who was meant.) + +"Franz." + +Otto waited for Jean-Christophe to say something, but he seemed not to have +heard. He was cutting a switch from a hazel-tree. Otto went on: + +"He is amusing. He has all sorts of stories." + +Jean-Christophe whistled carelessly. + +Otto renewed the attack: + +"And he is so clever ... and distinguished!..." + +Jean-Christophe shrugged his shoulders as though to say: + +"What interest can this person have for me?" + +And as Otto, piqued, began to go on, he brutally cut him short, and pointed +out a spot to which to run. + +They did not touch on the subject again the whole afternoon, but they were +frigid, affecting an exaggerated politeness which was unusual for them, +especially for Jean-Christophe. The words stuck in his throat. At last he +could contain himself no longer, and in the middle of the road he turned to +Otto, who was lagging five yards behind. He took him fiercely by the hands, +and let loose upon him: + +"Listen, Otto! I will not--I will not let you be so friendly with Franz, +because ... because you are my friend, and I will not let you love any one +more than me! I will not! You see, you are everything to me! You cannot ... +you must not!... If I lost you, there would be nothing left but death. I do +not know what I should do. I should kill myself; I should kill you! No, +forgive me!..." + +Tears fell from his eyes. + +Otto, moved and frightened by the sincerity of such grief, growling out +threats, made haste to swear that he did not and never would love anybody +so much as Jean-Christophe, that Franz was nothing to him, and that he +would not see him again if Jean-Christophe wished it. Jean-Christophe drank +in his words, and his heart took new life. He laughed and breathed heavily; +he thanked Otto effusively. He was ashamed of having made such a scene, but +he was relieved of a great weight. They stood face to face and looked at +each other, not moving, and holding hands. They were very happy and very +much embarrassed. They became silent; then they began to talk again, and +found their old gaiety. They felt more at one than ever. + +But it was not the last scene of the kind. Now that Otto felt his power +over Jean-Christophe, he was tempted to abuse it. He knew his sore spot, +and was irresistibly tempted to place his finger on it. Not that he had +any pleasure in Jean-Christophe's anger; on the contrary, it made him +unhappy--but he felt his power by making Jean-Christophe suffer. He was not +bad; he had the soul of a girl. + +In spite of his promises, he continued to appear arm in arm with Franz or +some other comrade. They made a great noise between them, and he used to +laugh in an affected way. When Jean-Christophe reproached him with it, +he used to titter and pretend not to take him seriously, until, seeing +Jean-Christophe's eyes change and his lips tremble with anger, he would +change his tone, and fearfully promise not to do it again, and the next day +he would do it. Jean-Christophe would write him furious letters, in which +he called him: + +"Scoundrel! Let me never hear of you again! I do not know you! May the +devil take you and all dogs of your kidney!" + +But a tearful word from Otto, or, as he ever did, the sending of a flower +as a token of his eternal constancy, was enough for Jean-Christophe to be +plunged in remorse, and to write: + +"My angel, I am mad! Forget my idiocy. You are the best of men. Your little +finger alone is worth more than all stupid Jean-Christophe. You have the +treasures of an ingenuous and delicate tenderness. I kiss your flower with +tears in my eyes. It is there on my heart. I thrust it into my skin with +blows of my fist. I would that it could make me bleed, so that I might the +more feel your exquisite goodness and my own infamous folly!..." + +But they began to weary of each other. It is false to pretend that little +quarrels feed friendship. Jean-Christophe was sore against Otto for the +injustice that Otto made him be guilty of. He tried to argue with himself; +he laid the blame upon his own despotic temper. His loyal and eager nature, +brought for the first time to the test of love, gave itself utterly, and +demanded a gift as utter without the reservation of one particle of the +heart. He admitted no sharing in friendship. Being ready to sacrifice all +for his friend, he thought it right and even necessary that his friend +should wholly sacrifice himself and everything for him. But he was +beginning to feel that the world was not built on the model of his own +inflexible character, and that he was asking things which others could not +give. Then he tried to submit. He blamed himself, he regarded himself as an +egoist, who had no right to encroach upon the liberty of his friend, and +to monopolize his affection. He did sincerely endeavor to leave him free, +whatever it might cost himself. In a spirit of humiliation he did set +himself to pledge Otto not to neglect Franz; he tried to persuade himself +that he was glad to see him finding pleasure in society other than his own. +But when Otto, who was not deceived, maliciously obeyed him, he could not +help lowering at him, and then he broke out again. + +If necessary, he would have forgiven Otto for preferring other friends to +himself; but what he could not stomach was the lie. Otto was neither liar +nor hypocrite, but it was as difficult for him to tell the truth as for +a stutterer to pronounce words. What he said was never altogether true +nor altogether false. Either from timidity or from uncertainty of his own +feelings he rarely spoke definitely. His answers were equivocal, and, above +all, upon every occasion he made mystery and was secret in a way that set +Jean-Christophe beside himself. When he was caught tripping, or was caught +in what, according to the conventions of their friendship, was a fault, +instead of admitting it he would go on denying it and telling absurd +stories. One day Jean-Christophe, exasperated, struck him. He thought it +must be the end of their friendship and that Otto would never forgive him; +but after sulking for a few hours Otto came back as though nothing had +happened. He had no resentment for Jean-Christophe's violence--perhaps even +it was not unpleasing to him, and had a certain charm for him--and yet +he resented Jean-Christophe letting himself be tricked, gulping down all +his mendacities. He despised him a little, and thought himself superior. +Jean-Christophe, for his part, resented Otto's receiving blows without +revolting. + +They no longer saw each other with the eyes of those first days. Their +failings showed up in full light. Otto found Jean-Christophe's independence +less charming. Jean-Christophe was a tiresome companion when they went +walking. He had no sort of concern for correctness. He used to dress as he +liked, take off his coat, open his waistcoat, walk with open collar, roll +up his shirt-sleeves, put his hat on the end of his stick, and fling out +his chest in the air. He used to swing his arms as he walked, whistle, and +sing at the top of his voice. He used to be red in the face, sweaty, and +dusty. He looked like a peasant returning from a fair. The aristocratic +Otto used to be mortified at being seen in his company. When he saw a +carriage coming he used to contrive to lag some ten paces behind, and to +look as though he were walking alone. + +Jean-Christophe was no less embarrassing company when he began to talk at +an inn or in a railway-carriage when they were returning home. He used to +talk loudly, and say anything that came into his head, and treat Otto with +a disgusting familiarity. He used to express opinions quite recklessly +concerning people known to everybody, or even about the appearance of +people sitting only a few yards away from him, or he would enter into +intimate details concerning his health and domestic affairs. It was useless +for Otto to roll his eyes and to make signals of alarm. Jean-Christophe +seemed not to notice them, and no more controlled himself than if he had +been alone. Otto would see smiles on the faces of his neighbors, and would +gladly have sunk into the ground. He thought Jean-Christophe coarse, and +could not understand how he could ever have found delight in him. + +What was most serious was that Jean-Christophe was just as reckless +and indifferent concerning all the hedges, fences, inclosures, walls, +prohibitions of entry, threats of fines, _Verbot_ of all sorts, and +everything that sought to confine his liberty and protect the sacred rights +of property against it. Otto lived in fear from moment to moment, and all +his protests were useless. Jean-Christophe grew worse out of bravado. + +One day, when Jean-Christophe, with Otto at his heels, was walking +perfectly at home across a private wood, in spite of, or because of, the +walls fortified with broken bottles which they had had to clear, they found +themselves suddenly face to face with a gamekeeper, who let fire a volley +of oaths at them, and after keeping them for some time under a threat of +legal proceedings, packed them off in the most ignominious fashion. Otto +did not shine under this ordeal. He thought that he was already in jail, +and wept, stupidly protesting that he had gone in by accident, and that he +had followed Jean-Christophe without knowing whither he was going. When +he saw that he was safe, instead of being glad, he bitterly reproached +Jean-Christophe. He complained that Jean-Christophe had brought him +into trouble. Jean-Christophe quelled him with a look, and called him +"Lily-liver!" There was a quick passage of words. Otto would have left +Jean-Christophe if he had known how to find the way home. He was forced to +follow him, but they affected to pretend that they were not together. + +A storm was brewing. In their anger they had not seen it coming. The baking +countryside resounded with the cries of insects. Suddenly all was still. +They only grew aware of the silence after a few minutes. Their ears buzzed. +They raised their eyes; the sky was black; huge, heavy, livid clouds +overcast it. They came up from every side like a cavalry-charge. They +seemed all to be hastening towards an invisible point, drawn by a gap in +the sky. Otto, in terror, dare not tell his fears, and Jean-Christophe took +a malignant pleasure in pretending not to notice anything. But without +saying a word they drew nearer together. They were alone in the wide +country. Silence. Not a wind stirred,--hardly a fevered tremor that made +the little leaves of the trees shiver now and then. Suddenly a whirling +wind raised the dust, twisted the trees and lashed them furiously. And the +silence came again, more terrible than before. Otto, in a trembling voice, +spoke at last. + +"It is a storm. We must go home." + +Jean-Christophe said: + +"Let us go home." + +But it was too late. A blinding, savage light flashed, the heavens roared, +the vault of clouds rumbled. In a moment they were wrapped about by the +hurricane, maddened by the lightning, deafened by the thunder, drenched +from head to foot. They were in deserted country, half an hour from the +nearest house. In the lashing rain, in the dim light, came the great red +flashes of the storm. They tried to run but, their wet clothes clinging, +they could hardly walk. Their shoes slipped on their feet, the water +trickled down their bodies. It was difficult to breathe. Otto's teeth +were chattering, and he was mad with rage. He said biting things to +Jean-Christophe. He wanted to stop; he declared that it was dangerous to +walk; he threatened to sit down on the road, to sleep on the soil in the +middle of the plowed fields. Jean-Christophe made no reply. He went on +walking, blinded by the wind, the rain, and the lightning; deafened by the +noise; a little uneasy, but unwilling to admit it. + +And suddenly it was all over. The storm had passed, as it had come. But +they were both in a pitiful condition. In truth, Jean-Christophe was, as +usual, so disheveled that a little more disorder made hardly any difference +to him. But Otto, so neat, so careful of his appearance, cut a sorry +figure. It was as though he had just taken a bath in his clothes, and +Jean-Christophe, turning and seeing him, could not help roaring with +laughter. Otto was so exhausted that he could not even be angry. +Jean-Christophe took pity and talked gaily to him. Otto replied with a look +of fury. Jean-Christophe made him stop at a farm. They dried themselves +before a great fire, and drank hot wine. Jean-Christophe thought the +adventure funny, and tried to laugh at it; but that was not at all to +Otto's taste, and he was morose and silent for the rest of their walk. They +came back sulking and did not shake hands when they parted. + +As a result of this prank they did not see each other for more than a week. +They were severe in their judgment of each other. But after inflicting +punishment on themselves by depriving themselves of one of their Sunday +walks, they got so bored that their rancor died away. Jean-Christophe made +the first advances as usual. Otto condescended to meet them, and they made +peace. + +In spite of their disagreement it was impossible for them to do without +each other. They had many faults; they were both egoists. But their egoism +was naïve; it knew not the self-seeking of maturity which makes it so +repulsive; it knew not itself even; it was almost lovable, and did not +prevent them from sincerely loving each other! Young Otto used to weep on +his pillow as he told himself stories of romantic devotion of which he was +the hero; lie used to invent pathetic adventures, in which he was strong, +valiant, intrepid, and protected Jean-Christophe, whom he used to imagine +that he adored. Jean-Christophe never saw or heard anything beautiful or +strange without thinking: "If only Otto were here!" He carried the image +of his friend into his whole life, and that image used to be transfigured, +and become so gentle that, in spite of all that he knew about Otto, it used +to intoxicate him. Certain words of Otto's which he used to remember long +after they were spoken, and to embellish by the way, used to make him +tremble with emotion. They imitated each other. Otto aped Jean-Christophe's +manners, gestures, and writing. Jean-Christophe was sometimes irritated +by the shadow which repeated every word that he said and dished up his +thoughts as though they were its own. But he did not see that he himself +was imitating Otto, and copying his way of dressing, walking, and +pronouncing certain words. They were under a fascination. They were infused +one in the other; their hearts were overflowing with tenderness. They +trickled over with it on every side like a fountain. Each imagined that his +friend was the cause of it. They did not know that it was the waking of +their adolescence. + + * * * * * + +Jean-Christophe, who never distrusted any one, used to leave his papers +lying about. But an instinctive modesty made him keep together the drafts +of the letters which he scrawled to Otto, and the replies. But he did not +lock them up; he just placed them between the leaves of one of his +music-books, where he felt certain that no one would look for them. He +reckoned without his brothers' malice. + +He had seen them for some time laughing and whispering and looking at +him; they were declaiming to each other fragments of speech which threw +them into wild laughter. Jean-Christophe could not catch the words, and, +following his usual tactics with them, he feigned utter indifference to +everything they might do or say. A few words roused his attention; he +thought he recognized them. Soon he was left without doubt that they had +read his letters. But when he challenged Ernest and Rodolphe, who were +calling each other "My dear soul," with pretended earnestness, he could +get nothing from them. The little wretches pretended not to understand, +and said that they had the right to call each other whatever they liked. +Jean-Christophe, who had found all the letters in their places, did not +insist farther. + +Shortly afterwards he caught Ernest in the act of thieving; the little +beast was rummaging in the drawer of the chest in which Louisa kept her +money. Jean-Christophe shook him, and took advantage of the opportunity to +tell him everything that he had stored up against him. He enumerated, in +terms of scant courtesy, the misdeeds of Ernest, and it was not a short +catalogue. Ernest took the lecture in bad part; he replied impudently +that Jean-Christophe had nothing to reproach him with, and he hinted at +unmentionable things in his brother's friendship with Otto. Jean-Christophe +did not understand; but when he grasped that Otto was being dragged into +the quarrel he demanded an explanation of Ernest. The boy tittered; then, +when he saw Jean-Christophe white with anger, he refused to say any more. +Jean-Christophe saw that he would obtain nothing in that way; he sat down, +shrugged his shoulders, and affected a profound contempt for Ernest. +Ernest, piqued by this, was impudent again; he set himself to hurt his +brother, and set forth a litany of things each more cruel and more vile +than the last. Jean-Christophe kept a tight hand on himself. When at last +he did understand, he saw red; he leaped from his chair. Ernest had no time +to cry out. Jean-Christophe had hurled himself on him, and rolled with him +into the middle of the room, and beat his head against the tiles. On the +frightful cries of the victim, Louisa, Melchior, everybody, came running. +They rescued Ernest in a parlous state. Jean-Christophe would not loose his +prey; they had to beat and beat him. They called him a savage beast, and he +looked it. His eyes were bursting from his head, he was grinding his teeth, +and his only thought was to hurl himself again on Ernest. When they asked +him what had happened, his fury increased, and he cried out that he would +kill him. Ernest also refused to tell. + +Jean-Christophe could not eat nor sleep. He was shaking with fever, +and wept in his bed. It was not only for Otto that he was suffering. A +revolution was taking place in him. Ernest had no idea of the hurt that +he had been able to do his brother. Jean-Christophe was at heart of a +puritanical intolerance, which could not admit the dark ways of life, and +was discovering them one by one with horror. At fifteen, with his free life +and strong instincts, he remained strangely simple. His natural purity and +ceaseless toil had protected him. His brother's words had opened up abyss +on abyss before him. Never would he have conceived such infamies, and now +that the idea of it had come to him, all his joy in loving and being loved +was spoiled. Not only his friendship with Otto, but friendship itself was +poisoned. + +It was much worse when certain sarcastic allusions made him think, perhaps +wrongly, that he was the object of the unwholesome curiosity of the +town, and especially, when, some time afterwards, Melchior made a remark +about his walks with Otto. Probably there was no malice in Melchior, but +Jean-Christophe, on the watch, read hidden meanings into every word, and +almost he thought himself guilty. At the same time Otto was passing through +a similar crisis. + +They tried still to see each other in secret. But it was impossible for +them to regain the carelessness of their old relation. Their frankness was +spoiled. The two boys who loved each other with a tenderness so fearful +that they had never dared exchange a fraternal kiss, and had imagined that +there could be no greater happiness than in seeing each other, and in being +friends, and sharing each other's dreams, now felt that they were stained +and spotted by the suspicion of evil minds. They came to see evil even in +the most innocent acts: a look, a hand-clasp--they blushed, they had evil +thoughts. Their relation became intolerable. + +Without saying anything they saw each other less often. They tried writing +to each other, but they set a watch upon their expressions. Their letters +became cold and insipid. They grew disheartened. Jean-Christophe excused +himself on the ground of his work, Otto on the ground of being too busy, +and their correspondence ceased. Soon afterwards Otto left for the +University, and the friendship which had lightened a few months of their +lives died down and out. + +And also, a new love, of which this had been only the forerunner, took +possession of Jean-Christophe's heart, and made every other light seem pale +by its side. + + + + +III + +MINNA + + +Four or five months before these events Frau Josephs von Kerich, widow of +Councilor Stephan von Kerich, had left Berlin, where her husband's duties +had hitherto detained them, and settled down with her daughter in the +little Rhine town, in her native country. She had an old house with a +large garden, almost a park, which sloped down to the river, not far from +Jean-Christophe's home. From his attic Jean-Christophe could see the heavy +branches of the trees hanging over the walls, and the high peak of the red +roof with its mossy tiles. A little sloping alley, with hardly room to +pass, ran alongside the park to the right; from there, by climbing a post, +you could look over the wall. Jean-Christophe did not fail to make use of +it. He could then see the grassy avenues, the lawns like open meadows, the +trees interlacing and growing wild, and the white front of the house with +its shutters obstinately closed. Once or twice a year a gardener made the +rounds, and aired the house. But soon Nature resumed her sway over the +garden, and silence reigned over all. + +That silence impressed Jean-Christophe. He used often stealthily to climb +up to his watch-tower, and as he grew taller, his eyes, then his nose, then +his mouth reached up to the top of the wall; now he could put his arms over +it if he stood on tiptoe, and, in spite of the discomfort of that position, +he used to stay so, with his chin on the wall, looking, listening, while +the evening unfolded over the lawns its soft waves of gold, which lit up +with bluish rays the shade of the pines. There he could forget himself +until he heard footsteps approaching in the street. The night scattered its +scents over the garden: lilac in spring, acacia in summer, dead leaves in +the autumn. When Jean-Christophe, was on his way home in the evening from +the Palace, however weary he might be, he used to stand by the door to +drink in the delicious scent, and it was hard for him to go back to the +smells of his room. And often he had played--when he used to play--in +the little square with its tufts of grass between the stones, before the +gateway of the house of the Kerichs. On each side of the gate grew a +chestnut-tree a hundred years old; his grandfather used to come and sit +beneath them, and smoke his pipe, and the children used to use the nuts for +missiles, and toys. + +One morning, as he went up the alley, he climbed up the post as usual. He +was thinking of other things, and looked absently. He was just going to +climb down when he felt that there was something unusual about it. He +looked towards the house. The windows were open; the sun was shining into +them and, although no one was to be seen, the old place seemed to have been +roused from its fifteen years' sleep, and to be smiling in its awakening. +Jean-Christophe went home uneasy in his mind. + +At dinner his father talked of what was the topic of the neighborhood: the +arrival of Frau Kerich and her daughter with an incredible quantity of +luggage. The chestnut square was filled with rascals who had turned up to +help unload the carts. Jean-Christophe was excited by the news, which, in +his limited life, was an important event, and he returned to his work, +trying to imagine the inhabitants of the enchanted house from his father's +story, as usual hyperbolical. Then he became absorbed in his work, and had +forgotten the whole affair when, just as he was about to go home in the +evening, he remembered it all, and he was impelled by curiosity to climb +his watch-tower to spy out what might be toward within the walls. He saw +nothing but the quiet avenue, in which the motionless trees seemed to be +sleeping in the last rays of the sun. In a few moments he had forgotten why +he was looking, and abandoned himself as he always did to the sweetness of +the silence. That strange place--standing erect, perilously balanced on the +top of a post--was meet for dreams. Coming from the ugly alley, stuffy and +dark, the sunny gardens were of a magical radiance. His spirit wandered +freely through these regions of harmony, and music sang in him; they lulled +him and he forgot time and material things, and was only concerned to miss +none of the whisperings of his heart. + +So he dreamed open-eyed and open-mouthed, and he could not have told how +long he had been dreaming, for he saw nothing. Suddenly his heart leaped. +In front of him, at a bend in an avenue, were two women's faces looking at +him. One, a young lady in black, with fine irregular features and fair +hair, tail, elegant, with carelessness and indifference in the poise of her +head, was looking at him with kind, laughing eyes. The other, a girl of +fifteen, also in deep mourning, looked as though she were going to burst +out into a fit of wild laughter; she was standing a little behind her +mother, who, without looking at her, signed to her to be quiet. She covered +her lips with her hands, as if she were hard put to it not to burst out +laughing. She was a little creature with a fresh face, white, pink, and +round-cheeked; she had a plump little nose, a plump little mouth, a plump +little chin, firm eyebrows, bright eyes, and a mass of fair hair plaited +and wound round her head in a crown to show her rounded neck and her smooth +white forehead--a Cranach face. + +Jean-Christophe was turned to stone by this apparition. He could not go +away, but stayed, glued to his post, with his mouth wide open. It was only +when he saw the young lady coming towards him with her kindly mocking smile +that he wrenched himself away, and jumped--tumbled--down into the alley, +dragging with him pieces of plaster from the wall. He heard a kind voice +calling him, "Little boy!" and a shout of childish laughter, clear and +liquid as the song of a bird. He found himself in the alley on hands and +knees, and, after a moment's bewilderment, he ran away as hard as he could +go, as though he was afraid of being pursued. He was ashamed, and his shame +kept bursting upon him again when he was alone in his room at home. After +that he dared not go down the alley, fearing oddly that they might be lying +in wait for him. When he had to go by the house, he kept close to the +walls, lowered his head, and almost ran without ever looking back. At the +same time he never ceased to think of the two faces that he had seen; he +used to go up to the attic, taking off his shoes so as not to be heard, +and to look his hardest out through the skylight in the direction of the +Kerichs' house and park, although he knew perfectly well that it was +impossible to see anything but the tops of the trees and the topmost +chimneys. + +About a month later, at one of the weekly concerts of the _Hof Musik +Verein_, he was playing a concerto for piano and orchestra of his own +composition. He had reached the last movement when he chanced to see in +the box facing him Frau and Fräulein Kerich looking at him. He so little +expected to see them that he was astounded, and almost missed out his +reply to the orchestra. He went on playing mechanically to the end of +the piece. When it was finished he saw, although he was not looking in +their direction, that Frau and Fräulein Kerich were applauding a little +exaggeratedly, as though they wished him to see that they were applauding. +He hurried away from the stage. As he was leaving the theater he saw Frau +Kerich in the lobby, separated from him by several rows of people, and she +seemed to be waiting for him to pass. It was impossible for him not to see +her, but he pretended not to do so, and, brushing his way through, he left +hurriedly by the stage-door of the theater. Then he was angry with himself, +for he knew quite well that Frau Kerich meant no harm. But he knew that in +the same situation he would do the same again. He was in terror of meeting +her in the street. Whenever he saw at a distance a figure that resembled +her, he used to turn aside and take another road. + + * * * * * + +It was she who came to him. She sought him out at home. + +One morning when he came back to dinner Louisa proudly told him that a +lackey in breeches and livery had left a letter for him, and she gave him +a large black-edged envelope, on the back of which was engraved the Kerich +arms. Jean-Christophe opened it, and trembled as he read these words: + +"Frau Josepha von Kerich requests the pleasure of _Hof Musicus_ +Jean-Christophe Krafft's company at tea to-day at half-past five." + +"I shall not go," declared Jean-Christophe. + +"What!" cried Louisa. "I said that you would go." + +Jean-Christophe made a scene, and reproached his mother with meddling in +affairs that were no concern of hers. + +"The servant waited for a reply. I said that you were free to-day. You have +nothing to do then." + +In vain did Jean-Christophe lose his temper, and swear that he would not +go; he could not get out of it now. When the appointed time came, he got +ready fuming; in his heart of hearts he was not sorry that chance had so +done violence to his whims. + +Frau von Kerich had had no difficulty in recognizing in the pianist at the +concert the little savage whose shaggy head had appeared over her garden +wall on the day of her arrival. She had made inquiries about him of her +neighbors, and what she learned about Jean-Christophe's family and the +boy's brave and difficult life had roused interest in him, and a desire to +talk to him. + +Jean-Christophe, trussed up in an absurd coat, which made him look like a +country parson, arrived at the house quite ill with shyness. He tried to +persuade himself that Frau and Fräulein Kerich had had no time to remark +his features on the day when they had first seen him. A servant led him +down a long corridor, thickly carpeted, so that his footsteps made no +sound, to a room with a glass-paneled door which opened on to the garden. +It was raining a little, and cold; a good fire was burning in the +fireplace. Near the window, through which he had a peep of the wet trees +in the mist, the two ladies were sitting. Frau Kerich was working and her +daughter was reading a book when Jean-Christophe entered. When they saw him +they exchanged a sly look. + +"They know me again," thought Jean-Christophe, abashed. + +He bobbed awkwardly, and went on bobbing. + +Frau von Kerich smiled cheerfully, and held out her hand. + +"Good-day, my dear neighbor," she said. "I am glad to see you. Since I +heard you at the concert I have been wanting to tell you how much pleasure +you gave me. And as the only way of telling you was to invite you here, I +hope you will forgive me for having done so." + +In the kindly, conventional words of welcome there was so much cordiality, +in spite of a hidden sting of irony, that Jean-Christophe grew more at his +ease. + +"They do not know me again," he thought, comforted. + +Frau von Kerich presented her daughter, who had closed her book and was +looking interestedly at Jean-Christophe. + +"My daughter Minna," she said, "She wanted so much to see you." + +"But, mamma," said Minna, "it is not the first time that we have seen each +other." + +And she laughed aloud. + +"They do know me again," thought Jean-Christophe, crestfallen. + +"True," said Frau von Kerich, laughing too, "you paid us a visit the day we +came." + +At these words the girl laughed again, and Jean-Christophe looked so +pitiful that when Minna looked at him she laughed more than ever. She could +not control herself, and she laughed until she cried. Frau von Kerich tried +to stop her, but she, too, could not help laughing, and Jean-Christophe, +in spite of his constraint, fell victim to the contagiousness of it. Their +merriment was irresistible; it was impossible to take offense at it. But +Jean-Christophe lost countenance altogether when Minna caught her breath +again, and asked him whatever he could be doing on the wall. She was +tickled by his uneasiness. He murmured, altogether at a loss. Frau von +Kerich came to his aid, and turned the conversation by pouring out tea. + +She questioned him amiably about his life. But he did not gain confidence. +He could not sit down; he could not hold his cup, which threatened to +upset; and whenever they offered him water, milk, sugar or cakes, he +thought that he had to get up hurriedly and bow his thanks, stiff, trussed +up in his frock-coat, collar, and tie, like a tortoise in its shell, +not daring and not being able to turn his head to right or left, and +overwhelmed by Frau von Kerich's innumerable questions, and the warmth of +her manner, frozen by Minna's looks, which he felt were taking in his +features, his hands, his movements, his clothes. They made him even more +uncomfortable by trying to put him at his ease--Frau von Kerich, by her +flow of words, Minna by the coquettish eyes which instinctively she made at +him to amuse herself. + +Finally they gave up trying to get anything more from him than bows and +monosyllables, and Frau von Kerich, who had the whole burden of the +conversation, asked him, when she was worn out, to play the piano. Much +more shy of them than of a concert audience, he played an adagio of Mozart. +But his very shyness, the uneasiness which was beginning to fill his heart +from the company of the two women, the ingenuous emotion with which his +bosom swelled, which made him happy and unhappy, were in tune with the +tenderness and youthful modesty of the music, and gave it the charm of +spring. Frau von Kerich was moved by it; she said so with the exaggerated +words of praise customary among men and women of the world; she was none +the less sincere for that, and the very excess of the flattery was sweet +coming from such charming lips. Naughty Minna said nothing, and looked +astonished at the boy who was so stupid when he talked, but was so eloquent +with his fingers. Jean-Christophe felt their sympathy, and grew bold under +it. He went on playing; then, half turning towards Minna, with an awkward +smile and without raising his eyes, he said timidly: + +"This is what I was doing on the wall." + +He played a little piece in which he had, in fact, developed the musical +ideas which had come to him in his favorite spot as he looked into the +garden, not, be it said, on the evening when he had seen Minna and Frau von +Kerich--for some obscure reason, known only to his heart, he was trying to +persuade himself that it was so--but long before, and in the calm rhythm of +the _andante con moto_, there were to be found the serene impression of the +singing of birds, mutterings of beasts, and the majestic slumber of the +great trees in the peace of the sunset. + +The two hearers listened delightedly. When he had finished Frau von Kerich +rose, took his hands with her usual vivacity, and thanked him effusively. +Minna clapped her hands, and cried that it was "admirable," and that to +make him compose other works as "sublime" as that, she would have a ladder +placed against the wall, so that he might work there at his case. Frau von +Kerich told Jean-Christophe not to listen to silly Minna; she begged him to +come as often as he liked to her garden, since he loved it, and she added +that he need never bother to call on them if he found it tiresome. + +"You need never bother to come and see us," added Minna. "Only if you do +not come, beware!" + +She wagged her finger in menace. + +Minna was possessed by no imperious desire that Jean-Christophe should come +to see her, or should even follow the rules of politeness with regard to +herself, but it pleased her to produce a little effect which instinctively +she felt to be charming. + +Jean-Christophe blushed delightedly. Frau von Kerich won him completely by +the tact with which she spoke of his mother and grandfather, whom she had +known. The warmth and kindness of the two ladies touched his heart; he +exaggerated their easy urbanity, their worldly graciousness, in his desire +to think it heartfelt and deep. He began to tell them, with his naïve +trustfulness, of his plans and his wretchedness. He did not notice that +more than an hour had passed, and he jumped with surprise when a servant +came and announced dinner. But his confusion turned to happiness when Frau +von Kerich told him to stay and dine with them, like the good friends that +they were going to be, and were already. A place was laid for him between +the mother and daughter, and at table his talents did not show to such +advantage as at the piano. That part of his education had been much +neglected; it was his impression that eating and drinking were the +essential things at table, and not the manner of them. And so tidy Minna +looked at him, pouting and a little horrified. + +They thought that he would go immediately after supper. But he followed +them into the little room, and sat with them, and had no idea of going. +Minna stifled her yawns, and made signs to her mother. He did not notice +them, because he was dumb with his happiness, and thought they were like +himself--because Minna, when she looked at him, made eyes at him from +habit--and finally, once he was seated, he did not quite know how to get up +and take his leave. He would have stayed all night had not Frau von Kerich +sent him away herself, without ceremony, but kindly. + +He went, carrying in his heart the soft light of the brown eyes of Frau von +Kerich and the blue eyes of Minna; on his hands he felt the sweet contact +of soft fingers, soft as flowers, and a subtle perfume, which he had never +before breathed, enveloped him, bewildered him, brought him almost to +swooning. + + * * * * * + +He went again two days later, as was arranged, to give Minna a +music-lesson. Thereafter, under this arrangement, he went regularly twice a +week in the morning, and very often he went again in the evening to play +and talk. + +Frau von Kerich was glad to see him. She was a clever and a kind woman. She +was thirty-five when she lost her husband, and although young in body and +at heart, she was not sorry to withdraw from the world in which she had +gone far since her marriage. Perhaps she left it the more easily because +she had found it very amusing, and thought wisely that she could not both +eat her cake and have it. She was devoted to the memory of Herr von Kerich, +not that she had felt anything like love for him when they married; but +good-fellowship was enough for her; she was of an easy temper and an +affectionate disposition. + +She had given herself up to her daughter's education; but the same +moderation which she had had in her love, held in check the impulsive and +morbid quality which is sometimes in motherhood, when the child is the only +creature upon whom the woman can expend her jealous need of loving and +being loved. She loved Minna much, but was clear in her judgment of her, +and did not conceal any of her imperfections any more than she tried to +deceive herself about herself. Witty and clever, she had a keen eye for +discovering at a glance the weakness, and ridiculous side, of any person; +she took great pleasure in it, without ever being the least malicious, for +she was as indulgent as she was scoffing, and while she laughed at people +she loved to be of use to them. + +Young Jean-Christophe gave food both to her kindness and to her critical +mind. During the first days of her sojourn in the little town, when her +mourning kept her out of society, Jean-Christophe was a distraction +for her--primarily by his talent. She loved music, although she was no +musician; she found in it a physical and moral well-being in which thoughts +could idly sink into a pleasant melancholy. Sitting by the fire--while +Jean-Christophe played--a book in her hands, and smiling vaguely, she took +a silent delight in the mechanical movements of his fingers, and the +purposeless wanderings of her reverie, hovering among the sad, sweet images +of the past. + +But more even than the music, the musician interested her. She was clever +enough to be conscious of Jean-Christophe's rare gifts, although she was +not capable of perceiving his really original quality. It gave her a +curious pleasure to watch the waking of those mysterious fires which she +saw kindling in him. She had quickly appreciated his moral qualities, his +uprightness, his courage, the sort of Stoicism in him, so touching in +a child. But for all that she did mot view him the less with the usual +perspicacity of her sharp, mocking eyes. His awkwardness, his ugliness, his +little ridiculous qualities amused her; she did not take him altogether +seriously; she did not take many things seriously. Jean-Christophe's antic +outbursts, his violence, his fantastic humor, made her think sometimes +that he was a little unbalanced; she saw in him one of the Kraffts, honest +men and good musicians, but always a little wrong in the head. Her light +irony escaped Jean-Christophe; he was conscious only of Frau von Kerich's +kindness. He was so unused to any one being kind to him! Although his +duties at the Palace brought him into daily contact with the world, poor +Jean-Christophe had remained a little savage, untutored and uneducated. The +selfishness of the Court was only concerned in turning him to its profit +and not in helping him in any way. He went to the Palace, sat at the +piano, played, and went away again, and nobody ever took the trouble to +talk to him, except absently to pay him some banal compliment. Since his +grandfather's death, no one, either at home or outside, had ever thought +of helping him to learn the conduct of life, or to be a man. He suffered +cruelly from his ignorance and the roughness of his manners. He went +through an agony and bloody sweat to shape himself alone, but he did not +succeed. Books, conversation, example--all were lacking. He would fain have +confessed his distress to a friend, but could not bring himself to do so. +Even with Otto he had not dared, because at the first words he had uttered, +Otto had assumed a tone of disdainful superiority which had burned into him +like hot iron. + +And now with Frau von Kerich it all became easy. Of her own accord, without +his having to ask anything--it cost Jean-Christophe's pride so much!--she +showed him gently what he should not do, told him what he ought to do, +advised him how to dress, eat, walk, talk, and never passed over any fault +of manners, taste, or language; and he could not be hurt by it, so light +and careful was her touch in the handling of the boy's easily injured +vanity. She took in hand also his literary education without seeming to be +concerned with it; she never showed surprise at his strange ignorance, but +never let slip an opportunity of correcting his mistakes simply, easily, as +if it were natural for him to have been in error; and, instead of alarming +him with pedantic lessons, she conceived the idea of employing their +evening meetings by making Minna or Jean-Christophe read passages of +history, or of the poets, German and foreign. She treated him as a son of +the house, with a few fine shades of patronizing familiarity which he never +saw. She was even concerned with his clothes, gave him new ones, knitted +him a woolen comforter, presented him with little toilet things, and all so +gently that he never was put about by her care or her presents. In short, +she gave him all the little attentions and the quasi-maternal care which +come to every good woman instinctively for a child who is intrusted to +her, or trusts himself to her, without her having any deep feeling for +it. But Jean-Christophe thought that all the tenderness was given to him +personally, and he was filled with gratitude; he would break out into +little awkward, passionate speeches, which seemed a little ridiculous to +Frau von Kerich, though they did not fail to give her pleasure. + +With Minna his relation was very different. When Jean-Christophe met her +again at her first lesson, he was still intoxicated by his memories of +the preceding evening and of the girl's soft looks, and he was greatly +surprised to find her an altogether different person from the girl he had +seen only a few hours before. She hardly looked at him, and did not listen +to what he said, and when she raised her eyes to him, he saw in them so +icy a coldness that he was chilled by it. He tortured himself for a long +time to discover wherein lay his offense. He had given none, and Minna's +feelings were neither more nor less favorable than on the preceding day; +just as she had been then, Minna was completely indifferent to him. If on +the first occasion she had smiled upon him in welcome, it was from a girl's +instinctive coquetry, who delights to try the power of her eyes on the +first comer, be it only a trimmed poodle who turns up to fill her idle +hours. But since the preceding day the too-easy conquest had already lost +interest for her. She had subjected Jean-Christophe to a severe scrutiny +and she thought him an ugly boy, poor, ill-bred, who played the piano well, +though he had ugly hands, held his fork at table abominably, and ate his +fish with a knife. Then he seemed to her very uninteresting. She wanted to +have music-lessons from him; she wanted, even, to amuse herself with him, +because for the moment she had no other companion, and because in spite of +her pretensions of being no longer a child, she had still in gusts a crazy +longing to play, a need of expending her superfluous gaiety, which was, in +her as in her mother, still further roused by the constraint imposed by +their mourning. But she took no more account of Jean-Christophe than of +a domestic animal, and if it still happened occasionally during the days +of her greatest coldness that she made eyes at him, it was purely out of +forgetfulness, and because she was thinking of something else, or simply +so as not to get out of practice. And when she looked at him like that, +Jean-Christophe's heart used to leap. It is doubtful if she saw it; she was +telling herself stories. For she was at the age when we delight the senses +with sweet fluttering dreams. She was forever absorbed in thoughts of love, +filled with a curiosity which was only innocent from ignorance. And she +only thought of love, as a well-taught young lady should, in terms of +marriage. Her ideal was far from having taken definite shape. Sometimes she +dreamed of marrying a lieutenant, sometimes of marrying a poet, properly +sublime, _à la_ Schiller. One project devoured another and the last +was always welcomed with the same gravity and just the same amount of +conviction. For the rest, all of them were quite ready to give way before +a profitable reality, for it is wonderful to see how easily romantic girls +forget their dreams, when something less ideal, but more certain, appears +before them. + +As it was, sentimental Minna was, in spite of all, calm and cold. In spite +of her aristocratic name, and the pride with which the ennobling particle +filled her, she had the soul of a little German housewife in the exquisite +days of adolescence. + + * * * * * + +Naturally Jean-Christophe did not in the least understand the complicated +mechanism--more complicated in appearance than in reality--of the feminine +heart. He was often baffled by the ways of his friends, but he was so happy +in loving them that he credited them with all that disturbed and made him +sad with them, so as to persuade himself that he was as much loved by them +as he loved them himself. A word or an affectionate look plunged him in +delight. Sometimes he was so bowled over by it that he would burst into +tears. + +Sitting by the table in the quiet little room, with Frau von Kerich a few +yards away sewing by the light of the lamp--Minna reading on the other +side of the table, and no one talking, he looking through the half-open +garden-door at the gravel of the avenue glistening under the moon, a soft +murmur coming from the tops of the trees--his heart would be so full of +happiness that suddenly, for no reason, he would leap from his chair, throw +himself at Frau von Kerich's feet, seize her hand, needle or no needle, +cover it with kisses, press it to his lips, his cheeks, his eyes, and sob. +Minna would raise her eyes, lightly shrug her shoulders, and make a face. +Frau von Kerich would smile down at the big boy groveling at her feet, and +pat his head with her free hand, and say to him in her pretty voice, +affectionately and ironically: + +"Well, well, old fellow! What is it?" + +Oh, the sweetness of that voice, that peace, that silence, that soft air +in which were no shouts, no roughness, no violence, that oasis in the +harsh desert of life, and--heroic light gilding with its rays people and +things--the light of the enchanted world conjured up by the reading of the +divine poets! Goethe, Schiller, Shakespeare, springs of strength, of +sorrow, and of love!... + +Minna, with her head down over the book, and her face faintly colored by +her animated delivery, would read in her fresh voice, with its slight lisp, +and try to sound important when she spoke in the characters of warriors +and kings. Sometimes Frau von Kerich herself would take the book; then she +would lend to tragic histories the spiritual and tender graciousness of her +own nature, but most often she would listen, lying back in her chair, her +never-ending needlework in her lap; she would smile at her own thoughts, +for always she would come back to them through every book. + +Jean-Christophe also had tried to read, but he had had to give it up; he +stammered, stumbled over the words, skipped the punctuation, seemed to +understand nothing, and would be so moved that he would have to stop in the +middle of the pathetic passages, feeling tears coming. Then in a tantrum he +would throw the book down on the table, and his two friends would burst out +laughing.... How he loved them! He carried the image of them everywhere +with him, and they were mingled with the persons in Shakespeare and Goethe. +He could hardly distinguish between them. Some fragrant word of the poets +which called up from the depths of his being passionate emotions could not +in him be severed from the beloved lips that had made him hear it for the +first time. Even twenty years later he could never read Egmont or Romeo, or +see them played, without there leaping up in him at certain lines the +memory of those quiet evenings, those dreams of happiness, and the beloved +faces of Frau von Kerich and Minna. + +He would spend hours looking at them in the evening when they were reading; +in the night when he was dreaming in his bed, awake, with his eyes closed; +during the day, when he was dreaming at his place in the orchestra, playing +mechanically with his eyes half closed. He had the most innocent tenderness +for them, and, knowing nothing of love, he thought he was in love. But he +did not quite know whether it was with the mother or the daughter. He went +into the matter gravely, and did not know which to choose. And yet, as it +seemed to him he must at all costs make his choice, he inclined towards +Frau von Kerich. And he did in fact discover, as soon as he had made up +his mind to it, that it was she that he loved. He loved her quick eyes, +the absent smile upon her half-open lips, her pretty forehead, so young in +seeming, and the parting to one side in her fine, soft hair, her rather +husky voice, with its little cough, her motherly hands, the elegance of her +movements, and her mysterious soul. He would thrill with happiness when, +sitting by his side, she would kindly explain to him the meaning of some +passage in a book which he did not understand; she would lay her hand on +Jean-Christophe's shoulder; he would feel the warmth of her fingers, her +breath on his cheek, the sweet perfume of her body; he would listen in +ecstasy, lose all thought of the book, and understand nothing at all. She +would see that and ask him to repeat what she had said; then he would say +nothing, and she would laughingly be angry, and tap his nose with her book, +telling him that he would always be a little donkey. To that he would reply +that he did not care so long as he was _her_ little donkey, and she did not +drive him out of her house. She would pretend to make objections; then she +would say that although he was an ugly little donkey, and very stupid, she +would agree to keep him--and perhaps even to love him--although he was good +for nothing, if at the least he would be just _good_. Then they would both +laugh, and he would go swimming in his joy. + + * * * * * + +When he discovered that he loved Frau von Kerich, Jean-Christophe broke +away from Minna. He was beginning to be irritated by her coldness and +disdain, and as, by dint of seeing her often, he had been emboldened little +by little to resume his freedom of manner with her, he did not conceal his +exasperation from her. She loved to sting him, and he would reply sharply. +They were always saying unkind things to each other, and Frau von Kerich +only laughed at them. Jean-Christophe, who never got the better in such +passages of words, used sometimes to issue from them so infuriated that he +thought he detested Minna; and he persuaded himself that he only went to +her house again because of Frau von Kerich. + +He went on giving her music lessons. Twice a week, from nine to ten in the +morning, he superintended the girl's scales and exercises. The room in +which they did this was Minna's studio--an odd workroom, which, with an +amusing fidelity, reflected the singular disorder of her little feminine +mind. + +On the table were little figures of musical cats--a whole orchestra--one +playing a violin, another the violoncello--a little pocket-mirror, toilet +things and writing things, tidily arranged. On the shelves were tiny busts +of musicians--Beethoven frowning, Wagner with his velvet cap, and the +Apollo Belvedere. On the mantelpiece, by a frog smoking a red pipe, a paper +fan on which was painted the Bayreuth Theater. On the two bookshelves +were a few books--Lübke, Mommsen, Schiller, "Sans Famille," Jules Verne, +Montaigne. On the walls large photographs of the Sistine Madonna, and +pictures by Herkomer, edged with blue and green ribbons. There was also +a view of a Swiss hotel in a frame of silver thistles; and above all, +everywhere in profusion, in every corner of the room, photographs of +officers, tenors, conductors, girl-friends, all with inscriptions, almost +all with verse--or at least what is accepted as verse in Germany. In the +center of the room, on a marble pillar, was enthroned a bust of Brahms, +with a beard; and, above the piano, little plush monkeys and cotillion +trophies hung by threads. + +Minna would arrive late, her eyes still puffy with sleep, sulky; she would +hardly reach out her hand to Jean-Christophe, coldly bid him good-day, and, +without a word, gravely and with dignity sit down at the piano. When she +was alone, it pleased her to play interminable scales, for that allowed her +agreeably to prolong her half-somnolent condition and the dreams which she +was spinning for herself. But Jean-Christophe would compel her to fix her +attention on difficult exercises, and so sometimes she would avenge herself +by playing them as badly as she could. She was a fair musician, but she did +not like music--like many German women. But, like them, she thought she +ought to like it, and she took her lessons conscientiously enough, except +for certain moments of diabolical malice indulged in to enrage her master. +She could enrage him much more by the icy indifference with which she set +herself to her task. But the worst was when she took it into her head that +it was her duty to throw her soul into an expressive passage: then she +would become sentimental and feel nothing. + +Young Jean-Christophe, sitting by her side, was not very polite. He never +paid her compliments--far from it. She resented that, and never let any +remark pass without answering it. She would argue about everything that he +said, and when she made a mistake she would insist that she was playing +what was written. He would get cross, and they would go on exchanging +ungracious words and impertinences. With her eyes on the keys, she never +ceased to watch Jean-Christophe and enjoy his fury. As a relief from +boredom she would invent stupid little tricks, with no other object than +to interrupt the lesson and to annoy Jean-Christophe. She would pretend +to choke, so as to make herself interesting; she would have a fit of +coughing, or she would have something very important to say to the maid. +Jean-Christophe knew that she was play-acting; and Minna knew that +Jean-Christophe knew that she was play-acting; and it amused her, for +Jean-Christophe could not tell her what he was thinking. + +One day, when she was indulging in this amusement and was coughing +languidly, hiding her mouth in her handkerchief, as if she were on the +point of choking, but in reality watching Jean-Christophe's exasperation +out of the corner of her eye, she conceived the ingenious idea of letting +the handkerchief fall, so as to make Jean-Christophe pick it up, which he +did with the worst grace in the world. She rewarded him with a "Thank you!" +in her grand manner, which nearly made him explode. + +She thought the game too good not to be repeated. Next day she did it +again. Jean-Christophe did not budge; he was boiling with rage. She waited +a moment, and then said in an injured tone: + +"Will you please pick up my handkerchief?" + +Jean-Christophe could not contain himself. + +"I am not your servant!" he cried roughly. "Pick it up yourself!" + +Minna choked with rage. She got up suddenly from her stool, which fell +over. + +"Oh, this is too much!" she said, and angrily thumped the piano; and she +left the room in a fury. + +Jean-Christophe waited. She did not come back. He was ashamed of what he +had done; he felt that he had behaved like a little cad. And he was at the +end of his tether; she made fun of him too impudently! He was afraid lest +Minna should complain to her mother, and he should be forever banished from +Frau von Kerich's thoughts. He knew not what to do; for if he was sorry for +his brutality, no power on earth would have made him ask pardon. + +He came again on the chance the next day, although he thought that +Minna would refuse to take her lesson. But Minna, who was too proud to +complain to anybody--Minna, whose conscience was not shielded against +reproach--appeared again, after making him wait five minutes more than +usual; and she sat down at the piano, stiff, upright, without turning her +head or saying a word, as though Jean-Christophe no longer existed for her. +But she did not fail to take her lesson, and all the subsequent lessons, +because she knew very well that Jean-Christophe was a fine musician, and +that she ought to learn to play the piano properly if she wished to +be--what she wished to be--a well-bred young lady of finished education. + +But how bored she was! How they bored each other! + + * * * * * + +One misty morning in March, when little flakes of snow were flying, like +feathers, in the gray air, they were in the studio. It was hardly daylight. +Minna was arguing, as usual, about a false note that she had struck, and +pretending that it "was written so." Although he knew perfectly well that +she was lying, Jean-Christophe bent over the book to look at the passage in +question closely. Her hand was on the rack, and she did not move it. His +lips were near her hand. He tried to read and could not; he was looking at +something else--a thing soft, transparent, like the petals of a flower. +Suddenly--he did not know what he was thinking of--he pressed his lips as +hard as he could on the little hand. + +They were both dumfounded by it. He flung backwards; she withdrew her +hand--both blushing. They said no word; they did not look at each other. +After a moment of confused silence she began to play again; she was very +uneasy: her bosom rose and fell as though she were under some weight; she +struck wrong note after wrong note. He did not notice it; he was more +uneasy than she. His temples throbbed; he heard nothing; he knew not what +she was playing; and, to break the silence, he made a few random remarks in +a choking voice. He thought that he was forever lost in Minna's opinion. +He was confounded by what he had done, thought it stupid and rude. The +lesson-hour over, he left Minna without looking at her, and even forgot +to say good-bye. She did not mind. She had no thought now of deeming +Jean-Christophe ill-mannered; and if she made so many mistakes in playing, +it was because all the time she was watching him out of the corner of her +eye with astonishment and curiosity, and--for the first time--sympathy. + +When she was left alone, instead of going to look for her mother as usual, +she shut herself up in her room and examined this extraordinary event. She +sat with her face in her hands in front of the mirror. Her eyes seemed to +her soft and gleaming. She bit gently at her lip in the effort of thinking. +And as she looked complacently at her pretty face, she visualized the +scene, and blushed and smiled. At dinner she was animated and merry. She +refused to go out at once, and stayed in the drawing-room for part of the +afternoon; she had some work in her hand, and did not make ten stitches +without a mistake, but what did that matter! In a corner of the room, with +her back turned to her mother, she smiled; or, under a sudden impulse to +let herself go, she pranced about the room and sang at the top of her +voice. Frau von Kerich started and called her mad. Minna flung her arms +round her neck, shaking with laughter, and hugged and kissed her. + +In the evening, when she went to her room, it was a long time before +she went to bed. She went on looking at herself in the mirror, trying +to remember, and having thought all through the day of the same +thing--thinking of nothing. She undressed slowly; she stopped every moment, +sitting on the bed, trying to remember what Jean-Christophe was like. It +was a Jean-Christophe of fantasy who appeared, and now he did not seem +nearly so uncouth to her. She went to bed and put out the light. Ten +minutes later the scene of the morning rushed back into her mind, and she +burst out laughing. Her mother got up softly and opened the door, thinking +that, against orders, she was reading in bed. She found Minna lying quietly +in her bed, with her eyes wide open in the dim candlelight. + +"What is it?" she asked. "What is amusing you?" + +"Nothing," said Minna gravely. "I was thinking." + +"You are very lucky to find your own company so amusing. But go to sleep." + +"Yes, mamma," replied Minna meekly. Inside herself she was grumbling; "Go +away! Do go away!" until the door was closed, and she could go on enjoying +her dreams. She fell into a sweet drowsiness. When she was nearly asleep, +she leaped for joy: + +"He loves me.... What happiness! How good of him to love me!... How I love +him!" + +She kissed her pillow and went fast asleep. + + * * * * * + +When next they were together Jean-Christophe was surprised at Minna's +amiability. She gave him "Good-day," and asked him how he was in a very +soft voice; she sat at the piano, looking wise and modest; she was an angel +of docility. There were none of her naughty schoolgirl's tricks, but she +listened religiously to Jean-Christophe's remarks, acknowledged that they +were right, gave little timid cries herself when she made a mistake and set +herself to be more accurate. Jean-Christophe could not understand it. In a +very short time she made astounding progress. Not only did she play better, +but with musical feeling. Little as he was given to flattery, he had to pay +her a compliment. She blushed with pleasure, and thanked him for it with a +look tearful with gratitude. She took pains with her toilet for him; she +wore ribbons of an exquisite shade; she gave Jean-Christophe little smiles +and soft glances, which he disliked, for they irritated him, and moved him +to the depths of his soul. And now it was she who made conversation, but +there was nothing childish in what she said; she talked gravely, and quoted +the poets in a pedantic and pretentious way. He hardly ever replied; he was +ill at ease. This new Minna that he did not know astonished and disquieted +him. + +Always she watched him. She was waiting.... For what?... Did she know +herself?... She was waiting for him to do it again. He took good care not +to; for he was convinced that he had behaved like a clod; he seemed never +to give a thought to it. She grew restless, and one day when he was sitting +quietly at a respectful distance from her dangerous little paws, she was +seized with impatience: with a movement so quick that she had no time to +think of it, she herself thrust her little hand against his lips. He was +staggered by it, then furious and ashamed. But none the less he kissed it +very passionately. Her naïve effrontery enraged him; he was on the point of +leaving her there and then. + +But he could not. He was entrapped. Whirling thoughts rushed in his mind; +he could make nothing of them. Like mists ascending from a valley they rose +from the depths of his heart. He wandered hither and thither at random +through this mist of love, and whatever he did, he did but turn round and +round an obscure fixed idea, a Desire unknown, terrible and fascinating as +a flame to an insect. It was the sudden eruption of the blind forces of +Nature. + + * * * * * + +They passed through a period of waiting. They watched each other, desired +each other, were fearful of each other. They were uneasy. But they did not +for that desist from their little hostilities and sulkinesses; only there +were no more familiarities between them; they were silent. Each was busy +constructing their love in silence. + +Love has curious retroactive effects. As soon as Jean-Christophe discovered +that he loved Minna, he discovered at the same time that he had always +loved her. For three months they had been seeing each other almost every +day without ever suspecting the existence of their love. But from the day +when he did actually love her, he was absolutely convinced that he had +loved her from all eternity. + +It was a good thing for him to have discovered at last _whom_ he loved. +He had loved for so long without knowing whom! It was a sort of relief to +him, like a sick man, who, suffering from a general illness, vague and +enervating, sees it become definite in sharp pain in some portion of his +body. Nothing is more wearing than love without a definite object; it eats +away and saps the strength like a fever. A known passion leads the mind to +excess; that is exhausting, but at least one knows why. It is an excess; it +is not a wasting away. Anything rather than emptiness. + +Although Minna had given Jean-Christophe good reason to believe that she +was not indifferent to him, he did not fail to torture himself with the +idea that she despised him. They had never had any very clear idea of each +other, but this idea had never been more confused and false than it was +now; it consisted of a series of strange fantasies which could never be +made to agree, for they passed from one extreme to the other, endowing each +other in turn with faults and charms which they did not possess--charms +when they were parted, faults when they were together. In either case they +were wide of the mark. + +They did not know themselves what they desired. For Jean-Christophe his +love took shape as that thirst for tenderness, imperious, absolute, +demanding reciprocation, which had burned in him since childhood, +which he demanded from others, and wished to impose on them by will or +force. Sometimes this despotic desire of full sacrifice of himself and +others--especially others, perhaps--was mingled with gusts of a brutal +and obscure desire, which set him whirling, and he did not understand it. +Minna, curious above all things, and delighted to have a romance, tried +to extract as much pleasure as possible from it for her vanity and +sentimentality; she tricked herself whole-heartedly as to what she was +feeling. A great part of their love was purely literary. They fed on the +books they had read, and were forever ascribing to themselves feelings +which they did not possess. + +But the moment was to come when all these little lies and small egoisms +were to vanish away before the divine light of love. A day, an hour, a few +seconds of eternity.... And it was so unexpected!... + + * * * * * + +One evening they were alone and talking. The room was growing dark. Their +conversation took a serious turn. They talked of the infinite, of Life, and +Death. It made a larger frame for their little passion. Minna complained of +her loneliness, which led naturally to Jean-Christophe's answer that she +was not so lonely as she thought. + +"No," she said, shaking her head. "That is only words. Every one lives for +himself; no one is interested in you; nobody loves you." + +Silence. + +"And I?" said Jean-Christophe suddenly, pale with emotion. + +Impulsive Minna jumped to her feet, and took his hands. + +The door opened. They flung apart. Frau von Kerich entered. Jean-Christophe +buried himself in a book, which he held upside down. Minna bent over her +work, and pricked her finger with her needle. + +They were not alone together for the rest of the evening, and they were +afraid of being left. When Frau von Kerich got up to look for something in +the next room, Minna, not usually obliging, ran to fetch it for her, and +Jean-Christophe took advantage of her absence to take his leave without +saying goodnight to her. + +Next day they met again, impatient to resume their interrupted +conversation. They did not succeed. Yet circumstances were favorable to +them. They went a walk with Frau von Kerich, and had plenty of opportunity +for talking as much as they liked. But Jean-Christophe could not speak, and +he was so unhappy that he stayed as far away as possible from Minna. And +she pretended not to notice his discourtesy; but she was piqued by it, and +showed it. When Jean-Christophe did at last contrive to utter a few words, +she listened icily; he had hardly the courage to finish his sentence. They +were coming to the end of the walk. Time was flying. And he was wretched at +not having been able to make use of it. + +A week passed. They thought they had mistaken their feeling for each other. +They were not sure but that they had dreamed the scene of that evening. +Minna was resentful against Jean-Christophe. Jean-Christophe was afraid of +meeting her alone. They were colder to each other than ever. + +A day came when it had rained all morning and part of the afternoon. They +had stayed in the house without speaking, reading, yawning, looking out of +the window; they were bored and cross. About four o'clock the sky cleared. +They ran into the garden. They leaned their elbows on the terrace wall, +and looked down at the lawns sloping to the river. The earth was steaming; +a soft mist was ascending to the sun; little rain-drops glittered on +the grass; the smell of the damp earth and the perfume of the flowers +intermingled; around them buzzed a golden swarm of bees. They were side by +side, not looking at each other; they could not bring themselves to break +the silence. A bee came up and clung awkwardly to a clump of wistaria heavy +with rain, and sent a shower of water down on them. They both laughed, and +at once they felt that they were no longer cross with each other, and were +friends again. But still they did not look at each other. Suddenly, without +turning her head, she took his hand, and said: + +"Come!" + +She led him quickly to the little labyrinth with its box-bordered paths, +which was in the middle of the grove. They climbed up the slope, slipping +on the soaking ground, and the wet trees shook out their branches over +them. Near the top she stopped to breathe. + +"Wait ... wait ..." she said in a low voice, trying to take breath. + +He looked at her. She was looking away; she was smiling, breathing hard, +with her lips parted; her hand was trembling in Jean-Christophe's. They +felt the blood throbbing in their linked hands and their trembling fingers. +Around them all was silent. The pale shoots of the trees were quivering in +the sun; a gentle rain dropped from the leaves with silvery sounds, and in +the sky were the shrill cries of swallows. + +She turned her head towards him; it was a lightning flash. She flung her +arms about his neck; he flung himself into her arms. + +"Minna! Minna! My darling!..." + +"I love you, Jean Christophe! I love you!" + +They sat on a wet wooden seat. They were filled with love, sweet, profound, +absurd. Everything else had vanished. No more egoism, no more vanity, no +more reservation. Love, love--that is what their laughing, tearful eyes +were saying. The cold coquette of a girl, the proud boy, were devoured with +the need of self-sacrifice, of giving, of suffering, of dying for each +other. They did not know each other; they were not the same; everything was +changed; their hearts, their faces, their eyes, gave out a radiance of the +most touching kindness and tenderness. Moments of purity, of self-denial, +of absolute giving of themselves, which through life will never return! + +After a desperate murmuring of words and passionate promises to belong to +each other forever, after kisses and incoherent words of delight, they saw +that it was late, and they ran back hand in hand, almost falling in the +narrow paths, bumping into trees, feeling nothing, blind and drunk with the +joy of it. + +When he left her he did not go home; he could not have gone to sleep. He +left the town, and walked over the fields; he walked blindly through the +night. The air was fresh, the country dark and deserted. A screech-owl +hooted shrilly. Jean-Christophe went on like a sleep-walker. The little +lights of the town quivered on the plain, and the stars in the dark sky. He +sat on a wall by the road and suddenly burst into tears. He did not know +why. He was too happy, and the excess of his joy was compounded of sadness +and delight; there was in it thankfulness for his happiness, pity for +those who were not happy, a melancholy and sweet feeling of the frailty of +things, the mad joy of living. He wept for delight, and slept in the midst +of his tears. When he awoke dawn was peeping. White mists floated over the +river, and veiled the town, where Minna, worn out; was sleeping, while in +her heart was the light of her smile of happiness. + + * * * * * + +They contrived to meet again in the garden next morning and told their love +once more, but now the divine unconsciousness of it all was gone. She was a +little playing the part of the girl in love, and he, though more sincere, +was also playing a part. They talked of what their life should be. He +regretted his poverty and humble estate. She affected to be generous, and +enjoyed her generosity. She said that she cared nothing for money. That was +true, for she knew nothing about it, having never known the lack of it. He +promised that he would become a great artist; that she thought fine and +amusing, like a novel. She thought it her duty to behave really like a +woman in love. She read poetry; she was sentimental. He was touched by the +infection. He took pains with his dress; he was absurd; he set a guard upon +his speech; he was pretentious. Frau von Kerich watched him and laughed, +and asked herself what could have made him so stupid. + +But they had moments of marvelous poetry, and these would suddenly burst +upon them out of dull days, like sunshine through a mist. A look, a +gesture, a meaningless word, and they were bathed in happiness; they had +their good-byes in the evening on the dimly-lighted stairs, and their eyes +would seek each other, divine each other through the half darkness, and the +thrill of their hands as they touched, the trembling in their voices, all +those little nothings that fed their memory at night, as they slept so +lightly that the chiming of each hour would awake them, and their hearts +would sing "I am loved," like the murmuring of a stream. + +They discovered the charm of things. Spring smiled with a marvelous +sweetness. The heavens were brilliant, the air was soft, as they had never +been before. All the town--the red roofs, the old walls, the cobbled +streets--showed with a kindly charm that moved Jean-Christophe. At night, +when everybody was asleep, Minna would get up from her bed, and stand by +the window, drowsy and feverish. And in the afternoon, when he was not +there, she would sit in a swing, and dream, with a book on her knees, +her eyes half closed, sleepy and lazily happy, mind and body hovering +in the spring air. She would spend hours at the piano, with a patience +exasperating to others, going over and over again scales and passages which +made her turn pale and cold with emotion. She would weep when she heard +Schumann's music. She felt full of pity and kindness for all creatures, and +so did he. They would give money stealthily to poor people whom they met in +the street, and would then exchange glances of compassion; they were happy +in their kindness. + +To tell the truth, they were kind only by fits and starts. Minna suddenly +discovered how sad was the humble life of devotion of old Frida, who had +been a servant in the house since her mother's childhood, and at once she +ran and hugged her, to the great astonishment of the good old creature, who +was busy mending the linen in the kitchen. But that did not keep her from +speaking harshly to her a few hours later, when Frida did not come at once +on the sound of the bell. And Jean-Christophe, who was consumed with love +for all humanity, and would turn aside so as not to crush an insect, was +entirely indifferent to his own family. By a strange reaction he was +colder and more curt with them the more affectionate he was to all other +creatures; he hardly gave thought to them; he spoke abruptly to them, and +found no interest in seeing them. Both in Jean-Christophe and Minna their +kindness was only a surfeit of tenderness which overflowed at intervals to +the benefit of the first comer. Except for these overflowings they were +more egoistic than ever, for their minds were filled only with the one +thought, and everything was brought back to that. + +How much of Jean-Christophe's life was filled with the girl's face! What +emotion was in him when he saw her white frock in the distance, when he was +looking for her in the garden; when at the theater, sitting a few yards +away from their empty places, he heard the door of their box open, and the +mocking voice that he knew so well; when in some outside conversation the +dear name of Kerich cropped up! He would go pale and blush; for a moment or +two he would see and hear nothing. And then there would be a rush of blood +over all his body, the assault of unknown forces. + +The little German girl, naïve and sensual, had odd little tricks. She would +place her ring on a little pile of flour, and he would have to get it again +and again with his teeth without whitening his nose. Or she would pass a +thread through a biscuit, and put one end of it in her mouth and one in +his, and then they had to nibble the thread to see who could get to the +biscuit first. Their faces would come together; they would feel each +other's breathing; their lips would touch, and they would laugh forcedly, +while their hands would turn to ice. Jean-Christophe would feel a desire to +bite, to hurt; he would fling back, and she would go on laughing forcedly. +They would turn away, pretend indifference, and steal glances at each +other. + +These disturbing games had a disquieting attraction for them; they wanted +to play them, and yet avoided them. Jean-Christophe was fearful of them, +and preferred even the constraint of the meetings when Frau von Kerich or +some one else was present. So outside presence could break in upon the +converse of their loving hearts; constraint only made their love sweeter +and more intense. Everything gained infinitely in value; a word, a +movement of the lips, a glance were enough to make the rich new treasure +of their inner life shine through the dull veil of ordinary existence. +They alone could see it, or so they thought, and smiled, happy in their +little mysteries. Their words were no more than those of a drawing-room +conversation about trivial matters; to them they were an unending song of +love. They read the most fleeting changes in their faces and voices as in +an open book; they could have read as well with their eyes closed, for they +had only to listen to their hearts to hear in them the echo of the heart +of the beloved. They were full of confidence in life, in happiness, in +themselves. Their hopes were boundless. They loved, they were loved, happy, +without a shadow, without a doubt, without a fear of the future. Wonderful +serenity of those days of spring! Not a cloud in the sky. A faith so fresh +that it seems that nothing can ever tarnish it. A joy so abounding that +nothing can ever exhaust it. Are they living? Are they dreaming? Doubtless +they are dreaming. There is nothing in common between life and their +dream--nothing, except in that moment of magic: they are but a dream +themselves; their being has melted away at the touch of love. + + * * * * * + +It was not long before Frau von Kerich perceived their little intrigue, +which they thought very subtly managed, though it was very clumsy. Minna +had suspected it from the moment when her mother had entered suddenly one +day when she was talking to Jean-Christophe, and standing as near to him as +she could, and on the click of the door they had darted apart as quickly +as possible, covered with confusion. Frau von Kerich had pretended to see +nothing. Minna was almost sorry. She would have liked a tussle with her +mother; it would have been more romantic. + +Her mother took care to give her no opportunity for it; she was too clever +to be anxious, or to make any remark about it. But to Minna she talked +ironically about Jean-Christophe, and made merciless fun of his foibles; +she demolished him in a few words. She did not do it deliberately; she +acted upon instinct, with the treachery natural to a woman who is defending +her own. It was useless for Minna to resist, and sulk, and be impertinent, +and go on denying the truth of her remarks; there was only too much +justification for them, and Frau von Kerich had a cruel skill in flicking +the raw spot. The largeness of Jean-Christophe's boots, the ugliness of his +clothes, his ill-brushed hat, his provincial accent, his ridiculous way of +bowing, the vulgarity of his loud-voicedness, nothing was forgotten which +might sting Minna's vanity. Such remarks were always simple and made by the +way; they never took the form of a set speech, and when Minna, irritated, +got upon her high horse to reply, Frau von Kerich would innocently be off +on another subject. But the blow struck home, and Minna was sore under it. + +She began to look at Jean-Christophe with a less indulgent eye. He was +vaguely conscious of it, and uneasily asked her: + +"Why do you look at me like that?" + +And she answered: + +"Oh, nothing!" + +But a moment after, when he was merry, she would harshly reproach him for +laughing so loudly. He was abashed; he never would have thought that he +would have to take care not to laugh too loudly with her: all his gaiety +was spoiled. Or when he was talking absolutely at his ease, she would +absently interrupt him to make some unpleasant remark about his clothes, +or she would take exception to his common expressions with pedantic +aggressiveness. Then he would lose all desire to talk, and sometimes would +be cross. Then he would persuade himself that these ways which so irritated +him were a proof of Minna's interest in him, and she would persuade herself +also that it was so. He would try humbly to do better. But she was never +much pleased with him, for he hardly ever succeeded. + +But he had no time--nor had Minna--to perceive the change that was taking +place in her. Easter came, and Minna had to go with her mother to stay with +some relations near Weimar. + +During the last week before the separation they returned to the intimacy of +the first days. Except for little outbursts of impatience Minna was more +affectionate than ever. On the eve of her departure they went for a long +walk in the park; she led Jean-Christophe mysteriously to the arbor, and +put about his neck a little scented bag, in which she had placed a lock of +her hair; they renewed their eternal vows, and swore to write to each other +every day; and they chose a star out of the sky, and arranged to look at it +every evening at the same time. + +The fatal day arrived. Ten times during the night he had asked himself, +"Where will she be to-morrow?" and now he thought, "It is to-day. This +morning she is still here; to-night she will be here no longer." He went +to her house before eight o'clock. She was not up; he set out to walk in +the park; he could not; he returned. The passages were full of boxes and +parcels; he sat down in a corner of the room listening for the creaking of +doors and floors, and recognizing the footsteps on the floor above him. +Frau von Kerich passed, smiled as she saw him and, without stopping, threw +him a mocking good-day. Minna came at last; she was pale, her eyelids were +swollen; she had not slept any more than he during the night. She gave +orders busily to the servants; she held out her hand to Jean-Christophe, +and went on talking to old Frida. She was ready to go. Frau von Kerich came +back. They argued about a hat-box. Minna seemed to pay no attention to +Jean-Christophe, who was standing, forgotten and unhappy, by the piano. She +went out with her mother, then came back; from the door she called out to +Frau von Kerich. She closed the door. They were alone. She ran to him, took +his hand, and dragged him into the little room next door; its shutters were +closed. Then she put her face up to Jean-Christophe's and kissed him +wildly. With tears in her eyes she said: + +"You promise--you promise that you will love me always?" + +They sobbed quietly, and made convulsive efforts to choke their sobs down +so as not to be heard. They broke apart as they heard footsteps +approaching. Minna dried her eyes, and resumed her busy air with the +servants, but her voice trembled. + +He succeeded in snatching her handkerchief, which she had let fall--her +little dirty handkerchief, crumpled and wet with her tears. + +He went to the station with his friends in their carriage. Sitting opposite +each other Jean-Christophe and Minna hardly dared look at each other for +fear of bursting into tears. Their hands sought each other, and clasped +until they hurt. Frau von Kerich watched them with quizzical good-humor, +and seemed not to see anything. The time arrived. Jean-Christophe was +standing by the door of the train when it began to move, and he ran +alongside the carriage, not looking where he was going, jostling against +porters, his eyes fixed on Minna's eyes, until the train was gone. He went +on running until it was lost from sight. Then he stopped, out of breath, +and found himself on the station platform among people of no importance. He +went home, and, fortunately, his family were all out, and all through the +morning he wept. + + * * * * * + +For the first time he knew the frightful sorrow of parting, an intolerable +torture for all loving hearts. The world is empty; life is empty; all is +empty. The heart is choked; it is impossible to breathe; there is mortal +agony; it is difficult, impossible, to live--especially when all around you +there are the traces of the departed loved one, when everything about you +is forever calling up her image, when you remain in the surroundings in +which you lived together, she and you, when it is a torment to try to live +again in the same places the happiness that is gone. Then it is as though +an abyss were opened at your feet; you lean over it; you turn giddy; you +almost fall. You fall. You think you are face to face with Death. And so +you are; parting is one of his faces. You watch the beloved of your heart +pass away; life is effaced; only a black hole is left--nothingness. + +Jean-Christophe went and visited all the beloved spots, so as to suffer +more. Frau von Kerich had left him the key of the garden, so that he could +go there while they were away. He went there that very day, and was like +to choke with sorrow. It seemed to him as he entered that he might find +there a little of her who was gone; he found only too much of her; her +image hovered over all the lawns; he expected to see her appear at all +the corners of the paths; he knew well that she would not appear, but he +tormented himself with pretending that she might, and he went over the +tracks of his memories of love--the path to the labyrinth, the terrace +carpeted with wistaria, the seat in the arbor, and he inflicted torture on +himself by saying: "A week ago ... three days ago ... yesterday, it was +so. Yesterday she was here ... this very morning...." He racked his heart +with these thoughts until he had to stop, choking, and like to die. In his +sorrow was mingled anger with himself for having wasted all that time, and +not having made use of it. So many minutes, so many hours, when he had +enjoyed the infinite happiness of seeing her, breathing her, and feeding +upon her. And he had not appreciated it! He had let the time go by without +having tasted to the full every tiny moment! And now!... Now it was too +late.... Irreparable! Irreparable! + +He went home. His family seemed odious to him. He could not bear their +faces, their gestures, their fatuous conversation, the same as that of the +preceding day, the same as that of all the preceding days--always the same. +They went on living their usual life, as though no such misfortune had come +to pass in their midst. And the town had no more idea of it than they. +The people were all going about their affairs, laughing, noisy, busy; the +crickets were chirping; the sky was bright. He hated them all; he felt +himself crushed by this universal egoism. But he himself was more egoistic +than the whole universe. Nothing was worth while to him. He had no +kindness. He loved nobody. + +He passed several lamentable days. His work absorbed him again +automatically: but he had no heart for living. + +One evening when he was at supper with his family, silent and depressed, +the postman knocked at the door and left a letter for him. His heart knew +the sender of it before he had seen the handwriting. Four pairs of eyes, +fixed on him with undisguised curiosity, waited for him to read it, +clutching at the hope that this interruption might take them out of their +usual boredom. He placed the letter by his plate, and would not open it, +pretending carelessly that he knew what it was about. But his brothers, +annoyed, would not believe it, and went on prying at it; and so he was in +tortures until the meal was ended. Then he was free to lock himself up in +his room. His heart was beating so that he almost tore the letter as he +opened it. He trembled to think what might be in it; but as soon as he had +glanced over the first words he was filled with joy. + +A few very affectionate words. Minna was writing to him by stealth. She +called him "Dear _Christlein_" and told him that she had wept much, had +looked at the star every evening, that she had been to Frankfort, which was +a splendid town, where there were wonderful shops, but that she had never +bothered about anything because she was thinking of him. She reminded him +that he had sworn to be faithful to her, and not to see anybody while she +was away, so that he might think only of her. She wanted him to work all +the time while she was gone, so as to make himself famous, and her too. She +ended by asking him if he remembered the little room where they had said +good-bye on the morning when she had left him: she assured him that she +would be there still in thought, and that she would still say good-bye to +him in the same way. She signed herself, "Eternally yours! Eternally!..." +and she had added a postscript bidding him buy a straw hat instead of his +ugly felt--all the distinguished people there were wearing them--a coarse +straw hat, with a broad blue ribbon. + +Jean-Christophe read the letter four times before he could quite take it +all in. He was so overwhelmed that he could not even be happy; and suddenly +he felt so tired that he lay down and read and re-read the letter and +kissed it again and again. He put it under his pillow, and his hand was +forever making sure that it was there. An ineffable sense of well-being +permeated his whole soul. He slept all through the night. + +His life became more tolerable. He had ever sweet, soaring thoughts of +Minna. He set about answering her; but he could not write freely to her; +he had to hide his feelings: that was painful and difficult for him. He +continued clumsily to conceal his love beneath formulæ of ceremonious +politeness, which he always used in an absurd fashion. + +When he had sent it he awaited Minna's reply, and only lived in expectation +of it. To win patience he tried to go for walks and to read. But his +thoughts were only of Minna: he went on crazily repeating her name over and +over again; he was so abject in his love and worship of her name that he +carried everywhere with him a volume of Lessing, because the name of Minna +occurred in it, and every day when he left the theater he went a long +distance out of his way so as to pass a mercery shop, on whose signboard +the five adored letters were written. + +He reproached himself for wasting time when she had bid him so urgently to +work, so as to make her famous. The naïve vanity of her request touched +him, as a mark of her confidence in him. He resolved, by way of fulfilling +it, to write a work which should be not only dedicated, but consecrated, +to her. He could not have written any other at that time. Hardly had the +scheme occurred to him than musical ideas rushed in upon him. It was like +a flood of water accumulated in a reservoir for several months, until it +should suddenly rush down, breaking all its dams. He did not leave his room +for a week. Louisa left his dinner at the door; for he did not allow even +her to enter. + +He wrote a quintette for clarionet and strings. The first movement was +a poem of youthful hope and desire; the last a lover's joke, in which +Jean-Christophe's wild humor peeped out. But the whole work was written for +the sake of the second movement, the _larghetto_, in which Jean-Christophe +had depicted an ardent and ingenuous little soul, which was, or was meant +to be, a portrait of Minna. No one would have recognized it, least of all +herself; but the great thing was that it was perfectly recognizable to +himself; and he had a thrill of pleasure in the illusion of feeling that he +had caught the essence of his beloved. No work had ever been so easily or +happily written; it was an outlet for the excess of love which the parting +had stored up in him; and at the same time his care for the work of art, +the effort necessary to dominate and concentrate his passion into a +beautiful and clear form, gave him a healthiness of mind, a balance in his +faculties, which gave him a sort of physical delight--a sovereign enjoyment +known to every creative artist. While he is creating he escapes altogether +from the slavery of desire and sorrow; he becomes then master in his turn; +and all that gave him joy or suffering seems then to him to be only the +fine play of his will. Such moments are too short; for when they are done +he finds about him, more heavy than ever, the chains of reality. + +While Jean-Christophe was busy with his work he hardly had time to think +of his parting from Minna; he was living with her. Minna was no longer in +Minna; she was in himself. But when he had finished he found that he was +alone, more alone than before, more weary, exhausted by the effort; he +remembered that it was a fortnight since he had written to Minna and that +she had not replied. + +He wrote to her again, and this time he could not bring himself altogether +to exercise the constraint which he had imposed on himself for the +first letter. He reproached Minna jocularly--for he did not believe it +himself--with having forgotten him. He scolded her for her laziness and +teased her affectionately. He spoke of his work with much mystery, so as to +rouse her curiosity, and because he wished to keep it as a surprise for her +when she returned. He described minutely the hat that he had bought; and he +told how, to carry out the little despot's orders--for he had taken all her +commands literally--he did not go out at all, and said that he was ill as +an excuse for refusing invitations. He did not add that he was even on bad +terms with the Grand Duke, because, in excess of zeal, he had refused to +go to a party at the Palace to which he had been invited. The whole letter +was full of a careless joy, and conveyed those little secrets so dear to +lovers. He imagined that Minna alone had the key to them, and thought +himself very clever, because he had carefully replaced every word of love +with words of friendship. + +After he had written he felt comforted for a moment; first, because the +letter had given him the illusion of conversation with his absent fair, but +chiefly because he had no doubt but that Minna would reply to it at once. +He was very patient for the three days which he had allowed for the post +to take his letter to Minna and bring back her answer; but when the fourth +day had passed he began once more to find life difficult. He had no energy +or interest in things, except during the hour before the post's arrival. +Then he was trembling with impatience. He became superstitious, and looked +for the smallest sign--the crackling of the fire, a chance word--to give +him an assurance that the letter would come. Once that hour was passed he +would collapse again. No more work, no more walks; the only object of his +existence was to wait for the next post, and all his energy was expended in +finding strength to wait for so long. But when evening came, and all hope +was gone for the day, then he was crushed; it seemed to him that he could +never live until the morrow, and he would stay for hours, sitting at his +table, without speaking or thinking, without even the power to go to bed, +until some remnant of his will would take him off to it; and he would sleep +heavily, haunted by stupid dreams, which made him think that the night +would never end. + +This continual expectation became at length a physical torture, an actual +illness. Jean-Christophe went so far as to suspect his father, his brother, +even the postman, of having taken the letter and hidden it from him. He was +racked with uneasiness. He never doubted Minna's fidelity for an instant. +If she did not write, it must be because she was ill, dying, perhaps dead. +Then he rushed to his pen and wrote a third letter, a few heartrending +lines, in which he had no more thought of guarding his feelings than of +taking care with his spelling. The time for the post to go was drawing +near; he had crossed out and smudged the sheet as he turned it over, +dirtied the envelope as he closed it. No matter! He could not wait until +the next post. He ran and hurled his letter into the box and waited in +mortal agony. On the next night but one he had a clear vision of Minna, +ill, calling to him; he got up, and was on the point of setting out on foot +to go to her. But where? Where should he find her? + +On the fourth morning Minna's letter came at last--hardly a +half-sheet--cold and stiff. Minna said that she did not understand what +could have filled him with such stupid fears, that she was quite well, that +she had no time to write, and begged him not to get so excited in future, +and not to write any more. + +Jean-Christophe was stunned. He never doubted Minna's sincerity. He blamed +himself; he thought that Minna was justly annoyed by the impudent and +absurd letters that he had written. He thought himself an idiot, and beat +at his head with his fist. But it was all in vain; he was forced to feel +that Minna did not love him as much as he loved her. + +The days that followed were so mournful that it is impossible to describe +them. Nothingness cannot be described. Deprived of the only boon that made +living worth while for him--his letters to Minna--Jean-Christophe now only +lived mechanically, and the only thing which interested him at all was when +in the evening, as he was going to bed, he ticked off on the calendar, +like a schoolboy, one of the interminable days which lay between himself +and Minna's return. The day of the return was past. They ought to have +been at home a week. Feverish excitement had succeeded Jean-Christophe's +prostration. Minna had promised when she left to advise him of the day and +hour of their arrival. He waited from moment to moment to go and meet them; +and he tied himself up in a web of guesses as to the reasons for their +delay. + +One evening one of their neighbors, a friend of his grandfather, Fischer, +the furniture dealer, came in to smoke and chat with Melchior after dinner +as he often did. Jean-Christophe, in torment, was going up to his room +after waiting for the postman to pass when a word made him tremble. Fischer +said that next day he had to go early in the morning to the Kerichs' to +hang up the curtains. Jean-Christophe stopped dead, and asked: + +"Have they returned?" + +"You wag! You know that as well as I do," said old Fischer roguishly. "Fine +weather! They came back the day before yesterday." + +Jean-Christophe heard no more; he left the room, and got ready to go out. +His mother, who for some time had secretly been watching him without his +knowing it, followed him into the lobby, and asked him timidly where he was +going. He made no answer, and went out. He was hurt. + +He ran to the Kerichs' house. It was nine o'clock in the evening. They were +both in the drawing-room and did not appear to be surprised to see him. +They said "Good-evening" quietly. Minna was busy writing, and held out her +hand over the table and went on with her letter, vaguely asking him for +his news. She asked him to forgive her discourtesy, and pretended to be +listening to what he said, but she interrupted him to ask something of her +mother. He had prepared touching words concerning all that he had suffered +during her absence; he could hardly summon a few words; no one was +interested in them, and he had not the heart to go on--it all rang so +false. + +When Minna had finished her letter she took up some work, and, sitting a +little away from him, began to tell him about her travels. She talked about +the pleasant weeks she had spent--riding on horseback, country-house life, +interesting society; she got excited gradually, and made allusions to +events and people whom Jean-Christophe did not know, and the memory of +them made her mother and herself laugh. Jean-Christophe felt that he was +a stranger during the story; he did not know how to take it, and laughed +awkwardly. He never took his eyes from Minna's face, beseeching her to look +at him, imploring her to throw him a glance for alms. But when she did look +at him--which was not often, for she addressed herself more to her mother +than to him--her eyes, like her voice, were cold and indifferent. Was she +so constrained because of her mother, or was it that he did not understand? +He wished to speak to her alone, but Frau von Kerich never left them +for a moment. He tried to bring the conversation round to some subject +interesting to himself; he spoke of his work and his plans; he was dimly +conscious that Minna was evading him, and instinctively he tried to +interest her in himself. Indeed, she seemed to listen attentively enough; +she broke in upon his narrative with various interjections, which were +never very apt, but always seemed to be full of interest. But just as +he was beginning to hope once more, carried off his feet by one of her +charming smiles, he saw Minna put her little hand to her lips and yawn. He +broke off short. She saw that, and asked his pardon amiably, saying that +she was tired. He got up, thinking that they would persuade him to stay, +but they said nothing. He spun out his "Good-bye," and waited for a word to +ask him to come again next day; there was no suggestion of it. He had to +go. Minna did not take him to the door. She held out her hand to him--an +indifferent hand that drooped limply in his--and he took his leave of them +in the middle of the room. + +He went home with terror in his heart. Of the Minna of two months before, +of his beloved Minna, nothing was left. What had happened? What had become +of her? For a poor boy who has never yet experienced the continual change, +the complete disappearance, and the absolute renovation of living souls, +of which the majority are not so much souls as collections of souls in +succession changing and dying away continually, the simple truth was too +cruel for him to be able to believe it. He rejected the idea of it in +terror, and tried to persuade himself that he had not been able to see +properly, and that Minna was just the same. He decided to go again to the +house next morning, and to talk to her at all costs. + +He did not sleep. Through the night he counted one after another the chimes +of the clock. From one o'clock on he was rambling round the Kerichs' house; +he entered it as soon as he could. He did not see Minna, but Frau von +Kerich. Always busy and an early riser, she was watering the pots of +flowers on the veranda. She gave a mocking cry when she saw +Jean-Christophe. + +"Ah!" she said. "It is you!... I am glad you have come. I have something to +talk to you about. Wait a moment...." + +She went in for a moment to put down her watering can and to dry her hands, +and came back with a little smile as she saw Jean-Christophe's +discomfiture; he was conscious of the approach of disaster. + +"Come into the garden," she said; "we shall be quieter." + +In the garden that was full still of his love he followed Frau von Kerich. +She did not hasten to speak, and enjoyed the boy's uneasiness. + +"Let us sit here," she said at last. They were sitting on the seat in the +place where Minna had held up her lips to him on the eve of her departure. + +"I think you know what is the matter," said Frau von Kerich, looking +serious so as to complete his confusion. "I should never have thought it of +you, Jean-Christophe. I thought you a serious boy. I had every confidence +in you. I should never have thought that you would abuse it to try and +turn my daughter's head. She was in your keeping. You ought to have shown +respect for her, respect for me, respect for yourself." + +There was a light irony in her accents. Frau von Kerich attached not the +least importance to this childish love affair; but Jean-Christophe was not +conscious of it, and her reproaches, which he took, as he took everything, +tragically, went to his heart. + +"But, Madam ... but, Madam ..." he stammered, with tears in his eyes, "I +have never abused your confidence.... Please do not think that.... I am not +a bad man, that I swear!... I love Fräulein Minna. I love her with all my +Soul, and I wish to marry her." + +Frau von Kerich smiled. + +"No, my poor boy," she said, with that kindly smile in which was so much +disdain, as at last he was to understand, "no, it is impossible; it is just +a childish folly." + +"Why? Why?" he asked. + +He took her hands, not believing that she could be speaking seriously, and +almost reassured by the new softness in her voice. She smiled still, and +said: + +"Because...." + +He insisted. With ironical deliberation--she did not take him altogether +seriously--she told him that he had no fortune, that Minna had different +tastes. He protested that that made no difference; that he would be rich, +famous; that he would win honors, money, all that Minna could desire. Frau +von Kerich looked skeptical; she was amused by his self-confidence, and +only shook her head by way of saying no. But he stuck to it. + +"No, Jean-Christophe," she said firmly, "no. It is not worth arguing. It is +impossible. It is not only a question of money. So many things! The +position...." + +She had no need to finish. That was a needle that pierced to his very +marrow. His eyes were opened. He saw the irony of the friendly smile, he +saw the coldness of the kindly look, he understood suddenly what it was +that separated him from this woman whom he loved as a son, this woman who +seemed to treat him like a mother; he was conscious of all that was +patronizing and disdainful in her affection. He got up. He was pale. Frau +von Kerich went on talking to him in her caressing voice, but it was the +end; he heard no more the music of the words; he perceived under every word +the falseness of that elegant soul. He could not answer a word. He went. +Everything about him was going round and round. + +When he regained his room he flung himself on his bed, and gave way to a +fit of anger and injured pride, just as he used to do when he was a little +boy. He bit his pillow; he crammed his handkerchief into his mouth, so that +no one should hear him crying. He hated Frau von Kerich. He hated Minna. He +despised them mightily. It seemed to him that he had been insulted, and he +trembled with shame and rage. He had to reply, to take immediate action. If +he could not avenge himself he would die. + +He got up, and wrote an idiotically violent letter: + +"MADAM,-- + +"I do not know if, as you say, you have been deceived in me. But I do know +that I have been cruelly deceived in you. I thought that you were my +friends. You said so. You pretended to be so, and I loved you more than my +life. I see now that it was all a lie, that your affection for me was only +a sham; you made use of me. I amused you, provided you with entertainment, +made music for you. I was your servant. Your servant: that I am not! I am +no man's servant! + +"You have made me feel cruelly that I had no right to love your daughter. +Nothing in the world can prevent my heart from loving where it loves, and +if I am not your equal in rank, I am as noble as you. It is the heart that +ennobles a man. If I am not a Count, I have perhaps more honor than many +Counts. Lackey or Count, when a man insults me, I despise him. I despise as +much any one who pretends to be noble, and is not noble of soul. + +"Farewell! You have mistaken me. You have deceived me. I detest you! + +"He who, in spite of you, loves, and will love till death, Fräulein Minna, +_because she is his_, and nothing can take her from him." + +Hardly had he thrown his letter into the box than he was filled with terror +at what he had done. He tried not to think of it, but certain phrases +cropped up in his memory; he was in a cold sweat as he thought of Frau von +Kerich reading those enormities. At first he was upheld by his very +despair, but next day he saw that his letter could only bring about a final +separation from Minna, and that seemed to him the direst of misfortunes. He +still hoped that Frau von Kerich, who knew his violent fits, would not take +it seriously, that she would only reprimand him severely, and--who +knows?--that she would be touched perhaps by the sincerity of his passion. +One word, and he would have thrown himself at her feet. He waited for five +days. Then came, a letter. She said: + +"DEAR SIR,-- + +"Since, as you say, there has been a misunderstanding between us, it would +be wise not any further to prolong it. I should be very sorry to force upon +you a relationship which has become painful to you. You will think it +natural, therefore, that we should break it off. I hope that you will in +time to come have no lack of other friends who will be able to appreciate +you as you wish to be appreciated. I have no doubt as to your future, and +from a distance shall, with sympathy, follow your progress in your musical +career. Kind regards. + +"JOSEPHA VON KERICH." + +The most bitter reproaches would have been less cruel. Jean-Christophe saw +that he was lost. It is possible to reply to an unjust accusation. But what +is to be done against the negativeness of such polite indifference? He +raged against it. He thought that he would never see Minna again, and he +could not bear it. He felt how little all the pride in the world weighs +against a little love. He forgot his dignity; he became cowardly; he wrote +more letters, in which he implored forgiveness. They were no less stupid +than the letter in which he had railed against her. They evoked no +response. And everything was said. + + * * * * * + +He nearly died of it. He thought of killing himself. He thought of murder. +At least, he imagined that he thought of it. He was possessed by incendiary +and murderous desires. People have little idea of the paroxysm of love or +hate which sometimes devours the hearts of children. It was the most +terrible crisis of his childhood. It ended his childhood. It stiffened his +will. But it came near to breaking it forever. + +He found life impossible. He would sit for hours with his elbows on the +window-sill looking down into the courtyard, and dreaming, as he used to +when he was a little boy, of some means of escaping from the torture of +life when it became too great. The remedy was there, under his eyes. +Immediate ... immediate? How could one know?... Perhaps after +hours--centuries--horrible sufferings!... But so utter was his childish +despair that he let himself be carried away by the giddy round of such +thoughts. + +Louisa saw that he was suffering. She could not gauge exactly what was +happening to him, but her instinct gave her a dim warning of danger. She +tried to approach her son, to discover his sorrow, so as to console him. +But the poor woman had lost the habit of talking intimately to +Jean-Christophe. For many years he had kept his thoughts to himself, and +she had been too much taken up by the material cares of life to find time +to discover them or divine them. Now that she would so gladly have come to +his aid she knew not what to do. She hovered about him like a soul in +torment; she would gladly have found words to bring him comfort, and she +dared not speak for fear of irritating him. And in spite of all her care +she did irritate him by her every gesture and by her very presence, for she +was not very adroit, and he was not very indulgent. And yet he loved her; +they loved each other. But so little is needed to part two creatures who +are dear to each other, and love each other with all their hearts! A too +violent expression, an awkward gesture, a harmless twitching of an eye or a +nose, a trick of eating, walking, or laughing, a physical constraint which +is beyond analysis.... You say that these things are nothing, and yet they +are all the world. Often they are enough to keep a mother and a son, a +brother and a brother, a friend and a friend, who live in proximity to each +other, forever strangers to each other. + +Jean-Christophe did not find in his mother's grief a sufficient prop in the +crisis through which he was passing. Besides, what is the affection of +others to the egoism of passion preoccupied with itself? + +One night when his family were sleeping, and he was sitting by his desk, +not thinking or moving, he was engulfed in his perilous ideas, when a sound +of footsteps resounded down the little silent street, and a knock on the +door brought him from his stupor. There was a murmuring of thick voices. He +remembered that his father had not come in, and he thought angrily that +they were bringing him back drunk, as they had done a week or two before, +when they had found him lying in the street. For Melchior had abandoned all +restraint, and was more and more the victim of his vice, though his +athletic health seemed not in the least to suffer from an excess and a +recklessness which would have killed any other man. He ate enough for four, +drank until he dropped, passed whole nights out of doors in icy rain, was +knocked down and stunned in brawls, and would get up again next day, with +his rowdy gaiety, wanting everybody about him to be gay too. + +Louisa, hurrying up, rushed to open the door. Jean-Christophe, who had not +budged, stopped his ears so as not to hear Melchior's vicious voice and the +tittering comments of the neighbors.... + +... Suddenly a strange terror seized him; for no reason he began to +tremble, with his face hidden in his hands. And on the instant a piercing +cry made him raise his head. He rushed to the door.... + +In the midst of a group of men talking in low voices, in the dark passage, +lit only by the flickering light of a lantern, lying, just as his +grandfather had done, on a stretcher, was a body dripping with water, +motionless. Louisa was clinging to it and sobbing. They had just found +Melchior drowned in the mill-race. + +Jean-Christophe gave a cry. Everything else vanished; all his other sorrows +were swept aside. He threw himself on his fathers body by Louisa's side, +and they wept together. + +Seated by the bedside, watching Melchior's last sleep, on whose face was +now a severe and solemn expression, he felt the dark peace of death enter +into his soul. His childish passion was gone from him like a fit of fever; +the icy breath of the grave had taken it all away. Minna, his pride, his +love, and himself.... Alas! What misery! How small everything showed by the +side of this reality, the only reality--death! Was it worth while to suffer +so much, to desire so much, to be so much put about to come in the end to +that!... + +He watched his father's sleep, and he was filled with an infinite pity. He +remembered the smallest of his acts of kindness and tenderness. For with +all his faults Melchior was not bad; there was much good in him. He loved +his family. He was honest. He had a little of the uncompromising probity of +the Kraffts, which, in all questions of morality and honor, suffered no +discussion, and never would admit the least of those small moral impurities +which so many people in society regard not altogether as faults. He was +brave, and whenever there was any danger faced it with a sort of enjoyment. +If he was extravagant himself, he was so for others too; he could not bear +anybody to be sad, and very gladly gave away all that belonged to him--and +did not belong to him--to the poor devils he met by the wayside. All his +qualities appeared to Jean-Christophe now, and he invented some of them, or +exaggerated them. It seemed to him that he had misunderstood his father. He +reproached himself with not having loved him enough. He saw him as broken +by Life; he thought he heard that unhappy soul, drifting, too weak to +struggle, crying out for the life so uselessly lost. He heard that +lamentable entreaty that had so cut him to the heart one day: + +"Jean-Christophe! Do not despise me!" + +And he was overwhelmed by remorse. He threw himself on the bed, and kissed +the dead face and wept. And as he had done that day, he said again: + +"Dear father, I do not despise you. I love you. Forgive me!" + +But that piteous entreaty was not appeased, and went on: + +"De not despise me! Do not despise me!" And suddenly Jean-Christophe saw +himself lying in the place of the dead man; he heard the terrible words +coming from his own lips; he felt weighing on his heart the despair of a +useless life, irreparably lost. And he thought in terror: "Ah! everything, +all the suffering, all the misery in the world, rather than come to +that!..." How near he had been to it! Had he not all but yielded to the +temptation to snap off his life himself, cowardly to escape his sorrow? As +if all the sorrows, all betrayals, were not childish griefs beside the +torture and the crime of self-betrayal, denial of faith, of self-contempt +in death! + +He saw that life was a battle without armistice, without mercy, in which he +who wishes to be a man worthy of the name of a man must forever fight +against whole armies of invisible enemies; against the murderous forces of +Nature, uneasy desires, dark thoughts, treacherously leading him to +degradation and destruction. He saw that he had been on the point of +falling into the trap. He saw that happiness and love were only the friends +of a moment to lead the heart to disarm and abdicate. And the little +puritan of fifteen heard the voice of his God: + +"Go, go, and never rest." + +"But whither, Lord, shall I go? Whatsoever I do, whithersoever I go, is not +the end always the same? Is not the end of all things in that?" + +"Go on to Death, you who must die! Go and suffer, you who must suffer! You +do not live to be happy. You live to fulfil my Law. Suffer; die. But be +what you must be--a Man." + + + + +YOUTH + + +Christofori faciem die quaeunque tueris, Illa nempe die non morte mala +morieris. + + + + +I + +THE HOUSE OF EULER + + +The house was plunged in silence. Since Melchior's death everything seemed +dead. Now that his loud voice was stilled, from morning to night nothing +was heard but the wearisome murmuring of the river. + +Christophe hurled himself into his work. He took a fiercely angry pleasure +in self-castigation for having wished to be happy. To expressions of +sympathy and kind words he made no reply, but was proud and stiff. Without +a word he went about his daily task, and gave his lessons with icy +politeness. His pupils who knew of his misfortune were shocked by his +insensibility. But, those who were older and had some experience of sorrow +knew that this apparent coldness might, in a child, be used only to conceal +suffering: and they pitied him. He was not grateful for their sympathy. +Even music could bring him no comfort. He played without pleasure, and as a +duty. It was as though he found a cruel joy in no longer taking pleasure in +anything, or in persuading himself that he did not: in depriving himself of +every reason for living, and yet going on. + +His two brothers, terrified by the silence of the house of death, ran away +from it as quickly as possible. Rodolphe went into the office of his uncle +Theodore, and lived with him, and Ernest, after trying two or three trades, +found work on one of the Rhine steamers plying between Mainz and Cologne, +and he used to come back only when he wanted money. Christophe was left +alone with his mother in the house, which was too large for them; and the +meagerness of their resources, and the payment of certain debts which had +been discovered after his father's death, forced them, whatever pain it +might cost, to seek another more lowly and less expensive dwelling. + +They found a little flat,--two or three rooms on the second floor of a +house in the Market Street. It was a noisy district in the middle of the +town, far from the river, far from the trees, far from the country and all +the familiar places. But they had to consult reason, not sentiment, and +Christophe found in it a fine opportunity for gratifying his bitter creed +of self-mortification. Besides, the owner of the house, old registrar +Euler, was a friend of his grandfather, and knew the family: that was +enough for Louisa, who was lost in her empty house, and was irresistibly +drawn towards those who had known the creatures whom she had loved. + +They got ready to leave. They took long draughts of the bitter melancholy +of the last days passed by the sad, beloved fireside that was to be left +forever. They dared hardly tell their sorrow: they were ashamed of it, or +afraid. Each thought that they ought not to show their weakness to the +other. At table, sitting alone in a dark room with half-closed shutters, +they dared not raise their voices: they ate hurriedly and did not look at +each other for fear of not being able to conceal their trouble. They parted +as soon as they had finished. Christophe went back to his work; but as soon +as he was free for a moment, he would come back, go stealthily home, and +creep on tiptoe to his room or to the attic. Then he would shut the door, +sit down in a corner on an old trunk or on the window-ledge, or stay there +without thinking, letting the indefinable buzzing and humming of the old +house, which trembled with the lightest tread, thrill through him. His +heart would tremble with it. He would listen anxiously for the faintest +breath in or out of doors, for the creaking of floors, for all the +imperceptible familiar noises: he knew them all. He would lose +consciousness, his thoughts would be filled with the images of the past, +and he would issue from his stupor only at the sound of St. Martin's clock, +reminding him that it was time to go. + +In the room below him he could hear Louisa's footsteps passing softly to +and fro, then for hours she could not be heard; she made no noise. +Christophe would listen intently. He would go down, a little uneasy, as one +is for a long time after a great misfortune. He would push the door ajar; +Louisa would turn her back on him; she would be sitting in front of a +cupboard in the midst of a heap of things--rags, old belongings, odd +garments, treasures, which she had brought out intending to sort them. But +she had no strength for it; everything reminded her of something; she would +turn and turn it in her hands and begin to dream; it would drop from her +hands; she would stay for hours together with her arms hanging down, lying +back exhausted in a chair, given up to a stupor of sorrow. + +Poor Louisa was now spending most of her life in the past--that sad past, +which had been very niggardly of joy for her; but she was so used to +suffering that she was still grateful for the least tenderness shown to +her, and the pale lights which had shone here and there in the drab days of +her life, were still enough to make them bright. All the evil that Melchior +had done her was forgotten; she remembered only the good. Her marriage had +been the great romance of her life. If Melchior had been drawn into it by a +caprice, of which he had quickly repented, she had given herself with her +whole heart; she thought that she was loved as much as she had loved; and +to Melchior she was ever most tenderly grateful. She did not try to +understand what he had become in the sequel. Incapable of seeing reality as +it is, she only knew how to bear it as it is, humbly and honestly, as a +woman who has no need of understanding life in order to be able to live. +What she could not explain, she left to God for explanation. In her +singular piety, she put upon God the responsibility for all the injustice +that she had suffered at the hands of Melchior and the others, and only +visited them with the good that they had given her. And so her life of +misery had left her with no bitter memory. She only felt worn out--weak as +she was--by those years of privation and fatigue. And now that Melchior was +no longer there, now that two of her sons were gone from their home, and +the third seemed to be able to do without her, she had lost all heart for +action; she was tired, sleepy; her will was stupefied. She was going +through one of those crises of neurasthenia which often come upon active +and industrious people in the decline of life, when some unforeseen event +deprives them of every reason for living. She had not the heart even to +finish the stocking she was knitting, to tidy the drawer in which she was +looking, to get up to shut the window; she would sit there, without a +thought, without strength--save for recollection. She was conscious of her +collapse, and was ashamed of it or blushed for it; she tried to hide it +from her son; and Christophe, wrapped up in the egoism of his own grief, +never noticed it. No doubt he was often secretly impatient with his +mother's slowness in speaking, and acting, and doing the smallest thing; +but different though her ways were from her usual activity, he never gave a +thought to the matter until then. + +Suddenly on that day it came home to him for the first time when he +surprised her in the midst of her rags, turned out on the floor, heaped up +at her feet, in her arms, and in her lap. Her neck was drawn out, her head +was bowed, her face was stiff and rigid. When she heard him come in she +started; her white cheeks were suffused with red; with an instinctive +movement she tried to hide the things she was holding, and muttered with an +awkward smile: + +"You see, I was sorting...." + +The sight of the poor soul stranded among the relics of the past cut to his +heart, and he was filled with pity. But he spoke with a bitter asperity and +seemed to scold, to drag her from her apathy: + +"Come, come, mother; you must not stay there, in the middle of all that +dust, with the room all shut up! It is not good for you. You must pull +yourself together, and have done with all this." + +"Yes," said she meekly. + +She tried to get up to put the things back in the drawer. But she sat down +again at once and listlessly let them fall from her hands. + +"Oh! I can't ... I can't," she moaned. "I shall never finish!" + +He was frightened. He leaned over her. He caressed her forehead with his +hands. + +"Come, mother, what is it?" he said. "Shall I help you? Are you ill?" + +She did not answer. She gave a sort of stifled sob. He took her hands, and +knelt down by her side, the better to see her in the dusky room. + +"Mother!" he said anxiously. + +Louisa laid her head on his shoulder and burst into tears. + +"My boy, my boy," she cried, holding close to him. "My boy!... You will not +leave me? Promise me that you will not leave me?" + +His heart was torn with pity. + +"No, mother, no. I will not leave you. What made you think of such a +thing?" + +"I am so unhappy! They have all left me, all...." + +She pointed to the things all about her, and he did not know whether she +was speaking of them or of her sons and the dead. + +"You will stay with me? You will not leave me?... What should I do, if you +went too?" + +"I will not go, I tell you; we will stay together. Don't cry. I promise." + +She went on weeping. She could not stop herself. He dried her eyes with his +handkerchief. + +"What is it, mother dear? Are you in pain?" + +"I don't know; I don't know what it is." She tried to calm herself and to +smile. + +"I do try to be sensible. I do. But just nothing at all makes me cry.... +You see, I'm doing it again.... Forgive me. I am so stupid. I am old. I +have no strength left. I have no taste for anything any more. I am no good +for anything. I wish I were buried with all the rest...." + +He held her to him, close, like a child. + +"Don't worry, mother; be calm; don't think about it...." + +Gradually she grew quiet. + +"It is foolish. I am ashamed.... But what is it? What is it?" + +She who had always worked so hard could not understand why her strength had +suddenly snapped, and she was humiliated to the very depths of her being. +He pretended not to see it. + +"A little weariness, mother," he said, trying to speak carelessly. "It is +nothing; you will see; it is nothing." + +But he too was anxious. From his childhood he had been accustomed to see +her brave, resigned, in silence withstanding every test. And he was +astonished to see her suddenly broken: he was afraid. + +He helped her to sort the things scattered on the floor. Every now and then +she would linger over something, but he would gently take it from her +hands, and she suffered him. + +From that time on he took pains to be more with her. As soon as he had +finished his work, instead of shutting himself up in his room, as he loved +to do, he would return to her. He felt her loneliness and that she was not +strong enough to be left alone: there was danger in leaving her alone. + +He would sit by her side in the evening near the open window looking on to +the road. The view would slowly disappear. The people were returning home. +Little lights appeared in the houses far off. They had seen it all a +thousand times. But soon they would see it no more. They would talk +disjointedly. They would point out to each other the smallest of the +familiar incidents and expectations of the evening, always with fresh +interest. They would have long intimate silences, or Louisa, for no +apparent reason, would tell some reminiscence, some disconnected story that +passed through her mind. Her tongue was loosed a little now that she felt +that she was with one who loved her. She tried hard to talk. It was +difficult for her, for she had grown used to living apart from her family; +she looked upon her sons and her husband as too clever to talk to her, and +she had never dared to join in their conversation. Christophe's tender care +was a new thing to her and infinitely sweet, though it made her afraid. She +deliberated over her words; she found it difficult to express herself; her +sentences were left unfinished and obscure. Sometimes she was ashamed of +what she was saying; she would look at her son, and stop in the middle of +her narrative. But he would press her hand, and she would be reassured. He +was filled with love and pity for the childish, motherly creature, to whom +he had turned when he was a child, and now she turned to him for support. +And he took a melancholy pleasure in her prattle, that had no interest for +anybody but himself, in her trivial memories of a life that had always been +joyless and mediocre, though it seemed to Louisa to be of infinite worth. +Sometimes he would try to interrupt her; he was afraid that her memories +would make her sadder than ever, and he would urge her to sleep. She would +understand what he was at, and would say with gratitude in her eyes: + +"No. I assure you, it does one good; let us stay a little longer." + +They would stay until the night was far gone and the neighbors were abed. +Then they would say good-night, she a little comforted by being rid of some +of her trouble, he with a heavy heart under this new burden added to that +which already he had to bear. + +The day came for their departure. On the night before they stayed longer +than usual in the unlighted room. They did not speak. Every now and then +Louisa moaned: "Fear God! Fear God!" Christophe tried to keep her attention +fixed on the thousand details of the morrow's removal. She would not go to +bed until he gently compelled her. But he went up to his room and did not +go to bed for a long time. When leaning out of the window he tried to gaze +through the darkness to see for the last time the moving shadows of the +river beneath the house. He heard the wind in the tall trees in Minna's +garden. The sky was black. There was no one in the street. A cold rain was +just falling. The weathercocks creaked. In a house near by a child was +crying. The night weighed with an overwhelming heaviness upon the earth and +upon his soul. The dull chiming of the hours, the cracked note of the +halves and quarters, dropped one after another into the grim silence, +broken only by the sound of the rain on the roofs and the cobbles. + +When Christophe at last made up his mind to go to bed, chilled in body and +soul, he heard the window below him shut. And, as he lay, he thought sadly +that it is cruel for the poor to dwell on the past, for they have no right +to have a past, like the rich: they have no home, no corner of the earth +wherein to house their memories: their joys, their sorrows, all their days, +are scattered in the wind. + +Next day in beating rain they moved their scanty furniture to their new +dwelling. Fischer, the old furniture dealer, lent them a cart and a pony; +he came and helped them himself. But they could not take everything, for +the rooms to which they were going were much smaller than the old. +Christophe had to make his mother leave the oldest and most useless of +their belongings. It was not altogether easy; the least thing had its worth +for her: a shaky table, a broken chair, she wished to leave nothing behind. +Fischer, fortified by the authority of his old friendship with Jean Michel, +had to join Christophe in complaining, and, good-fellow that he was and +understanding her grief, had even to promise to keep some of her precious +rubbish for her against the day when she should want it again. Then she +agreed to tear herself away. + +The two brothers had been told of the removal, but Ernest came on the night +before to say that he could not be there, and Rodolphe appeared for a +moment about noon; he watched them load the furniture, gave some advice, +and went away again looking mightily busy. + +The procession set out through the muddy streets. Christophe led the horse, +which slipped on the greasy cobbles. Louisa walked by her son's side, and +tried to shelter him from the rain. And so they had a melancholy homecoming +in the damp rooms, that were made darker than ever by the dull light coming +from the lowering sky. They could not have fought against the depression +that was upon them had it not been for the attentions of their landlord and +his family. But, when the cart had driven away, as night fell, leaving the +furniture heaped up in the room; and Christophe and Louisa were sitting, +worn out, one on a box, the other on a sack; they heard a little dry cough +on the staircase; there was a knock at the door. Old Euler came in. He +begged pardon elaborately for disturbing his guests, and said that by way +of celebrating their first evening he hoped that they would be kind enough +to sup with himself and his family. Louisa, stunned by her sorrow, wished +to refuse. Christophe was not much more tempted than she by this friendly +gathering, but the old man insisted and Christophe, thinking that it would +be better for his mother not to spend their first evening in their new home +alone with her thoughts, made her accept. + +They went down to the floor below, where they found the whole family +collected: the old man, his daughter, his son-in-law, Vogel, and his +grandchildren, a boy and a girl, both a little younger than Christophe. +They clustered around their guests, bade them welcome, asked if they were +tired, if they were pleased with their rooms, if they needed anything; +putting so many questions that Christophe in bewilderment could make +nothing of them, for everybody spoke at once. The soup was placed on the +table; they sat down. But the noise went on. Amalia, Euler's daughter, had +set herself at once to acquaint Louisa with local details: with the +topography of the district, the habits and advantages of the house, the +time when the milkman called, the time when she got up, the various +tradespeople and the prices that she paid. She did not stop until she had +explained everything. Louisa, half-asleep, tried hard to take an interest +in the information, but the remarks which she ventured showed that she had +understood not a word, and provoked Amalia to indignant exclamations and +repetition of every detail. Old Euler, a clerk, tried to explain to +Christophe the difficulties of a musical career. Christophe's other +neighbor, Rosa, Amalia's daughter, never stopped talking from the moment +when they sat down,--so volubly that she had no time to breathe; she lost +her breath in the middle of a sentence, but at once she was off again. +Vogel was gloomy and complained of the food, and there were embittered +arguments on the subject. Amalia, Euler, the girl, left off talking to take +part in the discussion; and there were endless controversies as to whether +there was too much salt in the stew or not enough; they called each other +to witness, and, naturally, no two opinions were the same. Each despised +his neighbor's taste, and thought only his own healthy and reasonable. They +might have gone on arguing until the Last Judgment. + +But, in the end, they all joined in crying out upon the bad weather. They +all commiserated Louisa and Christophe upon their troubles, and in terms +which moved him greatly they praised him for his courageous conduct. They +took great pleasure in recalling not only the misfortunes of their guests, +but also their own, and those of their friends and all their acquaintance, +and they all agreed that the good are always unhappy, and that there is joy +only for the selfish and dishonest. They decided that life is sad, that it +is quite useless, and that they were all better dead, were it not the +indubitable will of God that they should go on living so as to suffer. All +these ideas came very near to Christophe's actual pessimism, he thought the +better of his landlord, and closed his eyes to their little oddities. + +When he went upstairs again with his mother to the disordered rooms, they +were weary and sad, but they felt a little less lonely; and while +Christophe lay awake through the night, for he could not sleep because of +his weariness and the noise of the neighborhood, and listened to the heavy +carts shaking the walls, and the breathing of the family sleeping below, he +tried to persuade himself that he would be, if not happy, at least less +unhappy here, with these good people--a little tiresome, if the truth be +told--who suffered from like misfortunes, who seemed to understand him, and +whom, he thought, he understood. + +But when at last he did fall asleep, he was roused unpleasantly at dawn by +the voices of his neighbors arguing, and the creaking of a pump worked +furiously by some one who was in a hurry to swill the yard and the stairs. + + * * * * * + +Justus Euler was a little bent old man, with uneasy, gloomy eyes, a red +face, all lines and pimples, gap-toothed, with an unkempt beard, with which +he was forever fidgeting with his hands. Very honest, quite able, +profoundly moral, he had been on quite good terms with Christophe's +grandfather. He was said to be like him. And, in truth, he was of the same +generation and brought up with the same principles; but he lacked Jean +Michel's strong physique, that is, while he was of the same opinion on many +points, fundamentally he was hardly at all like him, for it is temperament +far more than ideas that makes a man, and whatever the divisions, +fictitious or real, marked between men by intellect, the great divisions +between men and men are into those who are healthy and those who are not. +Old Euler was not a healthy man. He talked morality, like Jean Michel, but +his morals were not the same as Jean Michel's; he had not his sound +stomach, his lungs, or his jovial strength. Everything in Euler and his +family was built on a more parsimonious and niggardly plan. He had been an +official for forty years, was now retired, and suffered from that +melancholy that comes from inactivity and weighs so heavily upon old men, +who have not made provision in their inner life for their last years. All +his habits, natural and acquired, all the habits of his trade had given him +a meticulous and peevish quality, which was reproduced to a certain extent +in each of his children. + +His son-in-law, Vogel, a clerk at the Chancery Court, was fifty years old. +Tall, strong, almost bald, with gold spectacles, fairly good-looking, he +considered himself ill, and no doubt was so, although obviously he did not +have the diseases which he thought he had, but only a mind soured by the +stupidity of his calling and a body ruined to a certain extent by his +sedentary life. Very industrious, not without merit, even cultured up to a +point; he was a victim of our ridiculous modern life, or like so many +clerks, locked up in their offices, he had succumbed to the demon of +hypochondria. One of those unfortunates whom Goethe called "_ein trauriger, +ungriechischer Hypochondrist_"--"a gloomy and un-Greek hypochondriac,"--and +pitied, though he took good care to avoid them. + +Amalia was neither the one nor the other. Strong, loud, and active, she +wasted no sympathy on her husband's jeremiads; she used to shake him +roughly. But no human strength can bear up against living together, and +when in a household one or other is neurasthenic, the chances are that in +time they will both be so. In vain did Amalia cry out upon Vogel, in vain +did she go on protesting either from habit or because it was necessary; +next moment she herself was lamenting her condition more loudly even than +he, and, passing imperceptibly from scolding to lamentation, she did him no +good; she increased his ills tenfold by loudly singing chorus to his +follies. In the end not only did she crush the unhappy Vogel, terrified by +the proportions assumed by his own outcries sent sounding back by this +echo, but she crushed everybody, even herself. In her turn she caught the +trick of unwarrantably bemoaning her health, and her father's, and her +daughter's, and her son's. It became a mania; by constant repetition she +came to believe what she said. She took the least chill tragically; she was +uneasy and worried about everybody. More than that, when they were well, +she still worried, because of the sickness that was bound to come. So life +was passed in perpetual fear. Outside that they were all in fairly good +health, and it seemed as though their state of continual moaning and +groaning did serve to keep them well. They all ate and slept and worked as +usual, and the life of this household was not relaxed for it all. Amalia's +activity was not satisfied with working from morning to night up and down +the house; they all had to toil with her, and there was forever a moving of +furniture, a washing of floors, a polishing of wood, a sound of voices, +footsteps, quivering, movement. + +The two children, crushed by such loud authority, leaving nobody alone, +seemed to find it natural enough to submit to it. The boy, Leonard, was +good looking, though insignificant of feature, and stiff in manner. The +girl, Rosa, fair-haired, with pretty blue eyes, gentle and affectionate, +would have been pleasing especially with the freshness of her delicate +complexion, and her kind manner, had her nose not been quite so large or so +awkwardly placed; it made her face heavy and gave her a foolish expression. +She was like a girl of Holbein, in the gallery at Basle--the daughter of +burgomaster Meier--sitting, with eyes cast down, her hands on her knees, +her fair hair falling down to her shoulders, looking embarrassed and +ashamed of her uncomely nose. But so far Rosa had not been troubled by it, +and it never had broken in upon her inexhaustible chatter. Always her +shrill voice was heard in the house telling stories, always breathless, as +though she had no time to say everything, always excited and animated, in +spite of the protests which she drew from her mother, her father, and even +her grandfather, exasperated, not so much because she was forever talking +as because she prevented them talking themselves. For these good people, +kind, loyal, devoted--the very cream of good people--had almost all the +virtues, but they lacked one virtue which is capital, and is the charm of +life: the virtue of silence. + +Christophe was in tolerant mood. His sorrow had softened his intolerant and +emphatic temper. His experience of the cruel indifference of the elegant +made him more conscious of the worth of these honest folk, graceless and +devilish tiresome, who had yet an austere conception of life, and because +they lived joylessly, seemed to him to live without weakness. Having +decided that they were excellent, and that he ought to like them, like the +German that he was, he tried to persuade himself that he did in fact like +them. But he did not succeed; he lacked that easy Germanic idealism, which +does not wish to see, and does not see, what would be displeasing to its +sight, for fear of disturbing the very proper tranquillity of its judgment +and the pleasantness of its existence. On the contrary, he never was so +conscious of the defects of these people as when he loved them, when he +wanted to love them absolutely without reservation; it was a sort of +unconscious loyalty, and an inexorable demand for truth, which, in spite of +himself, made him more clear-sighted, and more exacting, with what was +dearest to him. And it was not long before he began to be irritated by the +oddities of the family. They made no attempt to conceal them. Contrary to +the usual habit they displayed every intolerable quality they possessed, +and all the good in them was hidden. So Christophe told himself, for he +judged himself to have been unjust, and tried to surmount his first +impressions, and to discover in them the excellent qualities which they so +carefully concealed. + +He tried to converse with old Justus Euler, who asked nothing better. He +had a secret sympathy with him, remembering that his grandfather had liked +to praise him. But good old Jean Michel had more of the pleasant faculty of +deceiving himself about his friends than Christophe, and Christophe soon +saw that. In vain did he try to accept Euler's memories of his grandfather. +He could only get from him a discolored caricature of Jean Michel, and +scraps of talk that were utterly uninteresting. Euler's stories used +invariably to begin with: "As I used to say to your poor grandfather..." He +could remember nothing else. He had heard only what he had said himself. + +Perhaps Jean Michel used only to listen in the same way. Most friendships +are little more than arrangements for mutual satisfaction, so that each +party may talk about himself to the other. But at least Jean Michel, +however naïvely he used to give himself up to the delight of talking, had +sympathy which he was always ready to lavish on all sides. He was +interested in everything; he always regretted that he was no longer +fifteen, so as to be able to see the marvelous inventions of the new +generations, and to share their thoughts. He had the quality, perhaps the +most precious in life, a curiosity always fresh, sever changing with the +years, born anew every morning. He had not the talent to turn this gift to +account; but how many men of talent might envy him! Most men die at twenty +or thirty; thereafter they are only reflections of themselves: for the rest +of their lives they are aping themselves, repeating from day to day more +and more mechanically and affectedly what they said and did and thought and +loved when they were alive. + +It was so long since old Euler had been alive, and he had been such a small +thing then, that what was left of him now was very poor and rather +ridiculous. Outside his former trade and his family life he knew nothing, +and wished to know nothing. On every subject he had ideas ready-made, +dating from his youth. He pretended to some knowledge of the arts, but he +clung to certain hallowed names of men, about whom he was forever +reiterating his emphatic formulæ: everything else was naught and had never +been. When modern interests were mentioned he would not listen, and talked +of something else. He declared that he loved music passionately, and he +would ask Christophe to play. But as soon as Christophe, who had been +caught once or twice, began to play, the old fellow would begin to talk +loudly to his daughter, as though the music only increased his interest in +everything but music. Christophe would get up exasperated in the middle of +his piece, so one would notice it. There were only a few old airs--three or +four--some very beautiful, others very ugly, but all equally sacred, which +were privileged to gain comparative silence and absolute approval. With the +very first notes the old man would go into ecstasies, tears would come to +his eyes, not so much for the pleasure he was enjoying as for the pleasure +which once he had enjoyed. In the end Christophe had a horror of these +airs, though some of them, like the _Adelaïde_ of Beethoven, were very dear +to him; the old man was always humming the first bars of them, and never +failed to declare, "There, that is music," contemptuously comparing it with +"all the blessed modern music, in which there is no melody." Truth to tell, +he knew nothing whatever about it. + +His son-in-law was better educated and kept in touch with artistic +movements; but that was even worse, for in his judgment there was always a +disparaging tinge. He was lacking neither in taste nor intelligence; but he +could not bring himself to admire anything modern. He would have disparaged +Mozart and Beethoven, if they had been contemporary, just as he would have +acknowledged the merits of Wagner and Richard Strauss had they been dead +for a century. His discontented temper refused to allow that there might be +great men living during his own lifetime; the idea was distasteful to him. +He was so embittered by his wasted life that he insisted on pretending that +every life was wasted, that it could not be otherwise, and that those who +thought the opposite, or pretended to think so, were one of two things: +fools or humbugs. + +And so he never spoke of any new celebrity except in a tone of bitter +irony, and as he was not stupid he never failed to discover at the first +glance the weak or ridiculous sides of them. Any new name roused him to +distrust; before he knew anything about the man he was inclined to +criticise him--because he knew nothing about him. If he was sympathetic +towards Christophe it was because he thought that the misanthropic boy +found life as evil as he did himself, and that he was not a genius. Nothing +so unites the small of soul in their suffering and discontent as the +statement of their common impotence. Nothing so much restores the desire +for health or life to those who are healthy and made for the joy of life as +contact with the stupid pessimism of the mediocre and the sick, who, +because they are not happy, deny the happiness of others. Christophe felt +this. And yet these gloomy thoughts were familiar to him; but he was +surprised to find them on Vogel's lips, where they were unrecognizable; +more than that, they were repugnant to him; they offended him. + +He was even more in revolt against Amalia's ways. The good creature did no +more than practise Christophe's theories of duty. The word was upon her +lips at every turn. She worked unceasingly, and wanted everybody to work as +she did. Her work was never directed towards making herself and others +happier; on the contrary. It almost seemed as though it Was mainly intended +to incommode everybody and to make life as disagreeable as possible so as +to sanctify it. Nothing would induce her for a moment to relinquish her +holy duties in the household, that sacro-sanct institution which in so many +women takes the place of all other duties, social and moral. She would have +thought herself lost had she not on the same day, at the same time, +polished the wooden floors, washed the tiles, cleaned the door-handles, +beaten the carpets, moved the chairs, the cupboards, the tables. She was +ostentatious about it. It was as though it was a point of honor with her. +And after all, is it not in much the same spirit that many women conceive +and defend their honor? It is a sort of piece of furniture which they have +to keep polished, a well waxed floor, cold, hard--and slippery. + +The accomplishment of her task did not make Frau Vogel more amicable. She +sacrificed herself to the trivialities of the household, as to a duty +imposed by God. And she despised those who did not do as she did, those who +rested, and were able to enjoy life a little in the intervals of work. She +would go and rouse Louisa in her room when from time to time she sat down +in the middle of her work to dream. Louisa would sigh, but she submitted to +it with a half-shamed smile. Fortunately, Christophe knew nothing about it; +Amalia used to wait until he had gone out before she made these irruptions +into their rooms, and so far she had not directly attacked him; he would +not have put up with it. When he was with her he was conscious of a latent +hostility within himself. What he could least forgive her was the noise she +made. He was maddened by it. When he was locked in his room--a little low +room looking out on the yard--with the window hermetically sealed, in spite +of the want of air, so as not to hear the clatter in the house, he could +not escape from it. Involuntarily he was forced to listen attentively for +the least sound coming up from below, and when the terrible voice which +penetrated all the walls broke out again after a moment of silence he was +filled with rage; he would shout, stamp with his foot, and roar insults at +her through the wall. In the general uproars no one ever noticed it; they +thought he was composing. He would consign Frau Vogel to the depths of +hell. He had no respect for her, nor esteem to check him. At such times it +seemed to him that he would have preferred the loosest and most stupid of +women, if only she did not talk, to cleverness, honesty, all the virtues, +when they make too much noise. + +His hatred of noise brought him in touch with Leonard. In the midst of the +general excitement the boy was the only one to keep calm, and never to +raise his voice more at one moment than another. He always expressed +himself correctly and deliberately, choosing his words, and never hurrying. +Amalia, simmering, never had patience to wait until he had finished; the +whole family cried out upon his slowness. He did not worry about it. +Nothing could upset his calm, respectful deference. Christophe was the more +attracted to him when he learned that Leonard intended to devote his life +to the Church, and his curiosity was roused. + +With regard to religion, Christophe was in a queer position; he did not +know himself how he stood towards it. He had never had time to think +seriously about it. He was not well enough educated, and he was too much +absorbed by the difficulties of existence to be able to analyze himself and +to set his ideas in order. His violence led him from one extreme to the +other, from absolute facts to complete negation, without troubling to find +out whether in either case he agreed with himself. When he was happy he +hardly thought of God at all, but he was quite ready to believe in Him. +When he was unhappy he thought of Him, but did not believe; it seemed to +him impossible that a God could authorize unhappiness and, injustice. But +these difficulties did not greatly exercise him. He was too fundamentally +religious to think much about God. He lived in God; he had no need to +believe in Him. That is well enough for the weak and worn, for those whose +lives are anæmic. They aspire to God, as a plant does to the sun. The dying +cling to life. But he who bears in his soul the sun and life, what need has +he to seek them outside himself? + +Christophe would probably never have bothered about these questions had he +lived alone. But the obligations of social life forced him to bring his +thoughts to bear on these puerile and useless problems, which occupy a +place out of all proportion in the world; it is impossible not to take them +into account since at every step they are in the way. As if a healthy, +generous creature, overflowing with strength and love, had not a thousand +more worthy things to do than to worry as to whether God exists or no!... +If it were only a question of believing in God! But it is needful to +believe in _a_ God, of whatever shape or size and color and race. So far +Christophe never gave a thought to the matter. Jesus hardly occupied his +thoughts at all. It was not that he did not love him: he loved him when +he thought of him: but he never thought of him. Sometimes he reproached +himself for it, was angry with himself, could not understand why he did not +take more interest in him. And yet he professed, all his family professed; +his grandfather was forever reading the Bible; he went regularly to Mass; +he served it in a sort of way, for he was an organist; and he set about +his task conscientiously and in an exemplary manner. But when he left the +church he would have been hard put to it to say what he had been thinking +about. He set himself to read the Holy Books in order to fix his ideas, +and he found amusement and even pleasure in them, just as in any beautiful +strange books, not essentially different from other books, which no +one ever thinks of calling sacred. In truth, if Jesus appealed to him, +Beethoven did no less. And at his organ in Saint Florian's Church, where +he accompanied on Sundays, he was more taken up with his organ than with +Mass, and he was more religious when he played Bach than when he played +Mendelssohn, Some of the ritual brought him to a fervor of exaltation. But +did he then love God, or was it only the music, as an impudent priest said +to him one day in jest, without thinking of the unhappiness which his quip +might cause in him? Anybody else would not have paid any attention to it, +and would not have changed his mode of living--(so many people put up with +not knowing what they think!) But Christophe was cursed with an awkward +need for sincerity, which filled him with scruples at every turn. And when +scruples came to him they possessed him forever. He tortured himself; he +thought that he had acted with duplicity. Did he believe or did he not?... +He had no means, material or intellectual--(knowledge and leisure are +necessary)--of solving the problem by himself. And yet it had to be solved, +or he was either indifferent or a hypocrite. Now, he was incapable of being +either one or the other. + +He tried timidly to sound those about him. They all seemed to be sure +of themselves. Christophe burned to know their reasons. He could not +discover them. Hardly did he receive a definite answer; they always talked +obliquely. Some thought him arrogant, and said that there is no arguing +these things, that thousands of men cleverer and better than himself had +believed without argument, and that he needed only to do as they had done. +There were some who were a little hurt, as though it were a personal +affront to ask them such a question, and yet they were of all perhaps the +least certain of their facts. Others shrugged their shoulders and said with +a smile: "Bah! it can't do any harm." And their smile said: "And it is so +useful!..." Christophe despised them with all his heart. + +He had tried to lay his uncertainties before a priest, but he was +discouraged by the experiment. He could not discuss the matter seriously +with him. Though his interlocution was quite pleasant, he made Christophe +feel, quite politely, that there was no real equality between them; he +seemed to assume in advance that his superiority was beyond dispute, and +that the discussion could not exceed the limits which he laid down for +it, without a kind of impropriety; it was just a fencing bout, and was +quite inoffensive. When Christophe wished to exceed the limits and to ask +questions which the worthy man was pleased not to answer, he stepped back +with a patronizing smile, and a few Latin quotations, and a fatherly +objurgation to pray, pray that God would enlighten him. Christophe +issued from the interview humiliated and wounded by his love of polite +superiority. Wrong or right, he would never again for anything in the world +have recourse to a priest. He admitted that these men were his superiors in +intelligence or by reason of their sacred calling; but in argument there is +neither superiority, nor inferiority, nor title, nor age, nor name; nothing +is of worth but truth, before which all men are equal. + +So he was glad to find a boy of his own age who believed. He asked no +more than belief, and he hoped that Leonard would give him good reason +for believing. He made advances to him. Leonard replied with his usual +gentleness, but without eagerness; he was never eager about anything. As +they could not carry on a long conversation in the house without being +interrupted every moment by Amalia or the old man, Christophe proposed that +they should go for a walk one evening after dinner. Leonard was too polite +to refuse, although he would gladly have got out of it, for his indolent +nature disliked walking, talking, and anything that cost him an effort. + +Christophe had some difficulty in opening up the conversation. After two or +three awkward sentences about trivialities he plunged with a brusqueness +that was almost brutal. He asked Leonard if he were really going to be a +priest, and if he liked the idea. Leonard was nonplussed, and looked at him +uneasily, but when he saw that Christophe was not hostilely disposed he was +reassured. + +"Yes," he replied. "How could it be otherwise?" + +"Ah!" said Christophe. "You are very happy." Leonard was conscious of a +shade of envy in Christophe's voice and was agreeably flattered by it. He +altered his manner, became expansive, his face brightened. + +"Yes," he said, "I am happy." He beamed. + +"What do you do to be so?" asked Christophe. + +Before replying Leonard proposed that they should sit down, on a quiet seat +in the cloisters of St. Martin's. From there they could see a corner of the +little square, planted with acacias, and beyond it the town, the country, +bathed in the evening mists. The Rhine flowed at the foot of the hill. An +old deserted cemetery, with graves lost under the rich grass, lay in +slumber beside them behind the closed gates. + +Leonard began to talk. He said, with his eyes shining with contentment, how +happy he was to escape from life, to have found a refuge, where a man is, +and forever will be, in shelter. Christophe, still sore from his wounds, +felt passionately the desire for rest and forgetfulness; but it was mingled +with regret. He asked with a sigh: + +"And yet, does it cost you nothing to renounce life altogether?" + +"Oh!" said Leonard quietly. "What is there to regret? Isn't life sad and +ugly?" + +"There are lovely things too," said Christophe, looking at the beautiful +evening. + +"There are some beautiful things, but very few." + +"The few that there are are yet many to me." + +"Oh, well! it is simply a matter of common sense. On the one hand a little +good and much evil; on the other neither good nor evil on earth, and after, +infinite happiness--how can one hesitate?" + +Christophe was not very pleased with this sort of arithmetic. So economic a +life seemed to him very poor. But he tried to persuade himself that it was +wisdom. + +"So," he asked a little ironically, "there is no risk of your being seduced +by an hour's pleasure?" + +"How foolish! When you know that it is only an hour, and that after it +there is all eternity!" + +"You are quite certain of eternity?" + +"Of course." + +Christophe questioned him. He was thrilled with hope and desire. Perhaps +Leonard would at last give him impregnable reasons for believing. With what +a passion he would himself renounce all the world to follow him to God. + +At first Leonard, proud of his rôle of apostle, and convinced that +Christophe's doubts were only a matter of form, and that they would of +course give way before his first arguments, relied upon the Holy Books, the +authority of the Gospel, the miracles, and traditions. But he began to grow +gloomy when, after Christophe had listened for a few minutes, he stopped +him and said that he was answering questions with questions, and that he +had not asked him to tell exactly what it was that he was doubting, but to +give some means of resolving his doubts. Leonard then had to realize that +Christophe was much more ill than he seemed, and that he would only allow +himself to be convinced by the light of reason. But he still thought that +Christophe was playing the free thinker--(it never occurred to him that +he might be so sincerely).--He was not discouraged, and, strong in his +recently acquired knowledge, he turned back to his school learning: +he unfolded higgledy, piggledy, with more authority than order, his +metaphysical proofs of the existence of God and the immortality of the +soul. Christophe, with his mind at stretch, and his brow knit in the +effort, labored in silence, and made him say it all over again; tried +hard to gather the meaning, and to take it to himself, and to follow the +reasoning. Then suddenly he burst out, vowed that Leonard was laughing at +him, that it was all tricks, jests of the fine talkers who forged words +and then amused themselves with pretending that these words were things. +Leonard was nettled, and guaranteed the good faith of his authors. +Christophe shrugged his shoulders, and said with an oath that they were +only humbugs, infernal writers; and he demanded fresh proof. + +Leonard perceived to his horror that Christophe was incurably attainted, +and took no more interest in him. He remembered that he had been told not +to waste his time in arguing with skeptics,--at least when they stubbornly +refuse to believe. There was the risk of being shaken himself, without +profiting the other. It was better to leave the unfortunate fellow to the +will of God, who, if He so designs, would see to it that the skeptic was +enlightened: or if not, who would dare to go against the will of God? +Leonard did not insist then on carrying on the discussion. He only said +gently that for the time being there was nothing to be done, that no +reasoning could show the way to a man who was determined not to see it, and +that Jean-Christophe must pray and appeal to Grace: nothing is possible +without that: he must desire grace and the will to believe. + +"The will," thought Christophe bitterly. "So then, God will exist because +I will Him to exist? So then, death will not exist, because it pleases me +to deny it!... Alas! How easy life is to those who have no need to see the +truth, to those who can see what they wish to see, and are forever forging +pleasant dreams in which softly to sleep!" In such a bed, Christophe knew +well that be would never sleep.... + +Leonard went on talking. He had fallen back on his favorite subject, the +sweets of the contemplative life, and once on this neutral ground, he was +inexhaustible. In his monotonous voice, that shook with the pleasure in +him, he told of the joys of the life in God, outside, above the world, +far from noise, of which he spoke in a sudden tone of hatred (he detested +it almost as much as Christophe), far from violence, far from frivolity, +far from the little miseries that one has to suffer every day, in the +warm, secure nest of faith, from which you can contemplate in peace the +wretchedness of a strange and distant world. And as Christophe listened, +he perceived the egoism of that faith. Leonard saw that. He hurriedly +explained: the contemplative life was not a lazy life. On the contrary, +a man is more active in prayer than in action. What would the world be +without prayer? You expiate the sins of others, you bear the burden of +their misdeeds, you offer up your talents, you intercede between the world +and God. + +Christophe listened in silence with increasing hostility. He was conscious +of the hypocrisy of such renunciation in Leonard. He was not unjust enough +to assume hypocrisy in all those who believe. He knew well that with a +few, such abdication of life comes from the impossibility of living, from +a bitter despair, an appeal to death,--that with still fewer, it is an +ecstasy of passion.... (How long does it last?).... But with the majority +of men is it not too often the cold reasoning of souls more busied with +their own ease and peace than with the happiness of others, or with truth? +And if sincere men are conscious of it, how much they must suffer by such +profanation of their ideal!... + +Leonard was quite happy, and now set forth the beauty and harmony of the +world, seen from the loftiness of the divine roost: below all was dark, +unjust, sorrowful; seen from on high, it all became clear, luminous, +ordered: the world was like the works of a clock, perfectly ordered.... + +Now Christophe only listened absently. He was asking himself: "Does he +believe, or does he believe that he believes?" And yet his own faith, his +own passionate desire for faith was not shaken. Not the mediocrity of soul, +and the poverty of argument of a fool like Leonard could touch that.... + +Night came down over the town. The seat on which they were sitting was in +darkness: the stars shone out, a white mist came up from the river, the +crickets chirped under the trees in the cemetery. The bells began to ring: +first the highest of them, alone, like a plaintive bird, challenging the +sky: then the second, a third lower, joined in its plaint: at last came +the, deepest, on the fifth, and seemed to answer them. The three voices +were merged in each other. At the bottom of the towers there was a buzzing, +as of a gigantic hive of bees. The air and the boy's heart quivered. +Christophe held his breath, and thought how poor was the music of musicians +compared with such an ocean of music, with all the sounds of thousands of +creatures: the former, the free world of sounds, compared with the world +tamed, catalogued, coldly labeled by human intelligence. He sank and sank +into that sonorous and immense world without continents or bounds.... + +And when the great murmuring had died away, when the air had ceased at last +to quiver, Christophe woke up. He looked about him startled.... He knew +nothing. Around him and in him everything was changed. There was no God.... + +As with faith, so the loss of faith is often equally a flood of grace, a +sudden light. Reason counts for nothing: the smallest thing is enough--a +word, silence, the sound of bells. A man walks, dreams, expects nothing. +Suddenly the world crumbles away. All about him is in ruins. He is alone. +He no longer believes. + +Christophe was terrified, and could not understand how it had come about. +It was like the flooding of a river in the spring.... + +Leonard's voice was still sounding, more monotonous than the voice of a +cricket. Christophe did not hear it: he heard nothing. Night was fully +come. Leonard stopped. Surprised to find Christophe motionless, uneasy +because of the lateness of the hour, he suggested that they should go home. +Christophe did not reply. Leonard took his arm. Christophe trembled, and +looked at Leonard with wild eyes. + +"Christophe, we must go home," said Leonard. + +"Go to hell!" cried Christophe furiously. + +"Oh! Christophe! What have I done?" asked Leonard tremulously. He was +dumfounded. + +Christophe came to himself. + +"Yes. You are right," he said more gently. "I do not know what I'm saying. +Go to God! Go to God!" + +He was alone. He was in bitter distress. + +"Ah! my God! my God!" he cried, wringing his hands, passionately raising +his face to the dark sky. "Why do I no longer believe? Why can I believe no +more? What has happened to me?..." + +The disproportion between the wreck of his faith and the conversation that +he had just had with Leonard was too great: it was obvious that the +conversation had no more brought it about than that the boisterousness of +Amalia's gabble and the pettiness of the people with whom he lived were not +the cause of the upheaval which for some days had been taking place in his +moral resolutions. These were only pretexts. The uneasiness had not come +from without. It was within himself. He felt stirring in his heart +monstrous and unknown things, and he dared not rely on his thoughts to face +the evil. The evil? Was it evil? A languor, an intoxication, a voluptuous +agony filled all his being. He was no longer master of himself. In vain he +sought to fortify himself with his former stoicism. His whole being crashed +down. He had a sudden consciousness of the vast world, burning, wild, a +world immeasurable.... How it swallows up God! + +Only for a moment. But the whole balance of his old life was in that moment +destroyed. + + * * * * * + +There was only one person in the family to whom Christophe paid no +attention: this was little Rosa. She was not beautiful: and Christophe, who +was far from beautiful himself, was very exacting of beauty in others. He +had that calm, cruelty of youth, for which a woman does not exist if she be +ugly,--unless she has passed the age for inspiring tenderness, and there is +then no need to feel for her anything but grave, peaceful, and +quasi-religious sentiments. Rosa also was not distinguished by any especial +gift, although she was not without intelligence: and she was cursed with a +chattering tongue which drove Christophe from her. And he had never taken +the trouble to know her, thinking that there was in her nothing to know; +and the most he ever did was to glance at her. + +But she was of better stuff than most girls: she was certainly better than +Minna, whom he had so loved. She was a good girl, no coquette, not at all +vain, and until Christophe came it had never occurred to her that she was +plain, or if it had, it had not worried her: for none of her family +bothered about it. Whenever her grandfather or her mother told her so out +of a desire to grumble, she only laughed: she did not believe it, or she +attached no importance to it; nor did they. So many others, just as plain, +and more, had found some one to love them! The Germans are very mildly +indulgent to physical imperfections: they cannot see them: they are even +able to embellish them, by virtue of an easy imagination which finds +unexpected qualities in the face of their desire to make them like the most +illustrious examples of human beauty. Old Euler would not have needed much +urging to make him declare that his granddaughter had the nose of the Juno +Ludovisi. Happily he was too grumpy to pay compliments: and Rosa, +unconcerned about the shape of her nose, had no vanity except in the +accomplishment, with all the ritual, of the famous household duties. She +had accepted as Gospel all that she had been taught. She hardly ever went +out, and she had very little standard of comparison; she admired her family +naïvely, and believed what they said. She was of an expansive and confiding +nature, easily satisfied, and tried to fall in with the mournfulness of her +home, and docilely used to repeat the pessimistic ideas which she heard. +She was a creature of devotion--always thinking of others, trying to +please, sharing anxieties, guessing at what others wanted; she had a great +need of loving without demanding anything in return. Naturally her family +took advantage of her, although they were kind and loved her: but there is +always a temptation to take advantage of the love of those who are +absolutely delivered into your hands. Her family were so sure of her +attentions that they were not at all grateful for them: whatever she did, +they expected more. And then, she was clumsy; she was awkward and hasty; +her movements were jerky and boyish; she had outbursts of tenderness which +used to end in disaster: a broken glass, a jug upset, a door slammed to: +things which let loose upon her the wrath of everybody in the house. She +was always being snubbed and would go and weep in a corner. Her tears did +not last long. She would soon smile again, and begin to chatter without a +suspicion of rancor against anybody. + +Christophe's advent was an important event in her life. She had often heard +of him. Christophe had some place in the gossip of the town: he was a sort +of little local celebrity: his name used often to recur in the family +conversation, especially when old Jean Michel was alive, who, proud of his +grandson, used to sing his praises to all of his acquaintance. Rosa had +seen the young musician once or twice at concerts. When she heard that he +was coming to live with them, she clapped her hands. She was sternly +rebuked for her breach of manners and became confused. She saw no harm in +it. In a life so monotonous as hers, a new lodger was a great distraction. +She spent the last few days before his arrival in a fever of expectancy. +She was fearful lest he should not like the house, and she tried hard to +make every room as attractive as possible. On the morning of his arrival, +she even put a little bunch of flowers on the mantelpiece to bid him +welcome. As to herself, she took no care at all to look her best; and one +glance was enough to make Christophe decide that she was plain, and +slovenly dressed. She did not think the same of him, though she had good +reason to do so: for Christophe, busy, exhausted, ill-kempt, was even more +ugly than usual. But Rosa, who was incapable of thinking the least ill of +anybody, Rosa, who thought her grandfather, her father, and her mother, all +perfectly beautiful, saw Christophe exactly as she had expected to see him, +and admired him with all her heart. She was frightened at sitting next to +him at table; and unfortunately her shyness took the shape of a flood of +words, which at once alienated Christophe's sympathies. She did not see +this, and that first evening remained a shining memory in her life. When +she was alone in her room, after, they had all gone upstairs, she heard the +tread of the new lodgers as they walked over her head; and the sound of it +ran joyously through her; the house seemed to her to taken new life. + +The next morning for the first time in her life she looked at herself in +the mirror carefully and: uneasily, and without exactly knowing the extent +of her misfortune she began to be conscious of it. She tried to decide +about her features, one by one; but she could not. She was filled with +sadness and apprehension. She sighed deeply, and thought of introducing +certain changes in her toilet, but she only made herself look still more +plain. She conceived the unlucky idea of overwhelming Christophe with her +kindness. In her naïve desire to be always seeing her new friends, and +doing them service, she was forever going up and down the stairs, bringing +them some utterly useless thing, insisting on helping them, and always +laughing and talking and shouting. Her zeal and her stream of talk could +only be interrupted by her mother's impatient voice calling her. Christophe +looked grim; but for his good resolutions he must have lost his temper +quite twenty times. He restrained himself for two days; on the third, he +locked his door. Rosa knocked, called, understood, went downstairs in +dismay, and did not try again. When he saw her he explained that he was +very busy and could not be disturbed. She humbly begged his pardon. She +could not deceive herself as to the failure of her innocent advances: they +had accomplished the opposite of her intention: they had alienated +Christophe. He no longer took the trouble to conceal his ill-humor; he did +not listen when she talked, and did not disguise his impatience. She felt +that her chatter irritated him, and by force of will she succeeded in +keeping silent for a part of the evening: but the thing was stronger than +herself: suddenly she would break out again and her words would tumble over +each other more tumultuously than ever. Christophe would leave her in the +middle of a sentence. She was not angry with him. She was angry with +herself. She thought herself stupid, tiresome, ridiculous: all her faults +assumed enormous proportions and she tried to wrestle with them: but she +was discouraged by the check upon her first attempts, and said to herself +that she could not do it, that she was not strong enough. But she would try +again. + +But there were other faults against which she was powerless: what could she +do against her plainness? There was no doubt about it. The certainty of her +misfortune had suddenly been revealed to her one day when she was looking +at herself in the mirror; it came like a thunderclap. Of course she +exaggerated the evil, and saw her nose as ten times larger than it was; it +seemed to her to fill all her face; she dared not show herself; she wished +to die. But there is in youth such a power of hope that these fits of +discouragement never lasted long: she would end by pretending that she had +been mistaken; she would try to believe it, and for a moment or two would +actually succeed in thinking her nose quite ordinary and almost shapely. +Her instinct made her attempt, though very clumsily, certain childish +tricks, a way of doing her hair so as not so much to show her forehead and +so accentuate the disproportion of her face. And yet, there was no coquetry +in her; no thought of love had crossed her mind, or she was unconscious of +it. She asked little: nothing but a little friendship: but Christophe did +not show any inclination to give her that little. It seemed to Rosa that +she would have been perfectly happy had he only condescended to say +good-day when they met. A friendly good-evening with a little kindness. But +Christophe usually looked so hard and so cold! It chilled her. He never +said anything disagreeable to her, but she would rather have had cruel +reproaches than such cruel silence. + +One evening Christophe was playing his piano. He had taken up his quarters +in a little attic at the top of the house so as not to be so much disturbed +by the noise. Downstairs Rosa was listening to him, deeply moved. She loved +music though her taste was bad and unformed. While her mother was there, +she stayed in a corner of the room and bent over her sewing, apparently +absorbed in her work; but her heart was with the sounds coming from +upstairs, and she wished to miss nothing. As soon as Amalia went out for a +walk in the neighborhood, Rosa leaped to her feet, threw down her sewing, +and went upstairs with her heart beating until she came to the attic door. +She held her breath and laid her ear against the door. She stayed like that +until Amalia returned. She went on tiptoe, taking care to make no noise, +but as she was not very sure-footed, and was always in a hurry, she was +always tripping upon the stairs; and once while she was listening, leaning +forward with her cheek glued to the keyhole, she lost her balance, and +banged her forehead against the door. She was so alarmed that she lost her +breath. The piano stopped dead: she could not escape. She was getting up +when the door opened. Christophe saw her, glared at her furiously, and then +without a word, brushed her aside, walked angrily downstairs, and went out. +He did not return until dinner time, paid no heed to the despairing looks +with which she asked his pardon, ignored her existence, and for several +weeks he never played at all. Rosa secretly shed many tears; no one noticed +it, no one paid any attention to her. Ardently she prayed to God ... for +what? She did not know. She had to confide her grief in some one. She was +sure that Christophe detested her. + +And, in spite of all, she hoped. It was enough for her if Christophe seemed +to show any sign of interest in her, if he appeared to listen to what she +said, if he pressed her hand with a little more friendliness than usual.... + +A few imprudent words from her relations set her imagination off upon a +false road. + + * * * * * + +The whole family was filled with sympathy for Christophe. The big boy of +sixteen, serious and solitary, who had such lofty ideas of his duty, +inspired a sort of respect in them all. His fits of ill-temper, his +obstinate silences, his gloomy air, his brusque manner, were not surprising +in such a house as that. Frau Vogel, herself, who regarded every artist as +a loafer, dared not reproach him aggressively, as she would have liked to +do, with the hours that he spent in star-gazing in the evening, leaning, +motionless, out of the attic window overlooking the yard, until night fell; +for she knew that during the rest of the day he was hard at work with his +lessons; and she humored him--like the rest--for an ulterior motive which +no one expressed though everybody knew it. + +Rosa had seen her parents exchanging looks and mysterious whisperings when +she was talking to Christophe. At first she took no notice of it. Then she +was puzzled and roused by it; she longed to know what they were saying, but +dared not ask. + +One evening when she had climbed on to a garden seat to untie the +clothes-line hung between two trees, she leaned on Christophe's shoulder to +jump down. Just at that moment her eyes met her grandfather's and her +father's; they were sitting smoking their pipes, and leaning against the +wall of the house. The two men winked at each other, and Justus Euler said +to Vogel: + +"They will make a fine couple." + +Vogel nudged him, seeing that the girl was listening, and he covered his +remark very cleverly--(or so he thought)--with a loud "Hm! hm!" that could +have been heard twenty yards away. Christophe, whose back was turned, saw +nothing, but Rosa was so bowled over by it that she forgot that she was +jumping down, and sprained her foot. She would have fallen had not +Christophe caught her, muttering curses on her clumsiness. She had hurt +herself badly, but she did not show it; she hardly thought of it; she +thought only of what she had just heard. She walked to her room; every step +was agony to her; she stiffened herself against it so as not to let it be +seen. A delicious, vague uneasiness surged through her. She fell into a +chair at the foot of her bed and hid her face in the coverlet. Her cheeks +were burning; there were tears in her eyes, and she laughed. She was +ashamed, she wished to sink into the depths of the earth, she could not fix +her ideas; her blood beat in her temples, there were sharp pains in her +ankle; she was in a feverish stupor. Vaguely she heard sounds outside, +children crying and playing in the street, and her grandfather's words were +ringing in her ears; she was thrilled, she laughed softly, she blushed, +with her face buried in the eiderdown: she prayed, gave thanks, desired, +feared--she loved. + +Her mother called her. She tried to get up. At the first step she felt a +pain so unbearable that she almost fainted; her head swam. She thought she +was going to die, she wished to die, and at the same time she wished to +live with all the forces of her being, to live for the promised happiness. +Her mother came at last, and the whole household was soon excited. She was +scolded as usual, her ankle was dressed, she was put to bed, and sank into +the sweet bewilderment of her physical pain and her inward joy. The night +was sweet.... The smallest memory of that dear evening was hallowed for +her. She did not think of Christophe, she knew not what she thought. She +was happy. + +The next day, Christophe, who thought himself in some measure responsible +for the accident, came to make inquiries, and for the first time he made +some show of affection for her. She was filled with gratitude, and blessed +her sprained ankle. She would gladly have suffered all her life, if, all +her life, she might have such joy.--She had to lie down for several days +and never move; she spent them in turning over and over her grandfather's +words, and considering them. Had he said: + +"They will...." + +Or: + +"They would ...?" + +But it was possible that he had never said anything of this kind?--Yes. He +had said it; she was certain of it.... What! Did they not see that she was +ugly, and that Christophe could not bear her?... But it was so good to +hope! She came to believe that perhaps she had been wrong, that she was not +as ugly as she thought; she would sit up on her sofa to try and see herself +in the mirror on the wall opposite, above the mantelpiece; she did not know +what to think. After all, her father and her grandfather were better judges +than herself; people cannot tell about themselves.... Oh! Heaven, if it +were possible!... If it could be ... if, she never dared think it, if ... +if she were pretty!... Perhaps, also, she had exaggerated Christophe's +antipathy. No doubt he was indifferent, and after the interest he had shown +in her the day after the accident did not bother about her any more; he +forgot to inquire; but Rosa made excuses for him, he was so busy! How +should he think of her? An artist cannot be judged like other men.... + +And yet, resigned though she was, she could not help expecting with beating +heart a word of sympathy from him when he came near her. A word only, a +look ... her imagination did the rest. In the beginning love needs so +little food! It is enough to see, to touch as you pass; such a power of +dreams flows from the soul in such moments, that almost of itself it can +create its love: a trifle can plunge it into ecstasy that later, when it is +more satisfied, and in proportion more exacting, it will hardly find again +when at last it does possess the object of its desire.--Rosa lived +absolutely, though no one knew it, in a romance of her own fashioning, +pieced together by herself: Christophe loved her secretly, and was too shy +to confess his love, or there was some stupid reason, fantastic or +romantic, delightful to the imagination of the sentimental little ninny. +She fashioned endless stories, and all perfectly absurd; she knew it +herself, but tried not to know it; she lied to herself voluptuously for +days and days as she bent over her sewing. It made her forget to talk: her +flood of words was turned inward, like a river which suddenly disappears +underground. But then the river took its revenge. What a debauch of +speeches, of unuttered conversations which no one heard but herself! +Sometimes her lips would move as they do with people who have to spell out +the syllables to themselves as they read so as to understand them. + +When her dreams left her she was happy and sad. She knew that things were +not as she had just told herself: but she was left with a reflected +happiness, and had greater confidence for her life. She did not despair of +winning Christophe. + +She did not admit it to herself, but she set about doing it. With the +sureness of instinct that great affection brings, the awkward, ignorant +girl contrived immediately to find the road by which she might reach her +beloved's heart. She did not turn directly to him. But as soon as she was +better and could once more walk about the house she approached Louisa. The +smallest excuse served. She found a thousand little services to render her. +When she went out she never failed to undertake various errands: she spared +her going to the market, arguments with tradespeople, she would fetch water +for her from the pump in the yard; she cleaned the windows and polished the +floors in spite of Louisa's protestations, who was confused when she did +not do her work alone; but she was so weary that she had not the strength +to oppose anybody who came to help her. Christophe was out all day. Louisa +felt that she was deserted, and the companionship of the affectionate, +chattering girl was pleasant to her. Rosa took up her quarters in her room. +She brought her sewing, and talked all the time. By clumsy devices she +tried to bring conversation round to Christophe. Just to hear of him, even +to hear his name, made her happy; her hands would tremble; she would sit +with downcast eyes. Louisa was delighted to talk of her beloved Christophe, +and would tell little tales of his childhood, trivial and just a little +ridiculous; but there was no fear of Rosa thinking them so: she took a +great joy, and there was a dear emotion for her in imagining Christophe as +a child, and doing all the tricks and having all the darling ways of +children: in her the motherly tenderness which lies in the hearts of all +women was mingled deliciously with that other tenderness: she would laugh +heartily and tears would come to her eyes. Louisa was touched by the +interest that Rosa took in her. She guessed dimly what was in the girl's +heart, but she never let it appear that she did so; but she was glad of it; +for of all in the house she only knew the worth of the girl's heart. +Sometimes she would stop talking to look at her. Rosa, surprised by her +silence, would raise her eyes from her work. Louisa would smile at her. +Rosa would throw herself into her arms, suddenly, passionately, and would +hide her face in Louisa's bosom. Then they would go on working and talking, +as if nothing had happened. + +In the evening when Christophe came home, Louisa, grateful for Rosa's +attentions, and in pursuance of the little plan she had made, always +praised the girl to the skies. Christophe was touched by Rosa's kindness. +He saw how much good she was doing his mother, in whose face there was more +serenity: and he would thank her effusively. Rosa would murmur, and escape +to conceal her embarrassment: so she appeared a thousand times more +intelligent and sympathetic to Christophe than if she had spoken. He looked +at her less with a prejudiced eye, and did not conceal his surprise at +finding unsuspected qualities in her. Rosa saw that; she marked the +progress that she made in his sympathy and thought that his sympathy would +lead to love. She gave herself up more than ever to her dreams. She came +near to believing with the beautiful presumption of youth that what you +desire with all your being is always accomplished in the end. Besides, how +was her desire unreasonable? Should not Christophe have been more sensible +than any other of her goodness and her affectionate need of self-devotion? + +But Christophe gave no thought to her. He esteemed her; but she filled no +room in his thoughts. He was busied with far other things at the moment. +Christophe was no longer Christophe. He did not know himself. He was in a +mighty travail that was like to sweep everything away, a complete upheaval. + + * * * * * + +Christophe was conscious of extreme weariness and great uneasiness. He was +for no reason worn out; his head was heavy, his eyes, his ears, all his +senses were dumb and throbbing. He could not give his attention to +anything. His mind leaped from one subject to another, and was in a fever +that sucked him dry. The perpetual fluttering of images in his mind made +him giddy. At first he attributed it to fatigue and the enervation of the +first days of spring. But spring passed and his sickness only grew worse. + +It was what the poets who only touch lightly on things call the unease of +adolescence, the trouble of the cherubim, the waking of the desire of love +in the young body and soul. As if the fearful crisis of all a man's being, +breaking up, dying, and coming to full rebirth, as if the cataclysm in +which everything, faith, thought, action, all life, seems like to be +blotted out, and then to be new-forged in the convulsions of sorrow and +joy, can be reduced to terms of a child's folly! + +All his body and soul were in a ferment. He watched them, having no +strength to struggle, with a mixture of curiosity and disgust. He did not +understand what was happening in himself. His whole being was +disintegrated. He spent days together in absolute torpor. Work was torture +to him. At night he slept heavily and in snatches, dreaming monstrously, +with gusts of desire; the soul of a beast was racing madly in him. Burning, +bathed in sweat, he watched himself in horror; he tried to break free of +the crazy and unclean thoughts that possessed him, and he wondered if he +were going mad. + +The day gave him no shelter from his brutish thoughts. In the depths of his +soul he felt that he was slipping down and down; there was no stay to +clutch at; no barrier to keep back chaos. All his defenses, all his +citadels, with the quadruple rampart that hemmed him in so proudly--his +God, his art, his pride, his moral faith, all was crumbling away, falling +piece by piece from him. He saw himself naked, bound, lying unable to move, +like a corpse on which vermin swarm. He had spasms of revolt: where was his +will, of which he was so proud? He called to it in vain: it was like the +efforts that one makes in sleep, knowing that one is dreaming, and trying +to awake. Then one succeeds only in falling from one dream to another like +a lump of lead, and in being more and more choked by the suffocation of the +soul in bondage. At last he found that it was less painful not to struggle. +He decided not to do so, with, fatalistic apathy and despair. + +The even tenor of his life seemed to be broken up. Now he slipped down a +subterranean crevasse and was like to disappear; now he bounded up again +with a violent jerk. The chain of his days was snapped. In the midst of the +even plain of the hours great gaping holes would open to engulf his soul. +Christophe looked on at the spectacle as though it did not concern him. +Everything, everybody,--and himself--were strange to him. He went about his +business, did his work, automatically: it seemed to him that the machinery +of his life might stop at any moment: the wheels were out of gear. At +dinner with his mother and the others, in the orchestra with the musicians +and the audience, suddenly there would be a void and emptiness in his +brain; he would look stupidly at the grinning faces about him; and he could +not understand. He would ask himself: + +"What is there between these creatures and ...?" + +He dared not even say: + +"... and me." + +For he knew not whether he existed. He would speak and his voice would seem +to issue from another body. He would move, and he saw his movements from +afar, from above--from the top of a tower. He would pass his hand over his +face, and his eyes would wander. He was often near doing crazy things. + +It was especially when he was most in public that he had to keep guard on +himself. For example, on the evenings when he went to the Palace or was +playing in public. Then he would suddenly be seized by a terrific desire to +make a face, or say something outrageous, to pull the Grand Duke's nose, or +to take a running kick at one of the ladies. One whole evening while he was +conducting the orchestra, he struggled against an insensate desire to +undress himself in public; and he was haunted by the idea from the moment +when he tried to check it; he had to exert all his strength not to give way +to it. When he issued from the brute struggle he was dripping with sweat +and his mind was blank. He was really mad. It was enough for him to think +that he must not do a thing for it to fasten on him with the maddening +tenacity of a fixed idea. + +So his life was spent in a series of unbridled outbreaks and of endless +falls into emptiness. A furious wind in the desert. Whence came this wind? +From what abyss came these desires that wrenched his body and mind? He was +like a bow stretched to breaking point by a strong hand,--to what end +unknown?--which then springs back like a piece of dead wood. Of what force +was he the prey? He dared not probe for it. He felt that he was beaten, +humiliated, and he would not face his defeat. He was weary and broken in +spirit. He understood now the people whom formerly he had despised: those +who will not seek awkward truth. In the empty hours, when he remembered +that time was passing, his work neglected, the future lost, he was frozen +with terror. But there was no reaction: and his cowardice found excuses in +desperate affirmation of the void in which he lived: he took a bitter +delight in abandoning himself to it like a wreck on the waters. What was +the good of fighting? There was nothing beautiful, nor good; neither God, +nor life, nor being of any sort. In the street as he walked, suddenly the +earth would sink away from him: there was neither ground, nor air, nor +light, nor himself: there was nothing. He would fall, his head would drag +him down, face forwards: he could hardly hold himself up; he was on the +point of collapse. He thought he was going to die, suddenly, struck down. +He thought he was dead.... + +Christophe was growing a new skin. Christophe was growing a new soul. And +seeing the worn out and rotten soul of his childhood falling away he never +dreamed that he was taking on a new one, young and stronger. As through +life we change our bodies, so also do we change our souls: and the +metamorphosis does not always take place slowly over many days; there are +times of crisis when the whole is suddenly renewed. The adult changes his +soul. The old soul that is cast off dies. In those hours of anguish we +think that all is at an end. And the whole thing begins again. A life dies. +Another life has already come into being. + +One night he was alone in his room, with his elbow on his desk under the +light of a candle. His back was turned to the window. He was not working. +He had not been able to work for weeks. Everything was twisting and turning +in his head. He had brought everything under scrutiny at once: religion, +morals, art, the whole of life. And in the general dissolution of his +thoughts was no method, no order: he had plunged into the reading of books +taken haphazard from his grandfather's heterogeneous library or from +Vogel's collection of books: books of theology, science, philosophy, an odd +lot, of which he understood nothing, having everything to learn: he could +not finish any of them, and in the middle of them went off on divagations, +endless whimsies, which left him weary, empty, and in mortal sorrow. + +So, that evening, he was sunk in an exhausted torpor. The whole house was +asleep. His window was open. Not a breath came up from the yard. Thick +clouds filled the sky. Christophe mechanically watched the candle burn away +at the bottom of the candlestick. He could not go to bed. He had no thought +of anything. He felt the void growing, growing from moment to moment. He +tried not to see the abyss that drew him to its brink: and in spite of +himself he leaned over and his eyes gazed into the depths of the night. In +the void, chaos was stirring, and faint sounds came from the darkness. +Agony filled him: a shiver ran down his spine: his skin tingled: he +clutched the table so as not to fall. Convulsively he awaited nameless +things, a miracle, a God.... + +Suddenly, like an opened sluice, in the yard behind him, a deluge of water, +a heavy rain, large drops, down pouring, fell. The still air quivered. The +dry, hard soil rang out like a bell. And the vast scent of the earth, +burning, warm as that of an animal, the smell of the flowers, fruit, and +amorous flesh rose in a spasm of fury and pleasure. Christophe, under +illusion, at fullest stretch, shook. He trembled.... The veil was rent. He +was blinded. By a flash of lightning, he saw, in the depths of the night, +he saw--he was God. God was in himself; He burst the ceiling of the room, +the walls of the house; He cracked the very bounds of existence. He filled +the sky, the universe, space. The world coursed through Him, like a +cataract. In the horror and ecstasy of that cataclysm, Christophe fell too, +swept along by the whirlwind which brushed away and crushed like straws the +laws of nature. He was breathless: he was drunk with the swift hurtling +down into God ... God-abyss! God-gulf! Fire of Being! Hurricane of life! +Madness of living,--aimless, uncontrolled, beyond reason,--for the fury of +living! + + * * * * * + +When the crisis was over, he fell into a deep sleep and slept as he had not +done for long enough. Next day when he awoke his head swam: he was as +broken as though he had been drunk. But in his inmost heart he had still a +beam of that somber and great light that had struck him down the night +before. He tried to relight it. In vain. The more he pursued it, the more +it eluded him. From that time on, all his energy was directed towards +recalling the vision of a moment. The endeavor was futile. Ecstasy does not +answer the bidding of the will. + +But that mystic exaltation was not the only experience that he had of it: +it recurred several times, but never with the intensity of the first. It +came always at moments when Christophe was least expecting it, for a second +only, a time so short, so sudden,--no longer than a wink of an eye or a +raising of a hand--that the vision was gone before he could discover that +it was: and then he would wonder whether he had not dreamed it. After that +fiery bolt that had set the night aflame, it was a gleaming dust, shedding +fleeting sparks, which the eye could hardly see as they sped by. But they +reappeared more and more often: and in the end they surrounded Christophe +with a halo of perpetual misty dreams, in which his spirit melted. +Everything that distracted him in his state of semi-hallucination was an +irritation to him. It was impossible to work; he gave up thinking about it. +Society was odious to him; and more than any, that of his intimates, even +that of his mother, because they arrogated to themselves more rights over +his soul. + +He left the house: he took to spending his days abroad, and never returned +until nightfall. He sought the solitude of the fields, and delivered +himself up to it, drank his fill of it, like a maniac who wishes not to be +disturbed by anything in the obsession of his fixed ideas.--But in the +great sweet air, in contact with the earth, his obsession relaxed, his +ideas ceased to appear like specters. His exaltation was no less: rather it +was heightened, but it was no longer a dangerous delirium of the mind but a +healthy intoxication of his whole being: body; and soul crazy in their +strength. + +He rediscovered the world, as though he had never seen it. It was a new +childhood. It was as though a magic word had been uttered. An "Open +Sesame!"--Nature flamed with gladness. The sun boiled. The liquid sky ran +like a clear river. The earth steamed and cried aloud in delight. The +plants, the trees, the insects, all the innumerable creatures were like +dazzling tongues of flame in the fire of life writhing upwards. Everything +sang aloud in joy. + +And that joy was his own. That strength was his own. He was no longer cut +off from the rest of the world. Till then, even in the happy days of +childhood, when he saw nature with ardent and delightful curiosity, all +creatures had seemed to him to be little worlds shut up, terrifying and +grotesque, unrelated to himself, and incomprehensible. He was not even sure +that they had feeling and life. They were strange machines. And sometimes +Christophe had even, with the unconscious cruelty of a child, dismembered +wretched insects without dreaming that they might suffer--for the pleasure +of watching their queer contortions. His uncle Gottfried, usually so calm, +had one day indignantly to snatch from his hands an unhappy fly that he was +torturing. The boy had tried to laugh at first: then he had burst into +tears, moved by his uncle's emotion: he began to understand that his victim +did really exist, as well as himself, and that he had committed a crime. +But if thereafter nothing would have induced him to do harm to the beasts, +he never felt any sympathy for them: he used to pass them by without ever +trying to feel what it was that worked their machinery: rather he was +afraid to think of it: it was something like a bad dream.--And now +everything was made plaint These humble, obscure creatures became in their +turn centers of light. + +Lying on his belly in the grass where creatures swarmed, in the shade of +the trees that buzzed with insects, Christophe would watch the fevered +movements of the ants, the long-legged spiders, that seemed to dance as +they walked, the bounding grasshoppers, that leap aside, the heavy, +bustling beetles, and the naked worms, pink and glabrous, mottled with +white, or with his hands under his head and his eyes dosed he would listen +to the invisible orchestra, the roundelay of the frenzied insects circling +in a sunbeam about the scented pines, the trumpeting of the mosquitoes, the +organ, notes of the wasps, the brass of the wild bees humming like bells in +the tops of the trees, and the godlike whispering of the swaying trees, the +sweet moaning of the wind in the branches, the soft whispering of the +waving grass, like a breath of wind rippling the limpid surface of a lake, +like the rustling of a light dress and lovers footsteps coming near, and +passing, then lost upon the air. + +He heard all these sounds and cries within himself. Through all these +creatures from the smallest to the greatest flowed the same river of life: +and in it he too swam. So, he was one of them, he was of their blood, and, +brotherly, he heard the echo of their sorrows and their joys: their +strength was merged is his like a river fed with thousands of streams. He +sank into them. His lungs were like to burst with the wind, too freely +blowing, too strong, that burst the windows and forced its way, into the +closed house of his suffocating heart. The change was too abrupt: after +finding everywhere a void, when he had been buried only in his own +existence, and had felt it slipping from him and dissolving like rain, now +everywhere he found infinite and unmeasured Being, now that he longed to +forget himself, to find rebirth in the universe. He seemed to have issued +from the grave. He swam voluptuously in life flowing free and full: and +borne on by its current he thought that he was free. He did not know that +he was less free than ever, that no creature is ever free, that even the +law that governs the universe is not free, that only death--perhaps--can +bring deliverance. + +But the chrysalis issuing from its stifling sheath, joyously, stretched its +limbs in its new shape, and had no time as yet to mark the bounds of its +new prison. + + * * * * * + +There began a new cycle of days. Days of gold and fever, mysterious, +enchanted, like those of his childhood, when by one he discovered things +for the first time. From dawn to set of sun he lived in one long mirage. He +deserted all his business. The conscientious boy, who for years had never +missed a lesson, or an orchestra rehearsal, even when he was ill, was +forever finding paltry excuses for neglecting his work. He was not afraid +to lie. He had no remorse about it. The stoic principles of life, to which +he had hitherto delighted to bend his will, morality, duty, now seemed to +him to have no truth, nor reason. Their jealous despotism was smashed +against Nature. Human nature, healthy, strong, free, that alone was virtue: +to hell with all the rest! It provoked pitying laughter to see the little +peddling rules of prudence and policy which the world adorns with the name +of morality, while it pretends to inclose all life within them. A +preposterous mole-hill, an ant-like people! Life sees to it that they are +brought to reason. Life does but pass, and all is swept away.... + +Bursting with energy Christophe had moments when he was consumed with a +desire to destroy, to burn, to smash, to glut with actions blind and +uncontrolled the force which choked him. These outbursts usually ended in a +sharp reaction: he would weep, and fling himself down on the ground, and +kiss the earth, and try to dig into it with his teeth and hands, to feed +himself with it, to merge into it: he trembled then with fever and desire. + +One evening he was walking in the outskirts of a wood. His eyes were +swimming with the light, his head was whirling: he was in that state of +exaltation when all creatures and things were transfigured. To that was +added the magic of the soft warm light of evening. Bays of purple and gold +hovered in the trees. From the meadows seemed to come a phosphorescent +glimmer. In a field near by a girl was making hay. In her blouse and short +skirt, with her arms and neck bare, she was raking the hay and heaping it +up. She had a short nose, wide cheeks, a round face, a handkerchief thrown +over her hair. The setting sun touched with red her sunburned skin, which, +like a piece of pottery, seemed to absorb the last beams of the day. + +She fascinated Christophe. Leaning against a beech-tree he watched her come +towards the verge of the woods, eagerly, passionately. Everything else had +disappeared. She took no notice of him. For a moment she looked at him +cautiously: he saw her eyes blue and hard in her brown face. She passed so +near to him that, when she leaned down to gather up the hay, through her +open blouse he saw a soft down on her shoulders and back. Suddenly the +vague desire which was in him leaped forth. He hurled himself at her from +behind, seized her neck and waist, threw back her head and fastened his +lips upon hers. He kissed her dry, cracked lips until he came against her +teeth that bit him angrily. His hands ran over her rough arms, over her +blouse wet with her sweat. She struggled. He held her tighter, he wished to +strangle her. She broke loose, cried out, spat, wiped her lips with her +hand, and hurled insults at him. He let her go and fled across the fields. +She threw stones at him and went on discharging after him a litany of +filthy epithets. He blushed, less for anything that she might say or think, +but for what he was thinking himself. The sudden unconscious act filled him +with terror. What had he done? What should he do? What he was able to +understand of it all only filled him with disgust. And he was tempted by +his disgust. He fought against himself and knew not on which side was the +real Christophe. A blind force beset him: in vain did he fly from it: it +was only to fly from himself. What would she do about him? What should he +do to-morrow ... in an hour ... the time it took to cross the plowed field +to reach the road?... Would he ever reach it? Should he not stop, and go +back, and run back to the girl? And then?... He remembered that delirious +moment when he had held her by the throat. Everything was possible. All +things were worth while. A crime even.... Yes, even a crime.... The turmoil +in his heart made him breathless. When he reached the road he stopped to +breathe. Over there the girl was talking to another girl who had been +attracted by her cries: and with arms akimbo, they were looking at each +other and shouting with laughter. + + + + +II + +SABINE + + +He went home. He shut himself up in his room and never stirred for several +days. He only went out even into the town, when he was compelled. He was +fearful of ever going out beyond the gates and venturing forth into the +fields: he was afraid of once more falling in with the soft, maddening +breath that had blown upon him like a rushing wind during a calm in a +storm. He thought that the walls of the town might preserve him from it. He +never dreamed that for the enemy to slip within there needed be only the +smallest crack in the closed shutters, no more than is needed for a peep +out. + +In a wing of the house, on the other side of the yard, there lodged on the +ground floor a young woman of twenty, some months a widow, with a little +girl. Frau Sabine Froehlich was also a tenant of old Euler's. She occupied +the shop which opened on to the street, and she had as well two rooms +looking on to the yard, together with a little patch of garden, marked off +from the Eulers' by a wire fence up which ivy climbed. They did not often +see her: the child used to play down in the garden from morning to night +making mud pies: and the garden was left to itself, to the great distress +of old Justus, who loved tidy paths and neatness in the beds. He had tried +to bring the matter to the attention of his tenant: but that was probably +why she did not appear: and the garden was not improved by it. + +Frau Froehlich kept a little draper's shop which might have had customers +enough, thanks to its position in a street of shops in the center of the +town: but she did not bother about it any more than about her garden. +Instead of doing her housework herself, as, according to Frau Vogel, every +self-respecting woman ought to do--especially when she is in circumstances +which do not permit much less excuse idleness--she had hired a little +servant, a girl of fifteen, who came in for a few hours in the morning to +clean the rooms and look after the shop, while the young woman lay in bed +or dawdled over her toilet. + +Christophe used to see her sometimes, through his windows, walking about +her room, with bare feet, in her long nightgown, or sitting for hours +together before her mirror: for she was so careless that she used to forget +to draw her curtains: and when she saw him, she was so lazy that she could +not take the trouble, to go and lower them. Christophe, more modest than +she, would leave the window so as not to incommode her: but the temptation +was great. He would blush a little and steal a glance at her bare arms, +which were rather thin, as she drew them languidly around her flowing hair, +and with her hands, clasped behind her head, lost herself in a dream, until +they were numbed, and then she would let them fall. Christophe would +pretend that he only saw these pleasant sights inadvertently as he happened +to pass the window, and that they did not disturb him in his musical +thoughts; but he liked it, and in the end he wasted as much time in +watching Frau Sabine, as she did over her toilet. Not that she was a +coquette: she was rather careless, generally, and did not take anything +like the meticulous care with her appearance that Amalia or Rosa did. If +she dawdled in front of her dressing table it was from pure laziness; every +time she put in a pin she had to rest from the effort of it, while she made +little piteous faces at herself in the mirrors. She was never quite +properly dressed at the end of the day. + +Often her servant used to go before Sabine was ready: and a customer would +ring the shop-bell. She would let him ring and call once or twice before +she could make up her mind to get up from her chair. She would go down, +smiling, and never hurrying,--never hurrying would look for the article +required,--and if she could not find it after looking for some time, or +even (as happened sometimes) if she had to take too much trouble to reach +it, as for instance, taking the ladder from one end of the shop to the +other,--she would say calmly that she did not have it in stock: and as she +never bothered to put her stock in order, or to order more of the articles +of which she had run out, her customers used to lose patience and go +elsewhere. But she never minded. How could you be angry with such a +pleasant creature who spoke so sweetly, and was never excited about +anything! She did not mind what anybody said to her: and she made this so +plain that those who began to complain never had the courage to go on: they +used to go, answering her charming smile with a smile: but they never came +back. She never bothered about it. She went on smiling. + +She was like a little Florentine figure. Her well marked eyebrows were +arched: her gray eyes were half open behind the curtain of her lashes. The +lower eyelid was a little swollen, with a little crease below it. Her +little, finely drawn nose turned up slightly at the end. Another little +curve lay between it and her upper lip, which curled up above her half-open +mouth, pouting in a weary smile. Her lower lip was a little thick: the +lower part of her face was rounded, and had the serious expression of the +little virgins of Filippo Lippi. Her complexion was a little muddy, her +hair was light brown, always untidy, and done up in a slovenly chignon. She +was slight of figure, small-boned. And her movements were lazy. Dressed +carelessly--a gaping bodice, buttons missing, ugly, worn shoes, always +looking a little slovenly--she charmed by her grace and youth, her +gentleness, her instinctively coaxing ways. When she appeared to take the +air at the door of her shop, the young men who passed used to look at her +with pleasure: and although she did not bother about them, she noticed it +none the less. Always then she wore that grateful and glad expression which +is in the eyes of all women when they know that they have been seen with +sympathetic eyes. It seemed to say: + +"Thank you!... Again! Look at me again!" But though it gave her pleasure to +please, her indifference would never let her make the smallest effort to +please. + +She was an object of scandal to the Euler-Vogels. Everything about her +offended them: her indolence, the untidiness of her house, the carelessness +of her dress, her polite indifference to their remarks, her perpetual +smile, the impertinent serenity with which she had accepted her husband's +death, her child's illnesses, her straitened circumstances, the great and +annoyances of her daily life, while nothing could change one jot of her +favorite habits, or her eternal longing,--everything about her offended +them: and the worst of all was that, as she was, she did give pleasure. +Frau Vogel could not forgive her that. It was almost as though Sabine did +it on purpose, on purpose, ironically, to set at naught by her conduct the +great traditions, the true principles, the savorless duty, the pleasureless +labor, the restlessness, the noise, the quarrels, the mooning ways, the +healthy pessimism which was the motive power of the Euler family, as it is +that of all respectable persons, and made their life a foretaste of +purgatory. That a woman who did nothing but dawdle about all the blessed +day should take upon herself to defy them with her calm insolence, while +they bore their suffering in silence like galley-slaves,--and that people +should approve of her into the bargain--that was beyond the limit, that was +enough to turn you against respectability!... Fortunately, thank God, there +were still a few sensible people left in the world. Frau Vogel consoled +herself with them. They exchanged remarks about the little widow, and spied +on her through her shutters. Such gossip was the joy of the family when +they met at supper. Christophe would listen absently. He was so used to +hearing the Vogels set themselves up as censors of their neighbors that he +never took any notice of it. Besides he knew nothing of Frau Sabine except +her bare neck and arms, and though they were pleasing enough, they did not +justify his coming to a definite opinion about her. However, he was +conscious; of a kindly feeling towards her: and in a contradictory spirit +he was especially grateful to her for displeasing Frau Vogel. + + * * * * * + +After dinner in the evening when it was very hot it was impossible to stay +in the stifling yard, where the sun shone the whole afternoon. The only +place in the house where it was possible to breathe was the rooms looking +into the street, Euler and his son-in-law used sometimes to go and sit on +the doorstep with Louisa. Frau Vogel and Rosa would only appear for a +moment: they were kept by their housework: Frau Vogel took a pride in +showing that she had no time for dawdling: and she used to say, loudly +enough to be overheard, that all the people sitting there and yawning on +their doorsteps, without doing a stitch of work, got on her nerves. As she +could not--(to her sorrow)--compel them to work, she would pretend not to +see them, and would go in and work furiously. Rosa thought she must do +likewise. Euler and Vogel would discover draughts everywhere, and fearful +of catching cold, would go up to their rooms: they used to go to bed early, +and would have thought themselves ruined had they changed the least of +their habits. After nine o'clock only Louisa and Christophe would be left. +Louisa spent the day in her room: and, In the evening, Christophe used to +take pains to be with her, whenever he could, to make her take the air. If +she were left alone she would never go out: the noise of the street +frightened her. Children were always chasing each other with shrill cries. +All the dogs of the neighborhood took it up and barked. The sound of a +piano came up, a little farther off a clarinet, and in the next street a +cornet à piston. Voices chattered. People came and went and stood in groups +in front of their houses. Louisa would have lost her head if she had been +left alone in all the uproar. But when her son was with her it gave her +pleasure. The noise would gradually die down. The children and the dogs +would go to bed first. The groups of people would break up. The air would +become more pure. Silence would descend upon the street. Louisa would tell +in her thin voice the little scraps of news that she had heard from Amalia +or Rosa. She was not greatly interested in them. But she never knew what to +talk about to her son, and she felt the need of keeping in touch with him, +of saying something to him. And Christophe, who felt her need, would +pretend to be interested in everything she said: but he did not listen. He +was off in vague dreams, turning over in his mind the doings of the day. +One evening when they were sitting there--while his mother Was talking he +saw the door of the draper's shop open. A woman came out silently and sat +in the street. Her chair was only a few yards from Louisa. She was sitting +in the darkest shadow. Christophe could not see her face: but he recognized +her. His dreams vanished. The air seemed sweeter to him. Louisa had not +noticed Sabine's presence, and went on with her chatter in a low voice. +Christophe paid more attention to her, and, he felt impelled to throw out a +remark here and there, to talk, perhaps to be heard. The slight figure sat +there without stirring, a little limp, with her legs lightly crossed and +her hands lying crossed in her lap. She was looking straight in front of +her, and seemed to hear nothing. Louisa was overcome with drowsiness. She +went in. Christophe said he would stay a little longer. + +It was nearly ten. The street was empty. The people were going indoors. The +sound of the shops being shut was heard. The lighted windows winked and +then were dark again. One or two were still lit: then they were blotted +out. Silence.... They were alone, they did not look at each other, they +held their breath, they seemed not to be aware of each other. From the +distant fields came the smell of the new-mown hay, and from a balcony in a +house near by the scent of a pot of cloves. No wind stirred. Above their +heads was the Milky Way. To their right red Jupiter. Above a chimney +Charles' Wain bent its axles: in the pale green sky its stars flowered like +daisies. From the bells of the parish church eleven o'clock rang out and +was caught up by all the other churches, with their voices clear or +muffled, and, from the houses, by the dim chiming of the clock or husky +cuckoos. + +They awoke suddenly from their dreams, and got up at the same moment. And +just as they were going indoors they both bowed without speaking. +Christophe went up to his room. He lighted his candle, and sat down by his +desk with his head in his hands, and stayed so for a long time without a +thought. Then he sighed and went to bed. + +Next day when he got up, mechanically he went to his window to look down +into Sabine's room. But the curtains were drawn. They were drawn the whole +morning. They were drawn ever after. + + * * * * * + +Next evening Christophe proposed to his mother that they should go again to +sit by the door. He did so regularly. Louisa was glad of it: she did not +like his shutting himself up in his room immediately after dinner with the +window and shutters closed.--The little silent shadow never failed to come +and sit in its usual place. They gave each other a quick nod, which Louisa +never noticed. Christophe would talk to his mother. Sabine would smile at +her little girl, playing in the street: about nine she would go and put her +to bed and would then return noiselessly. If she stayed a little Christophe +would begin to be afraid that she would not come back. He would listen for +sounds in the house, the laughter of the little girl who would not go to +sleep: he would hear the rustling of Sabine's dress before she appeared on +the threshold of the shop. Then he would look away and talk to his mother +more eagerly. Sometimes he would feel that Sabine was looking at him. In +turn he would furtively look at her. But their eyes would never meet. + +The child was a bond between them. She would run about in the street with +other children. They would find amusement in teasing a good-tempered dog +sleeping there with his nose in his paws: he would cock a red eye and at +last would emit a growl of boredom: then they would fly this way and that +screaming in terror and happiness. The little girl would give piercing +shrieks, and look behind her as though she were being pursued; she would +throw herself into Louisa's lap, and Louisa would smile fondly. She would +keep the child and question her: and so she would enter into conversation +with Sabine. Christophe never joined in. He never spoke to Sabine. Sabine +never spoke to him. By tacit agreement they pretended to ignore each other. +But he never lost a word of what they said as they talked over him. His +silence seemed unfriendly to Louisa. Sabine never thought it so: but it +would make her shy, and she would grow confused in her remarks. Then she +would find some excuse for going in. + +For a whole week Louisa kept indoors for a cold. Christophe and Sabine were +left alone. The first time they were frightened by it. Sabine, to seem at +her ease, took her little girl on her knees and loaded her with caresses. +Christophe was embarrassed and did not know whether he ought to go on +ignoring what was happening at his side. It became difficult: although they +had not spoken a single word to each other, they did know each other, +thanks to Louisa. He tried to begin several times: but the words stuck in +his throat. Once more the little girl extricated them from their +difficulty. She played hide-and-seek, and went round Christophe's chair. He +caught her as she passed and kissed her. He was not very fond of children: +but it was curiously pleasant to him to kiss the little girl. She struggled +to be free, for she was busy with her game. He teased her, she bit his +hands: he let her fall. Sabine laughed. They looked at the child and +exchanged a few trivial words. Then Christophe tried--(he thought he +must)--to enter into conversation: but he had nothing very much to go upon: +and Sabine did not make his task any the easier: she only repeated what he +said: + +"It is a fine evening." + +"Yes. It is a very fine evening." + +"Impossible to breathe in the yard." + +"Yes. The yard was stifling." + +Conversation became very difficult. Sabine discovered that it was time to +take the little girl in, and went in herself: and she did not appear again. + +Christophe was afraid she would do the same on the evenings that followed +and that she would avoid being left alone with him, as long as Louisa was +not there. But on the contrary, the next evening Sabine tried to resume +their conversation. She did so deliberately rather than for pleasure: she +was obviously taking a great deal of trouble to find subjects of +conversation, and bored with the questions she put: questions and answers +came between heartbreaking silences. Christophe remembered his first +interviews with Otto: but with Sabine their subjects were even more limited +than then, and she had not Otto's patience. When she saw the small success +of her endeavors she did not try any more: she had to give herself too much +trouble, and she lost interest in it. She said no more, and he followed her +lead. + +And then there was sweet peace again. The night was calm once more, and +they returned to their inward thoughts. Sabine rocked slowly in her chair, +dreaming. Christophe also was dreaming. They said nothing. After half an +hour Christophe began to talk to himself, and in a low voice cried out with +pleasure in the delicious scent brought by the soft wind that came from a +cart of strawberries. Sabine said a word or two in reply. Again they were +silent. They were enjoying the charm of these indefinite silences, and +trivial words. Their dreams were the same, they had but one thought: they +did not know what it was: they did not admit it to themselves. At eleven +they smiled and parted. + +Next day they did not even try to talk: they resumed their sweet silence. +At long intervals a word or two let them know that they were thinking of +the same things. + +Sabine began to laugh. + +"How much better it is," she said, "not to try to talk! One thinks one +must, and it is so tiresome!" + +"Ah!" said Christophe with conviction, "if only everybody thought the +same." + +They both laughed. They were thinking of Frau Vogel. + +"Poor woman!" said Sabine; "how exhausting she is!" + +"She is never exhausted," replied Christophe gloomily. + +She was tickled by his manner and his jest. + +"You think it amusing?" he asked. "That is easy for you. You are +sheltered." + +"So I am," said Sabine. "I lock myself in." She had a little soft laugh +that hardly sounded. Christophe heard it with delight in the calm of the +evening. He snuffed the fresh air luxuriously. + +"Ah! It is good to be silent!" he said, stretching his limbs. + +"And talking is no use!" said she. + +"Yes," returned Christophe, "we understand each other so well!" + +They relapsed into silence. In the darkness they could not see each other. +They were both smiling. + +And yet, though they felt the same, when they were together--or imagined +that they did--in reality they knew nothing of each other. Sabine did not +bother about it. Christophe was more curious. One evening he asked her: + +"Do you like music?" + +"No," she said simply. "It bores me, I don't understand it." + +Her frankness charmed him. He was sick of the lies of people who said that +they were mad about music, and were bored to death when they heard it: and +it seemed to him almost a virtue not to like it and to say so. He asked if +Sabine read. + +"So. She had no books." + +He offered to lend her his. + +"Serious books?" she asked uneasily. + +"Not serious books if she did not want them. Poetry." + +"But those are serious books." + +"Novels, then." + +She pouted. + +"They don't interest you?" + +"Yes. She was interested in them: but they were always too long: she never +had the patience to finish them. She forgot the beginning: skipped chapters +and then lost the thread. And then she threw the book away." + +"Fine interest you take!" + +"Bah! Enough for a story that is not true. She kept her interest for better +things than books." + +"For the theater, then?" + +"No.... No." + +"Didn't she go to the theater?" + +"No. It was too hot. There were too many people. So much better at home. +The lights tired her eyes. And the actors were so ugly!" + +He agreed with her in that. But there were other things in the theater: the +play, for instance. + +"Yes," she said absently. "But I have no time." + +"What do you do all day?" + +She smiled. + +"There is so much to do." + +"True," said he. "There is your shop." + +"Oh!" she said calmly. "That does not take much time." + +"Your little girl takes up your time then?" + +"Oh! no, poor child! She is very good and plays by herself." + +"Then?" + +He begged pardon for his indiscretion. But she was amused by it. + +"There are so many things." + +"What things?" + +"She could not say. All sorts of things. Getting up, dressing, thinking of +dinner, cooking dinner, eating dinner, thinking of supper, cleaning her +room.... And then the day was over.... And besides you must have a little +time for doing nothing!" + +"And you are not bored?" + +"Never." + +"Even when you are doing nothing?" + +"Especially when I am doing nothing. It is much worse doing something: that +bores me." + +They looked at each other and laughed. + +"You are very happy!" said Christophe. "I can't do nothing." + +"It seems to me that you know how." + +"I have been learning lately." + +"Ah! well, you'll learn." + +When he left off talking to her he was at his ease and comfortable. It was +enough for him to see her. He was rid of his anxieties, and irritations, +and the nervous trouble that made him sick at heart. When he was talking to +her he was beyond care: and so when he thought of her. He dared not admit +it to himself: but as soon as he was in her presence, he was filled with a +delicious soft emotion that brought him almost to unconsciousness. At night +he slept as he had never done. + + * * * * * + +When he came back from his work he would look into this shop. It was not +often that he did not see Sabine. They bowed and smiled. Sometimes she was +at the door and then they would exchange a few words: and he would open the +door and call the little girl and hand her a packet of sweets. + +One day he decided to go in. He pretended that he wanted some waistcoat +buttons. She began to look for them: but she could not find them. All the +buttons were mixed up: it was impossible to pick them out. She was a little +put out that he should see her untidiness. He laughed at it and bent over +the better to see it. + +"No," she said, trying to hide the drawers with her hands. "Don't look! It +is a dreadful muddle...." + +She went on looking. But Christophe embarrassed her. She was cross, and as +she pushed the drawer back she said: + +"I can't find any. Go to Lisi, in the next street. She is sure to have +them. She has everything that people want." + +He laughed at her way of doing business. + +"Do you send all your customers away like that?" + +"Well. You are not the first," said Sabine warmly. + +And yet she was a little ashamed: + +"It is too much trouble to tidy up," she said. "I put off doing it from day +to day.... But I shall certainly do it to-morrow." + +"Shall I help you?" asked Christophe. + +She refused. She would gladly have accepted: but she dared not, for fear of +gossip. And besides it humiliated her. + +They went on talking. + +"And your buttons?" she said to Christophe a moment later. "Aren't you +going to Lisi?" + +"Never," said Christophe. "I shall wait until you have tidied up." + +"Oh!" said Sabine, who had already forgotten what she had just said, "don't +wait all that time!" + +Her frankness delighted them both. + +Christophe went to the drawer that she had shut. + +"Let me look." + +She ran to prevent his doing so. + +"No, now please. I am sure I haven't any." + +"I bet you have." + +At once he found the button he wanted, and was triumphant. He wanted +others. He wanted to go on rummaging; but she snatched the box from his +hands, and, hurt in her vanity, she began to look herself. + +The light was fading. She went to the window. Christophe sat a little away +from her: the little girl clambered on to his knees. He pretended to listen +to her chatter and answered her absently. He was looking at Sabine and she +knew that he was looking at her. She bent over the box. He could see her +neck and a little of her cheek.--And as he looked he saw that she was +blushing. And he blushed too. + +The child went on talking. No one answered her. Sabine did not move. +Christophe could not see what she was doing, he was sure she was doing +nothing: she was not even looking at the box in her hands. The silence went +on and on. The little girl grew uneasy and slipped down from Christophe's +knees. + +"Why don't you say anything?" + +Sabine turned sharply and took her in her arms. The box was spilled on the +floor: the little girl shouted with glee and ran on hands and knees after +the buttons rolling under the furniture. Sabine went to the window again +and laid her cheek against the pane. She seemed to be absorbed in what she +saw outside. + +"Good-night!" said Christophe, ill at ease. She did not turn her head, and +said in a low voice: + +"Good-night." + + * * * * * + +On Sundays the house was empty during the afternoon. The whole family went +to church for Vespers. Sabine did not go. Christophe jokingly reproached +her with it once when he saw her sitting at her door in the little garden, +while the lovely bells were bawling themselves hoarse summoning her. She +replied in the same tone that only Mass was compulsory: not Vespers: it was +then no use, and perhaps a little indiscreet to be too zealous: and she +liked to think that God would be rather pleased than angry with her. + +"You have made God in your own image," said Christophe. + +"I should be so bored if I were in His place," replied she with conviction. + +"You would not bother much about the world if you were in His place." + +"All that I should ask of it would be that it should not bother itself +about me." + +"Perhaps it would be none the worse for that," said Christophe. + +"Tssh!" cried Sabine, "we are being irreligious." + +"I don't see anything irreligious in saying that God is like you. I am sure +He is flattered." + +"Will you be silent!" said Sabine, half laughing, half angry. She was +beginning to be afraid that God would be scandalized. She quickly turned +the conversation. + +"Besides," she said, "it is the only time in the week when one can enjoy +the garden in peace." + +"Yes," said Christophe. "They are gone." They looked at each other. + +"How silent it is," muttered Sabine. "We are not used to it. One hardly +knows where one is...." + +"Oh!" cried Christophe suddenly and angrily. + +"There are days when I would like to strangle her!" There was no need to +ask of whom he was speaking. + +"And the others?" asked Sabine gaily. + +"True," said Christophe, a little abashed. "There is Rosa." + +"Poor child!" said Sabine. + +They were silent. + +"If only it were always as it is now!" sighed Christophe. + +She raised her laughing eyes to his, and then dropped them. He saw that she +was working. + +"What are you doing?" he asked. + +(The fence of ivy that separated the two gardens was between them.) + +"Look!" she said, lifting a basin that she was holding in heir lap. "I am +shelling peas." + +She sighed. + +"But that is not unpleasant," he raid, laughing. + +"Oh!" she replied, "it is disgusting, always having to think of dinner." + +"I bet that if it were possible," he said, "you would go without your +dinner rather than haw the trouble of cooking it." + +"That's true," cried she. + +"Wait! I'll come and help you." + +He climbed over the fence and came to her. + +She was sitting in a chair in the door. He sat on a step at her feet. He +dipped into her lap for handfuls of green pods; and he poured the little +round peas into the basin that Sabine held between her knees. He looked +down. He saw Sabine's black stockings clinging to her ankles and feet--one +of her feet was half out of its shoe. He dared not raise his eyes to look +at her. + +The air was heavy. The sky was dull and clouds hung low: There was no wind. +No leaf stirred. The garden was inclosed within high walls: there was no +world beyond them. + +The child had gone out with one of the neighbors. They were alone. They +said nothing. They could say nothing. Without looking he went on taking +handfuls of peas from Sabine's lap: his fingers trembled as he touched her: +among the fresh smooth pods they met Sabine's fingers, and they trembled +too. They could not go on. They sat still, not looking at each other: she +leaned back in her chair with her lips half-open and her arms hanging: he +sat at her feet leaning against her: along his shoulder and arm he could +feel the warmth of Sabine's leg. They were breathless. Christophe laid his +hands against the stones to cool them: one of his hands touched Sabine's +foot, that she had thrust out of her shoe, and he left it there, could not +move it. They shivered. Almost they lost control. Christophe's hand closed +on the slender toes of Sabine's little foot. Sabine turned cold, the sweat +broke out on her brow, she leaned towards Christophe.... + +Familiar voices broke the spell. They trembled. Christophe leaped to his +feet and crossed the fence again. Sabine picked up the shells in her lap +and went in. In the yard he turned. She was at her door. They looked at +each other. Drops of rain were beginning to patter on the leaves of the +trees.... She closed her door. Frau Vogel and Rosa came in.... He went up +to his room.... + +In the yellow light of the waning day drowned in the torrents of rain, he +got up from his desk in response to an irresistible impulse: he ran to his +window and held out his arms to the opposite window. At the same moment +through the opposite window in the half-darkness of the room he saw--he +thought he saw--Sabine holding out her arms to him. + +He rushed from his room. He went downstairs. He ran to the garden fence. At +the risk of being seen he was about to clear it. But when he looked at the +window at which she had appeared, he saw that the shutters were closed. The +house seemed to be asleep. He stopped. Old Euler, going to his cellar, saw +him and called him. He retraced his footsteps. He thought he must have been +dreaming. + +It was not long before Rosa began to see what was happening. She had no +diffidence and she did not yet know what jealousy was. She was ready to +give wholly and to ask nothing in return. But if she was sorrowfully +resigned to not being loved by Christophe, she had never considered the +possibility of Christophe loving another. + +One evening, after dinner, she had just finished a piece of embroidery at +which she had been working for months. She was happy, and wanted for once +in a way to leave her work and go and talk to Christophe. She waited until +her mother's back was turned and then slipped from the room. She crept from +the house like a truant. She wanted to go and confound Christophe, who had +vowed scornfully that she would never finish her work. She thought it would +be a good joke to go and take them by surprise in the street. It was no use +the poor child knowing how Christophe felt towards her: she was always +inclined to measure the pleasure which others should have at seeing her by +that which she had herself in meeting them. + +She went out. Christophe and Sabine were sitting as usual in front of the +house. There was a catch at Rosa's heart. And yet she did not stop for the +irrational idea that was in her: and she chaffed Christophe warmly. The +sound of her shrill voice in the silence of the night struck on Christophe +like a false note. He started in his chair, and frowned angrily. Rosa waved +her embroidery in his face triumphantly. Christophe snubbed her +impatiently. + +"It is finished--finished!" insisted Rosa. + +"Oh! well--go and begin another," said Christophe curtly. + +Rosa was crestfallen. All her delight vanished. Christophe went on crossly: + +"And when you have done thirty, when you are very old, you will at least be +able to say to yourself that your life has not been wasted!" + +Rosa was near weeping. + +"How cross you are, Christophe!" she said. + +Christophe was ashamed and spoke kindly to her. She was satisfied with so +little that she regained confidence: and she began once more to chatter +noisily: she could not speak low, she shouted deafeningly, like everybody +in the house. In spite of himself Christophe could not conceal his +ill-humor. At first he answered her with a few irritated monosyllables: +then he said nothing at all, turned his back on her, fidgeted in his chair, +and ground his teeth as she rattled on. Rosa saw that he was losing his +temper and knew that she ought to stop: but she went on louder than ever. +Sabine, a few yards away, in the dark, said nothing, watched the scene with +ironic impassivity. Then she was weary and, feeling that the evening was +wasted, she got up and went in. Christophe only noticed her departure after +she had gone. He got up at once and without ceremony went away with a curt +"Good-evening." + +Rosa was left alone in the street, and looked in bewilderment at the door +by which he had just gone in. Tears came to her eyes. She rushed in, went +up to her room without a sound, so as not to have to talk to her mother, +undressed hurriedly, and when she was in her bed, buried under the clothes, +sobbed and sobbed. She made no attempt to think over what had passed: she +did not ask herself whether Christophe loved Sabine, or whether Christophe +and Sabine could not bear her: she knew only that all was lost, that life +was useless, that there was nothing left to her but death. + +Next morning thought came to her once more with eternal illusive hope. She +recalled the events of the evening and told herself that she was wrong to +attach so much importance to them. No doubt Christophe did not love her: +she was resigned to that, though in her heart she thought, though she did +not admit the thought, that in the end she would win his love by her love +for him. But what reason had she for thinking that there was anything +between Sabine and him? How could he, so clever as he was, love a little +creature whose insignificance and mediocrity were patent? She was +reassured,--but for that she did not watch Christophe any the less closely. +She saw nothing all day, because there was nothing to see: but Christophe +seeing her prowling about him all day long without any sort of explanation +was peculiarly irritated by it. She set the crown on her efforts in the +evening when she appeared again and sat with them in the street. The scene +of the previous evening was repeated. Rosa talked alone. But Sabine did not +wait so long before she went indoors: and Christophe followed her example. +Rosa could no longer pretend that her presence was not unwelcome: but the +unhappy girl tried to deceive herself. She did not perceive that she could +have done nothing worse than to try so to impose on herself: and with her +usual clumsiness she went on through the succeeding days. + +Next day with Rosa sitting by his side Christophe waited is vain for Sabine +to appear. + +The day after Rosa was alone. They had given up the struggle. But she +gained nothing by it save resentment from Christophe, who was furious at +being robbed of his beloved evenings, his only happiness. He was the less +inclined to forgive her, for being absorbed with his own feelings, he had +no suspicion of Rosa's. + +Sabine had known them for some time: she knew that Rosa was jealous even +before she knew that she herself was in love: but she said nothing about +it: and, with the natural cruelty of a pretty woman, who is certain of her +victory, in quizzical silence she watched the futile efforts of her awkward +rival. + + * * * * * + +Left mistress of the field of battle Rosa gazed piteously upon the results +of her tactics. The best thing she could have done would have been not to +persist, and to leave Christophe alone, at least for the time being: but +that was not what she did: and as the worst thing she could have done was +to talk to him; about Sabine, that was precisely what she did. + +With a fluttering at her heart, by way of sounding him, she said timidly +that Sabine was pretty. Christophe replied curtly; that she was very +pretty. And although Rosa might have foreseen the reply she would provoke, +her heart thumped when she heard him. She knew that Sabine was pretty: but +she had never particularly remarked it: now she saw her for the first time +with the eyes of Christophe: she saw her delicate features, her short nose, +her fine mouth, her slender figure, her graceful movements.... Ah! how +sad!... What would not she have given to possess Sabine's body, and live in +it! She did not go closely into why it should be preferred to her own!... +Her own!... What had she done to possess such a body? What a burden it was +upon her. How ugly it seemed to her! It was odious to her. And to think +that nothing but death could ever free her from it!... She was at once too +proud and too humble to complain that she was not loved: she had no right +to do so: and she tried even more to humble herself. But her instinct +revolted.... No. It was not just!... Why should she have such a body, she, +and not Sabine?... And why should Sabine be loved? What had she done to be +loved?... Rosa saw her with no kindly eye, lazy, careless, egoistic, +indifferent towards everybody, not looking after her house, or her child, +or anybody, loving only herself, living only for sleeping, dawdling, and +doing nothing.... And it was such a woman who pleased ... who pleased +Christophe.... Christophe who was so severe, Christophe who was so +discerning, Christophe whom she esteemed and admired more than anybody!... +How could Christophe be blind to it?--She could not help from time to time +dropping an unkind remark about Sabine in his hearing. She did not wish to +do so: but the impulse was stronger than herself. She was always sorry for +it, for she was a kind creature and disliked speaking ill of anybody. But +she was the more sorry because she drew down on herself such cruel replies +as showed how much Christophe was in love. He did not mince matters. Hurt +in his love, he tried to hurt in return: and succeeded. Rosa would make no +reply and go out with her head bowed, and her lips tight pressed to keep +from crying. She thought that it was her own fault, that she deserved it +for having hurt Christophe by attacking the object of his love. + +Her mother was less patient. Frau Vogel, who saw everything, and old Euler, +also, had not been slow to notice Christophe's interviews with their young +neighbor: it was not difficult to guess their romance. Their secret +projects of one day marrying Rosa to Christophe were set at naught by it: +and that seemed to them a personal affront of Christophe, although he was +not supposed to know that they had disposed of him without consulting his +wishes. But Amalia's despotism did not admit of ideas contrary to her own: +and it seemed scandalous to her that Christophe should have disregarded the +contemptuous opinion she had often expressed of Sabine. + +She did not hesitate to repeat it for his benefit. Whenever he was present +she found some excuse for talking about her neighbor: she cast about for +the most injurious things to say of her, things which might sting +Christophe most cruelly: and with the crudity of her point of view and +language she had no difficulty in finding them. The ferocious instinct of a +woman, so superior to that of a man in the art of doing evil, as well as of +doing good, made her insist less on Sabine's laziness and moral failings +than on her uncleanliness. Her indiscreet and prying eye had watched +through the window for proofs of it in the secret processes of Sabine's +toilet: and she exposed them with coarse complacency. When from decency she +could not say everything she left the more to be understood. + +Christophe would go pale with shame and anger: he would go white as a sheet +and his lips would quiver. Rosa, foreseeing what must happen, would implore +her mother to have done: she would even try to defend Sabine. But she only +succeeded in making Amalia more aggressive. + +And suddenly Christophe would leap from his chair. He would thump on the +table and begin to shout that it was monstrous to speak of a woman, to spy +upon her, to expose her misfortunes; only an evil mind could so persecute a +creature who was good, charming, quiet, keeping herself to herself, and +doing no harm to anybody, and speaking no ill of anybody. But they were +making a great mistake if they thought they could do her harm; they only +made him more sympathetic and made her kindness shine forth only the more +clearly. + +Amalia would feel then that she had gone too far: but she was hurt by +feeling it; and, shifting her ground, she would say that it was only too +easy to talk of kindness: that the word was called in as an excuse for +everything. Heavens! It was easy enough to be thought kind when you never +bothered about anything or anybody, and never did your duty! + +To which Christophe would reply that the first duty of all was to make life +pleasant for others, but that there were people for whom duty meant only +ugliness, unpleasantness, tiresomeness, and everything that interferes with +the liberty of others and annoys and injures their neighbors, their +servants, their families, and themselves. God save us from such people, and +such a notion of duty, as from the plague!... + +They would grow venomous. Amalia would be very bitter. Christophe would not +budge an inch.--And the result of it all was that henceforth Christophe +made a point of being seen continually with Sabine. He would go and knock +at her door. He would talk gaily and laugh with her. He would choose +moments when Amalia and Rosa could see him. Amalia would avenge herself +with angry words. But the innocent Rosa's heart was rent and torn by this +refinement of cruelty: she felt that he detested them and wished to avenge +himself: and she wept bitterly. + + * * * * * + +So, Christophe, who had suffered so much from injustice, learned unjustly +to inflict suffering. + +Some time after that Sabine's brother, a miller at Landegg, a little town a +few miles away, was to celebrate the christening of a child. Sabine was to +be godmother. She invited Christophe. He had no liking for these functions: +but for the pleasure of annoying the Vogels and of being with Sabine he +accepted eagerly. + +Sabine gave herself the malicious satisfaction of inviting Amalia and Rosa +also, being quite sure that they would refuse. They did. Rosa was longing +to accept. She did not dislike Sabine: sometimes even her heart was filled +with tenderness for her because Christophe loved her: sometimes she longed +to tell her so and to throw her arms about her neck. But there was her +mother and her mother's example. She stiffened herself in her pride and +refused. Then, when they had gone, and she thought of them together, happy +together, driving in the country on the lovely July day, while she was +left shut up in her room, with a pile of linen to mend, with her mother +grumbling by her side, she thought she must choke: and she cursed her +pride. Oh! if there were still time!... Alas! if it were all to do again, +she would have done the same.... + +The miller had sent his wagonette to fetch Christophe and Sabine. They took +up several guests from the town and the farms on the road.. It was fresh +dry weather. The bright sun made the red berries of the brown trees by the +road and the wild cherry trees in the fields shine. Sabine was smiling. Her +pale face was rosy under the keen wind. Christophe had her little girl on +his knees. They did not try to talk to each other: they talked to their +neighbors without caring to whom or of what: they were glad to hear each +other's voices: they were glad to be driving in the same carriage. They +looked at each other in childish glee as they pointed out to each other a +house, a tree, a passerby. Sabine loved the country: but she hardly ever +went into it: her incurable laziness made excursions impossible: it was +almost a year since she had been outside the town: and so she delighted in +the smallest things she saw. They were not new to Christophe: but he loved +Sabine, and like all lovers he saw everything through her eyes, and felt +all her thrills of pleasure, and all and more than the emotion that was in +her: for, merging himself with his beloved, he endowed her with all that he +was himself. + +When they came to the mill they found in the yard all the people of the +farm and the other guests, who received them with a deafening noise. The +fowls, the ducks, and the dogs joined in. The miller, Bertold, a great +fair-haired fellow, square of head and shoulders, as big and tall as Sabine +was slight, took his little sister in his arms and put her down gently as +though he were afraid of breaking her. It was not long before Christophe +saw that the little sister, as usual, did just as she liked with the giant, +and that while he made heavy fun of her whims, and her laziness, and her +thousand and one failings, he was at her feet, her slave. She was used to +it, and thought it natural. She did nothing to win love: it seemed to her +right that she should be loved: and if she were not, did not care: that is +why everybody loved her. + +Christophe made another discovery not so pleasing. For a christening a +godfather is necessary as well as a godmother, and the godfather has +certain rights over the godmother, rights which he does not often renounce, +especially when she is young and pretty. He learned this suddenly when he +saw a farmer, with fair curly hair, and rings in his ears, go up to Sabine +laughing and kiss her on both cheeks. Instead of telling himself that he +was an ass to have forgotten this privilege, and more than an ass to be +huffy about it, he was cross with Sabine, as though she had deliberately +drawn him into the snare. His crossness grew worse when he found himself +separated from her during the ceremony. Sabine turned round every now and +then as the procession wound across the fields and threw him a friendly +glance. He pretended not to see it. She felt that he was annoyed, and +guessed why: but it did not trouble her: it amused her. If she had had a +real squabble with some one she loved, in spite of all the pain it might +have caused her, she would never have made the least effort to break down +any misunderstanding: it would have been too much trouble. Everything would +come right if it were only left alone. + +At dinner, sitting between the miller's wife and a fat girl with red cheeks +whom he had escorted to the service without ever paying any attention to +her, it occurred to Christophe to turn and look at his neighbor: and, +finding her comely, out of revenge, he flirted desperately with her with +the idea of catching Sabine's attention. He succeeded: but Sabine was not +the sort of woman to be jealous of anybody or anything: so long as she +was loved, she did not care whether her lover did or did not pay court to +others: and instead of being angry, she was delighted to see Christophe +amusing himself. From the other end of the table she gave him her most +charming smile. Christophe was disgruntled: there was no doubt then that +Sabine was indifferent to him: and he relapsed into his sulky mood from +which nothing could draw him, neither the soft eyes of his neighbor, nor +the wine that he drank. Finally, when he was half asleep, he asked himself +angrily what on earth he was doing at such an interminable orgy, and did +not hear the miller propose a trip on the water to take certain of the +guests home. Nor did he see Sabine beckoning him to come with her so that +they should be in the same boat. When it occurred to him, there was no room +for him: and he had to go in another boat. This fresh mishap was not likely +to make him more amiable until he discovered that he was to be rid of +almost all his companions on the way. Then he relaxed and was pleasant. +Besides the pleasant afternoon on the water, the pleasure of rowing, the +merriment of these good people, rid him of his ill-humor. As Sabine was no +longer there he lost his self-consciousness, and had no scruple about being +frankly amused like the others. + +They were in their boats. They followed each other closely, and tried to +pass each other. They threw laughing insults at each other. When the boats +bumped Christophe saw Sabine's smiling face: and he could not help smiling +too: they felt that peace was made. He knew that very soon they would +return together. + +They began to sing part songs. Each voice took up a line in time and the +refrain was taken up in chorus. The people in the different boats, some +way from each other, now echoed each other. The notes skimmed over the +water like birds. From time to time a boat would go in to the bank: a few +peasants would climb out: they would stand there and wave to the boats as +they went further and further away. Little by little they were disbanded. +One by one voices left the chorus. At last they were alone, Christophe, +Sabine, and the miller. + +They came back in the same boat, floating down the river. Christophe and +Bertold held the oars, but they did not row. Sabine sat in the stern facing +Christophe, and talked to her brother and looked at Christophe. Talking so, +they were able to look at each other undisturbedly. They could never have +done so had the words ceased to flow. The deceitful words seemed to say: +"It is not you that I see." But their eyes said to each other: "Who are +you? Who are you? You that I love!... You that I love, whoever you be!..." + +The sky was clouded, mists rose from the fields, the river steamed, the sun +went down behind the clouds. Sabine shivered and wrapped her little black +shawl round her head and shoulders. She seemed to be tired. As the boat, +hugging the bank, passed under the spreading branches of the willows, +she closed her eyes: her thin face was pale: her lips were sorrowful: +she did not stir, she seemed to suffer,--to have suffered,--to be dead. +Christophe's heart ached. He leaned over to her. She opened her eyes again +and saw Christophe's uneasy eyes upon her and she smiled into them. It was +like a ray of sunlight to him. He asked in a whisper: + +"Are you ill?" + +She shook her head and said: + +"I am cold." + +The two men put their overcoats about her, wrapped up her feet, her legs, +her knees, like a child being tucked up in bed. She suffered it arid +thanked them with her eyes. A fine, cold rain was beginning to fall. They +took the oars and went quietly home. Heavy clouds hung in the sky. The +river was inky black. Lights showed in the windows of the houses here and +there in the fields. When they reached the mill the rain was pouring down +and Sabine was numbed. + +They lit a large fire in the kitchen and waited until the deluge should he +over. But it only grew worse, and the wind rose. They had to drive three +miles to get back to the town. The miller declared that he would not let +Sabine go in such weather: and he proposed that they should both spend the +night in the farmhouse. Christophe was reluctant to accept: he looked at +Sabine for counsel: but her eyes were fixed on the fire on the hearth: it +was as though they were afraid of influencing Christophe's decision. But +when Christophe had said "Yes," she turned to him and she was blushing--(or +was it the reflection of the fire?)--and he saw that she was pleased. + +A jolly evening.... The rain stormed outside. In the black chimney the fire +darted jets of golden sparks. They spun round and round. Their fantastic +shapes were marked against the wall. The miller showed Sabine's little +girl how to make shadows with her hands. The child laughed and was +not altogether at her ease. Sabine leaned over the fire and poked it +mechanically with a heavy pair of tongs: she was a little weary, and smiled +dreamily, while, without listening, she nodded to her sister-in-law's +chatter of her domestic affairs. Christophe sat in the shadow by the +miller's side and watched Sabine smiling. He knew that she was smiling +at him. They never had an opportunity of being alone all evening, or of +looking at each other: they sought none. + + * * * * * + +They parted early. Their rooms were adjoining, and communicated by a door. +Christophe examined the door and found that the lock was on Sabine's side. +He went to bed and tried to sleep. The rain was pattering against the +windows. The wind howled in the chimney. On the floor above him a door was +banging. Outside the window a poplar bent and groaned under the tempest. +Christophe could not close his eyes. He was thinking that he was under +the same roof, near her. A wall only divided them. He heard no sound in +Sabine's room. But he thought he could see her. He sat up in his bed and +called to her in a low voice through the wall: tender, passionate words +he said: he held out his arms to her. And it seemed to him that she was +holding out her arms to him. In his heart he heard the beloved voice +answering him, repeating his words, calling low to him: and he did not know +whether it was he who asked and answered all the questions, or whether it +was really she who spoke. The voice came louder, the call to him: he could +not resist: he leaped from his bed: he groped his way to the door: he did +not wish to open it: he was reassured by the closed door. And when he laid +his hand once more on the handle he found that the door was opening.... + +He stopped dead. He closed it softly: he opened it once more: he closed it +again. Was it not closed just now? Yes. He was sure it was. Who had opened +it?... His heart beat so that he choked. He leaned over his bed, and sat +down to breathe again. He was overwhelmed by his passion. It robbed him of +the power to see or hear or move: his whole body shook. He was in terror of +this unknown joy for which for months he had been craving, which was with +him now, near him, so that nothing could keep it from him. Suddenly the +violent boy filled with love was afraid of these desires newly realized and +revolted from them. He was ashamed of them, ashamed of what he wished to +do. He was too much in love to dare to enjoy what he loved: he was afraid: +he would have done anything to escape his happiness. Is it only possible to +love, to love, at the cost of the profanation of the beloved?... + +He went to the door again: and trembling with love and fear, with his hand +on the latch he could not bring himself to open it. + +And on the other side of the door, standing barefooted on the tiled floor, +shivering with cold, was Sabine. + +So they stayed ... for how long? Minutes? Hours?... They did not know that +they were there: and yet they did know. They held out their arms to each +other,--he was overwhelmed by a love so great that he had not the courage +to enter,--she called to him, waited for him, trembled lest he should +enter.... And when at last he made up his mind to enter, she had just made +up her mind to turn the lock again. + +Then he cursed himself for a fool. He leaned against the door with all his +strength. With his lips to the lock he implored her: + +"Open." + +He called to Sabine in a whisper: she could hear his heated breathing. She +stayed motionless near the door: she was frozen: her teeth were chattering: +she had no strength either to open the door or to go to bed again.... + +The storm made the trees crack and the doors in the house bang.... They +turned away and went to their beds, worn out, sad and sick at heart. +The cocks crowed huskily. The first light of dawn crept through the wet +windows, a wretched, pale dawn, drowned in the persistent rain.... + +Christophe got up as soon as he could: he went down to the kitchen and +talked to the people there. He was in a hurry to be gone and was afraid +of being left alone with Sabine again. He was almost relieved when the +miller's wife said that Sabine was unwell, and had caught cold during the +drive and would not be going that morning. + +His journey home was melancholy. He refused to drive, and walked through +the soaking fields, in the yellow mist that covered the earth, the trees, +the houses, with a shroud. Like the light, life seemed to be blotted out. +Everything loomed like a specter. He was like a specter himself. + + * * * * * + +At home he found angry faces. They were all scandalized at his having +passed the night God knows where with Sabine. He shut himself up in his +room and applied himself to his work. Sabine returned the next day and shut +herself up also. They avoided meeting each other. The weather was still +wet and cold: neither of them went out. They saw each other through their +closed windows. Sabine was wrapped up by her fire, dreaming. Christophe +was buried in his papers. They bowed to each other a little coldly and +reservedly and then pretended to be absorbed again. They did not take +stock of what they were feeling: they were angry with each other, with +themselves, with things generally. The night at the farmhouse had been +thrust aside in their memories: they were ashamed of it, and did not know +whether they were more ashamed of their folly or of not having yielded to +it. It was painful to them to see each other: for that made them remember +things from which they wished to escape: and by joint agreement they +retired into the depths of their rooms so as utterly to forget each +other. But that was impossible, and they suffered keenly under the secret +hostility which they felt was between them. Christophe was haunted by the +expression of dumb rancor which he had once seen in Sabine's cold eyes. +From such thoughts her suffering was not less: in vain did she struggle +against them, and even deny them: she could not rid herself of them. They +were augmented by her shame that Christophe should have guessed what was +happening within her: and the shame of having offered herself ... the shame +of having offered herself without having given. + +Christophe gladly accepted an opportunity which cropped up to go to Cologne +and Düsseldorf for some concerts. He was glad to spend two or three weeks +away from home. Preparation for the concerts and the composition of a new +work that he wished to play at them took up all his time and he succeeded +in forgetting his obstinate memories. They disappeared from Sabine's mind +too, and she fell back into the torpor of her usual life. They came to +think of each other with indifference. Had they really loved each other? +They doubted it. Christophe was on the point of leaving for Cologne without +saying good-bye to Sabine. + +On the evening before his departure they were brought together again by +some imperceptible influence. It was one of the Sunday afternoons when +everybody was at church. Christophe had gone out too to make his final +preparations for the journey. Sabine was sitting in her tiny garden warming +herself in the last rays of the sun. Christophe came home: he was in a +hurry and his first inclination when he saw her was; to bow and pass on. +But something held him back as he was passing: was it Sabine's paleness, or +some indefinable feeling: remorse, fear, tenderness?... He stopped, turned +to Sabine, and, leaning over the fence, he bade her good-evening. Without +replying she held out her hand. Her smile was all kindness,--such kindness +as he had never seen in her. Her gesture seemed to say: "Peace between +us...." He took her hand over the fence, bent over it, and kissed it. She +made no attempt to withdraw it. He longed to go down on his knees and say, +"I love you."... They looked at each other in silence. But they offered no +explanation. After a moment she removed her hand and turned her head. He +turned too to hide his emotion. Then they looked at each other again with +untroubled eyes. The sun was setting. Subtle shades of color, violet, +orange, and mauve, chased across the cold clear sky. She shivered and drew +her shawl closer about her shoulders with a movement that he knew well. He +asked: + +"How are you?" + +She made a little grimace, as if the question were not worth answering. +They went on looking at each other and were happy. It was as though they +had lost, and had just found each other again.... + +At last he broke the silence and said: + +"I am going away to-morrow." + +There was alarm in Sabine's eyes. + +"Going away?" she said. + +He added quickly: + +"Oh! only for two or three weeks." + +"Two or three weeks," she said in dismay. + +He explained that he was engaged for the concerts, but that when he came +back he would not stir all winter. + +"Winter," she said. "That is a long time off...." + +"Oh! no. It will soon be here." + +She saddened and did not look at him. + +"When shall we meet again?" she asked a moment later. + +He did not understand the question: he had already answered it. + +"As soon as I come back: in a fortnight, or three weeks at most." + +She still looked dismayed. He tried to tease her: + +"It won't be long for you," he said. "You will sleep." + +"Yes," said Sabine. + +She looked down, she tried to smile: but her eyes trembled. + +"Christophe!..." she said suddenly, turning towards him. + +There was a note of distress in her voice. She seemed to say: + +"Stay! Don't go!..." + +He took her hand, looked at her, did not understand the importance she +attached to his fortnight's absence: but he was only waiting for a word +from her to say: + +"I will stay...." + +And just as she was going to speak, the front door was opened and Rosa +appeared. Sabine withdrew her hand from Christophe's and went hurriedly +into her house. At the door she turned and looked at him once more--and +disappeared. + + * * * * * + +Christophe thought he should see her again in the evening. But he was +watched by the Vogels, and followed everywhere by his mother: as usual, he +was behindhand with his preparations for his journey and could not find +time to leave the house for a moment. + +Next day he left very early. As he passed Sabine's door he longed to go in, +to tap at the window: it hurt him to leave her without saying good-bye: +for he had been interrupted by Rosa before he had had time to do so. But +he thought she must be asleep and would be cross with him if he woke her +up. And then, what could he say to her? It was too late now to abandon his +journey: and what if she were to ask him to do so?... He did not admit to +himself that he was not averse to exercising his power over her,--if need +be, causing her a little pain.... He did not take seriously the grief that +his departure brought Sabine: and he thought that his short absence would +increase the tenderness which, perhaps, she had for him. + +He ran to the station. In spite of everything he was a little remorseful. +But as soon as the train had started it was all forgotten. There was youth +in his heart. Gaily he saluted the old town with its roofs and towers rosy +under the sun: and with the carelessness of those who are departing he said +good-bye to those whom he was leaving, and thought no more of them. + +The whole time that he was at Düsseldorf and Cologne Sabine never once +recurred to his mind. Taken up from morning till night with rehearsals and +concerts, dinners and talk, busied with a thousand and one new things and +the pride and satisfaction of his success he had no time for recollection. +Once only, on the fifth night after he left home, he woke suddenly after a +dream and knew that he had been thinking of _her_ in his sleep and that the +thought of _her_ had wakened him up: but he could not remember how he had +been thinking of her. He was unhappy and feverish. It was not surprising: +he had been playing at a concert that evening, and when he left the hall +he had been dragged off to a supper at which he had drunk several glasses +of champagne. He could not sleep and got up. He was obsessed by a musical +idea. He pretended that it was that which had broken in upon his sleep and +he wrote it down. As he read through it he was astonished to see how sad +it was. There was no sadness in him when he wrote: at least, so he thought. +But he remembered that on other occasions when he had been sad he had only +been able to write joyous music, so gay that it offended his mood. He gave +no more thought to it. He was used to the surprises of his mind world +without ever being able to understand them. He went to sleep at once, and +knew no more until the next morning. + +He extended his stay by three or four days. It pleased him to prolong it, +knowing he could return whenever he liked: he was in no hurry to go home. +It was only when he was on the way, in the train, that the thought of +Sabine came back to him. He had not written to her. He was even careless +enough never to have taken the trouble to ask at the post-office for any +letters that might have been written to him. He took a secret delight in +his silence: he knew that at home he was expected, that he was loved.... +Loved? She had never told him so: he had never told her so. No doubt they +knew it and had no need to tell it. And yet there was nothing so precious +as the certainty of such an avowal. Why had they waited so long to make +it? When they had been on the point of speaking always something--some +mischance, shyness, embarrassment,--had hindered them. Why? Why? How much +time they had lost!... He longed to hear the dear words from the lips of +the beloved. He longed to say them to her: he said them aloud in the empty +carriage. As he neared the town he was torn with impatience, a sort of +agony.... Faster! Faster! Oh! To think that in an hour he would see her +again!... + + * * * * * + +It was half-past six in the morning when he reached home. Nobody was up +yet. Sabine's windows were closed. He went into the yard on tiptoe so +that she should not hear him. He chuckled at the thought of taking her by +surprise. He went up to his room. His mother was asleep. He washed and +brushed his hair without making any noise. He was hungry: but he was +afraid of waking Louisa by rummaging in the pantry. He heard footsteps in +the yard: he opened his window softly and saw Rosa, first up as usual, +beginning to sweep. He called her gently. She started in glad surprise when +she saw him: then she looked solemn. He thought she was still offended with +him: but for the moment he was in a very good temper. He went down to her. + +"Rosa, Rosa," he said gaily, "give me something to eat or I shall eat you! +I am dying of hunger!" + +Rosa smiled and took him to the kitchen on the ground floor. She poured him +out a bowl of milk and then could not refrain from plying him with a string +of questions about his travels and his concerts. But although he was quite +ready to answer them,--(in the happiness of his return he was almost glad +to hear Rosa's chatter once more)--Rosa stopped suddenly in the middle of +her cross-examination, her face fell, her eyes turned away, and she became +sorrowful. Then her chatter broke out again: but soon it seemed that she +thought it out of place and once more she stopped short. And he noticed it +then and said: + +"What is the matter, Rosa? Are you cross with me?" + +She shook her head violently in denial, and turning towards him with her +usual suddenness took his arm with both hands: + +"Oh! Christophe!..." she said. + +He was alarmed. He let his piece of bread fall from his hands. + +"What! What is the matter?" he stammered. + +She said again: + +"Oh! Christophe!... Such an awful thing has happened!" + +He thrust away from the table. He stuttered: + +"H--here?" + +She pointed to the house on the other side of the yard. + +He cried: + +"Sabine!" + +She wept: + +"She is dead." + +Christophe saw nothing. He got up: he almost fell: he clung to the table, +upset the things on it: he wished to cry out. He suffered fearful agony. He +turned sick. + +Rosa hastened to his side: she was frightened: she held his head and wept. + +As soon as he could speak he said; + +"It is not true!" + +He knew that it was true. But he wanted to deny it, he wanted to pretend +that it could not be. When he saw Rosa's face wet with tears he could doubt +no more and he sobbed aloud. + +Rosa raised her head: + +"Christophe!" she said. + +He hid his face in his hands. She leaned towards him. + +"Christophe!... Mamma is coming!..." + +Christophe got up. + +"No, no," he said. "She must not see me." + +She took his hand and led him, stumbling and blinded by his tears, to a +little woodshed which opened on to the yard. She closed the door. They were +in darkness. He sat on a block of wood used for chopping sticks. She sat on +the fagots. Sounds from without were deadened and distant. There he could +weep without fear of being heard. He let himself go and sobbed furiously. +Rosa had never seen him weep: she had even thought that he could not weep: +she knew only her own girlish tears and such despair in a man filled her +with terror and pity. She was filled with a passionate love for Christophe. +It was an absolutely unselfish love: an immense need of sacrifice, a +maternal self-denial, a hunger to suffer for him, to take his sorrow upon +herself. She put her arm round his shoulders. + +"Dear Christophe," she said, "do not cry!" + +Christophe turned from her. + +"I wish to die!" + +Rosa clasped her hands. + +"Don't say that, Christophe!" + +"I wish to die. I cannot ... cannot live now.... What is the good of +living?" + +"Christophe, dear Christophe! You are not alone. You are loved...." + +"What is that to me? I love nothing now. It is nothing to me whether +everything else live or die. I love nothing: I loved only her. I loved only +her!" + +He sobbed louder than ever with his face buried in his hands. Rosa could +find nothing to say. The egoism of Christophe's passion stabbed her to +the heart. Now when she thought herself most near to him, she felt more +isolated and more miserable than ever. Grief instead of bringing them +together thrust them only the more widely apart. She wept bitterly. + +After some time, Christophe stopped weeping and asked: + +"How?... How?..." + +Rosa understood. + +"She fell ill of influenza on the evening you left. And she was taken +suddenly...." + +He groaned. + +"Dear God!... Why did you not write to me?" + +She said: + +"I did write. I did not know your address: you did not give us any. I went +and asked at the theater. Nobody knew it." + +He knew how timid she was, and how much it must have cost her. He asked: + +"Did she ... did she tell you to do that?" + +She shook her head: + +"No. But I thought ..." + +He thanked her with a look. Rosa's heart melted. + +"My poor ... poor Christophe!" she said. + +She flung her arms round his neck and wept. Christophe felt the worth of +such pure tenderness. He had so much need of consolation! He kissed her: + +"How kind you are," he said. "You loved her too?" + +She broke away from him, she threw him a passionate look, did not reply, +and began to weep again. + +That look was a revelation to him. It meant: + +"It was not she whom I loved...." + +Christophe saw at last what he had not known--what for months he had not +wished to see. He saw that she loved him. + +"'Ssh," she said. "They are calling me." They heard Amalia's voice. + +Rosa asked: + +"Do you want to go back to your room?" + +He said: + +"No. I could not yet: I could not bear to talk to my mother.... Later +on...." + +She said: + +"Stay here. I will come back soon." + +He stayed in the dark woodshed to which only a thread of light penetrated +through a small airhole filled with cobwebs. From the street there came up +the cry of a hawker, against the wall a horse in a stable next door was +snorting and kicking. The revelation that had just come to Christophe gave +him no pleasure; but it held his attention for a moment. It made plain many +things that he had not understood. A multitude of little things that he +had disregarded occurred to him and were explained. He was surprised to +find himself thinking of it; he was ashamed to be turned aside even for a +moment from his misery. But that misery was so frightful, so irrepressible +that the mistrust of self-preservation, stronger than his will, than his +courage, than his love, forced him to turn away from it, seized on this +new idea, as the suicide drowning seizes in spite of himself on the first +object which can help him, not to save himself, but to keep himself for a +moment longer above the water. And it was because he was suffering that +he was able to feel what another was suffering--suffering through him. He +understood the tears that he had brought to her eyes. He was filled with +pity for Rosa. He thought how cruel he had been to her--how cruel he must +still be. For he did not love her. What good was it for her to love him? +Poor girl!... In vain did he tell himself that she was good (she had just +proved it). What was her goodness to him? What was her life to him?... + +He thought: + +"Why is it not she who is dead, and the other who is alive?" + +He thought: + +"She is alive: she loves me: she can tell me that to-day, to-morrow, all my +life: and the other, the woman I love, she is dead and never told me that +she loved me: I never have told her that I loved her: I shall never hear +her say it: she will never know it...." + +And suddenly he remembered that last evening: he remembered that they were +just going to talk when Rosa came and prevented it. And he hated Rosa.... + +The door of the woodshed was opened. Rosa called Christophe softly, and +groped towards him. She took his hand. He felt an aversion in her near +presence: in vain did he reproach himself for it: it was stronger than +himself. + +Rosa was silent: her great pity had taught her silence. Christophe was +grateful to her for not breaking in upon his grief with useless words. And +yet he wished to know ... she was the only creature who could talk to him +of _her_. He asked in a whisper: + +"When did she..." + +(He dared not say: die.) + +She replied: + +"Last Saturday week." + +Dimly he remembered. He said: + +"At night?" + +Rosa looked at him in astonishment and said: + +"Yes. At night. Between two and three." + +The sorrowful melody came back to him. He asked, trembling: + +"Did she suffer much?" + +"No, no. God be thanked, dear Christophe: she hardly suffered at all. She +was so weak. She did not struggle against it. Suddenly they saw that she +was lost...." + +"And she ... did she know it?" + +"I don't know. I think ..." + +"Did she say anything?" + +"No. Nothing. She was sorry for herself like a child." + +"You were there?" + +"Yes. For the first two days I was there alone, before her brother came." + +He pressed her hand in gratitude. + +"Thank you." + +She felt the blood rush to her heart. + +After a silence he said, he murmured the question which was choking him: + +"Did she say anything ... for me?" + +Rosa shook her head sadly. She would have given much to be able to let him +have the answer he expected: she was almost sorry that she could not lie +about it. She tried to console him: + +"She was not conscious." + +"But she did speak?" + +"One could not make out what she said. It was in a very low voice." + +"Where is the child?" + +"Her brother took her away with him to the country." + +"And _she_?" + +"She is there too. She was taken away last Monday week." + +They began to weep again. + +Frau Vogel's voice called Rosa once more. Christophe, left alone again, +lived through those days of death. A week, already a week ago.... O God! +What had become of her? How it had rained that week!... And all that time +he was laughing, he was happy! + +In his pocket he felt a little parcel wrapped up in soft paper: they were +silver buckles that he had brought her for her shoes. He remembered the +evening when he had placed his hand on the little stockinged foot. Her +little feet: where were they now? How cold they must be!... He thought the +memory of that warm contact was the only one that he had of the beloved +creature. He had never dared to touch her, to take her in his arms, to hold +her to his breast. She was gone forever, and he had never known her. He +knew nothing of her, neither soul nor body. He had no memory of her body, +of her life, of her love.... Her love?... What proof had he of that?... He +had not even a letter, a token,--nothing. Where could he seek to hold her, +in himself, or outside himself?... Oh! Nothing! There was nothing left him +but the love he had for her, nothing left him but himself.--And in spite +of all, his desperate desire to snatch her from destruction, his need of +denying death, made him cling to the last piece of wreckage, in an act of +blind faith: + +"... _he son gia morto: e ben, c'albergo cangi resto in te vivo. C'or mi +vedi e piangi, se l'un nell' altro amante si trasforma_." + +"... I am not dead: I have changed my dwelling. I live still in thee who +art faithful to me. The soul of the beloved is merged in the soul of the +lover." + +He had never read these sublime words: but they were in him. Each one of us +in turn climbs the Calvary of the age. Each one of us finds anew the agony, +each one of us finds anew the desperate hope and folly of the ages. Each +one of us follows in the footsteps of those who were, of those before us +who struggled with death, denied death--and are dead. + + * * * * * + +He shut himself up in his room. His shutters were closed all day so as not +to see the windows of the house opposite. He avoided the Vogels: they were +odious to his sight. He had nothing to reproach them with: they were too +honest, and too pious not to have thrust back their feelings in the face of +death. They knew Christophe's grief and respected it, whatever they might +think of it: they never uttered Sabine's name in his presence. But they had +been her enemies when she was alive: that was enough to make him their +enemy now that she was dead. + +Besides they had not altered their noisy habits: and in spite of the +sincere though passing pity that they had felt, it was obvious that at +bottom they were untouched by the misfortune--(it was too natural)--perhaps +even they were secretly relieved by it. Christophe imagined so at least. +Now that the Vogels' intentions with regard to himself were made plain +he exaggerated them in his own mind. In reality they attached little +importance to him: he set too great store by himself. But he had no doubt +that the death of Sabine, by removing the greatest obstacle in the way of +his landlords' plans, did seem to them to leave the field clear for Rosa. +So he detested her. That they--(the Vogels, Louisa, and even Rosa)--should +have tacitly disposed of him, without consulting him, was enough in any +case to make him lose all affection for the person whom he was destined to +love. He shied whenever he thought an attempt was made upon his umbrageous +sense of liberty. But now it was not only a question of himself. The rights +which these others had assumed over him did not only infringe upon his +own rights but upon those of the dead woman to whom his heart was given. +So he defended them doggedly, although no one was for attacking them. He +suspected Rosa's goodness. She suffered in seeing him suffer and would +often come and knock at his door to console him and talk to him about the +other. He did not drive her away: he needed to talk of Sabine with some +one who had known her: he wanted to know the smallest of what had happened +during her illness. But he was not grateful to Rosa: he attributed ulterior +motives to her. Was it not plain that her family, even Amalia, permitted +these visits and long colloquies which she would never have allowed if they +had not fallen in with her wishes? Was not Rosa in league with her family? +He could not believe that her pity was absolutely sincere and free of +personal thoughts. + +And, no doubt, it was not. Rosa pitied Christophe with all her heart. She +tried hard to see Sabine through Christophe's eyes, and through him to love +her: she was angry with herself for all the unkind feelings that she had +ever had towards her, and asked her pardon in her prayers at night. But +could she forget that she was alive, that she was seeing Christophe every +moment of the day, that she loved him, that she was no longer afraid of the +other, that the other was gone, that her memory would also fade away in its +turn, that she was left alone, that one day perhaps ...? In the midst of +her sorrow, and the sorrow of her friend more hers than her own, could she +repress a glad impulse, an unreasoning hope? For that too she was angry +with herself. It was only a flash. It was enough. He saw it. He threw her a +glance which froze her heart: she read in it hateful thoughts: he hated her +for being alive while the other was dead. + +The miller brought his cart for Sabine's little furniture. Coming back from +a lesson Christophe saw heaped up before the door in the street the bed, +the cupboard, the mattress, the linen, all that she had possessed, all that +was left of her. It was a dreadful sight to him. He rushed past it. In the +doorway he bumped into Bertold, who stopped him. + +"Ah! my dear sir," he said, shaking his hand effusively. "Ah! who would +have thought it when we were together? How happy we were! And yet it was +because of that day, because of that cursed row on the water, that she fell +ill. Oh well. It is no use complaining! She is dead. It will be our turn +next. That is life.... And how are you? I'm very well, thank God!" + +He was red in the face, sweating, and smelled of wine. The idea that he was +her brother, that he had rights in her memory, hurt Christophe. It offended +him to hear this man talking of his beloved. The miller on the contrary +was glad, to find a friend with whom he could talk of Sabine: he did not +understand Christophe's coldness. He had no idea of all the sorrow that +his presence, the sudden calling to mind of the day at his farm, the happy +memories that he recalled so blunderingly, the poor relics of Sabine, +heaped upon the ground, which he kicked as he talked, set stirring in +Christophe's soul. He made some excuse for stopping Bertold's tongue. He +went up the steps: but the other clung to him, stopped him, and went on +with his harangue. At last when the miller took to telling him of Sabine's +illness, with that strange pleasure which certain people, and especially +the common people, take in talking of illness, with a plethora of painful +details, Christophe could bear it no longer--(he took a tight hold of +himself so as not to cry out in his sorrow). He cut him short: + +"Pardon," he said curtly and icily. "I must leave you." + +He left him without another word. + +His insensibility revolted the miller. He had guessed the secret affection +of his sister and Christophe. And that Christophe should now show such +indifference seemed monstrous to him: he thought he had no heart. + +Christophe had fled to his room: he was choking. Until the removal was +over he never left his room. He vowed that he would never look out of the +window, but he could not help doing so: and hiding in a corner behind the +curtain he followed the departure of the goods and chattels of the beloved +eagerly and with profound sorrow. When he saw them disappearing forever he +all but ran down to the street to cry: "No! no! Leave them to me! Do not +take them from me!" He longed to beg at least for some little thing, only +one little thing, so that she should not be altogether taken from him. But +how could he ask such a thing of the miller? It was nothing to him. She +herself had not known his love: how dared he then reveal it to another? And +besides, if he had tried to say a word he would have burst out crying.... +No. No. He had to say nothing, to watch all go, without being able--without +daring to save one fragment from the wreck.... + +And when it was all over, when the house was empty, when the yard gate was +closed after the miller, when the wheels of his cart moved on, shaking the +windows, when they were out of hearing, he threw himself on the floor--not +a tear left in him, not a thought of suffering, of struggling, frozen, and +like one dead. + +There was a knock at the door. He did not move. Another knock. He had +forgotten to lock the door. Rosa came in. She cried out on seeing him +stretched on the floor and stopped in terror. He raised his head angrily: + +"What? What do you want? Leave me!" + +She did not go: she stayed, hesitating, leaning against the floor, and said +again: + +"Christophe...." + +He got up in silence: he was ashamed of having been seen so. He dusted +himself with his hand and asked harshly: + +"Well. What do you want?" + +Rosa said shyly: + +"Forgive me ... Christophe ... I came in ... I was bringing you...." + +He saw that she had something in her hand. + +"See," she said, holding it out to him. "I asked Bertold to give me a +little token of her. I thought you would like it...." + +It was a little silver mirror, the pocket mirror in which she used to look +at herself for hours, not so much from coquetry as from want of occupation. +Christophe took it, took also the hand which held it. + +"Oh! Rosa!..." he said. + +He was filled with her kindness and the knowledge of his own injustice. On +a passionate impulse he knelt to her and kissed her hand. + +"Forgive ... Forgive ..." he said. + +Rosa did not understand at first: then she understood only too well: she +blushed, she trembled, she began to weep. She understood that he meant: + +"Forgive me if I am unjust.... Forgive me if I do not love you.... Forgive +me if I cannot ... if I cannot love you, if I can never love you!..." + +She did not withdraw her hand from him: she knew that it was not herself +that he was kissing. And with his cheek against Rosa's hand, he wept hot +tears, knowing that she was reading through him: there was sorrow and +bitterness in being unable to love her and making her suffer. + +They stayed so, both weeping, in the dim light of the room. + +At last she withdrew her hand. He went on murmuring; + +"Forgive!..." + +She laid her hand gently on his hand. He rose to his feet. They kissed in +silence: they felt on their lips the bitter savor of their tears. + +"We shall always be friends," he said softly. She bowed her head and left +him, too sad to speak. + +They thought that the world is ill made. The lover is unloved. The beloved +does not love. The lover who is loved is sooner or later torn from his +love.... There is suffering. There is the bringing of suffering. And the +most wretched is not always the one who suffers. + + * * * * * + +Once more Christophe took to avoiding the house. He could not bear it. He +could not bear to see the curtainless windows, the empty rooms. + +A worse sorrow awaited him. Old Euler lost no time in reletting the ground +floor. One day Christophe saw strange faces in Sabine's room. New lives +blotted out the traces of the life that was gone. + +It became impossible for him to stay in his rooms. He passed whole +days outside, not coming back until nightfall, when it was too dark to +see anything. Once more he took to making expeditions in the country. +Irresistibly he was drawn to Bertold's farm. But he never went in, dared +not go near it, wandered about it at a distance. He discovered a place on +a hill from which he could see the house, the plain, the river: it was +thither that his steps usually turned. From thence he could follow with his +eyes the meanderings of the water down to the willow clump under which he +had seen the shadow of death pass across Sabine's face. From thence he +could pick out the two windows of the rooms in which they had waited, +side by side, so near, so far, separated by a door--the door to eternity. +From thence he could survey the cemetery. He had never been able to bring +himself to enter it: from childhood he had had a horror of those fields +of decay and corruption, and refused to think of those whom he loved in +connection with them. But from a distance and seen from above, the little +graveyard never looked grim, it was calm, it slept with the sun.... +Sleep!... She loved to sleep! Nothing would disturb her there. The crowing +cocks answered each other across the plains. From the homestead rose +the roaring of the mill, the clucking of the poultry yard, the cries of +children playing. He could make out Sabine's little girl, he could see her +running, he could mark her laughter. Once he lay in wait for her near the +gate of the farmyard, in a turn of the sunk road made by the walls: he +seized her as she passed and kissed her. The child was afraid and began, to +cry. She had almost forgotten him already. He asked her: + +"Are you happy here?" + +"Yes. It is fun...." + +"You don't want to come back?" + +"No!" + +He let her go. The child's indifference plunged him in sorrow. Poor +Sabine!... And yet it was she, something of her.... So little! The child +was hardly at all like her mother: had lived in her, but was not she: in +that mysterious passage through her being the child had hardly retained +more than the faintest perfume of the creature who was gone: inflections of +her voice, a pursing of the lips, a trick of bending the head. The rest of +her was another being altogether: and that being mingled with the being of +Sabine was repulsive to Christophe though he never admitted it to himself. + +It was only in himself that Christophe could find the image of Sabine. +It followed him everywhere, hovering above him; but he only felt himself +really to be with her when he was alone. Nowhere was she nearer to him than +in this refuge, on the hill, far from strange eyes, in the midst of the +country that was so full of the memory of her. He would go miles to it, +climbing at a run, his heart beating as though he were going to a meeting +with her: and so it was indeed. When he reached it he would lie on the +ground--the same earth in which _her_ body was laid: he would close his +eyes: and _she_ would come to him. He could not see her face: he could +not hear her voice; he had no need: she entered into him, held him, he +possessed her utterly. In this state of passionate hallucination he would +lose the power of thought, he would be unconscious of what was happening: +he was unconscious of everything save that he was with her. + +That state of things did not last long.--To tell the truth he was only +once altogether sincere. From the day following, his will had its share in +the proceedings. And from that time on Christophe tried in vain to bring +it back to life. It was only then that he thought of evoking in himself +the face and form of Sabine: until then he had never thought of it. He +succeeded spasmodically and he was fired by it. But it was only at the cost +of hours of waiting and of darkness. + +"Poor Sabine!" he would think. "They have all forgotten you. There is only +I who love you, who keep your memory alive forever. Oh, my treasure, my +precious! I have you, I hold you, I will never let you go!..." + +He spoke these words because already she was escaping him: she was slipping +from his thoughts like water through his fingers. He would return again and +again, faithful to the tryst. He wished to think of her and he would close +his eyes. But after half an hour, or an hour, or sometimes two hours, he +would begin to see that he had been thinking of nothing. The sounds of the +valley, the roar of the wind, the little bells of the two goats browsing on +the hill, the noise of the wind in the little slender trees under which he +lay, were sucked up by his thoughts soft and porous like a sponge. He was +angry with his thoughts: they tried to obey him, and to fix the vanished +image to which he was striving to attach his life: but his thoughts fell +back weary and chastened and once more with a sigh of comfort abandoned +themselves to the listless stream of sensations. + +He shook off his torpor. He strode through the country hither and thither +seeking Sabine. He sought her in the mirror that once had held her smile. +He sought her by the river bank where her hands had dipped in the water. +But the mirror and the water gave him only the reflection of himself. The +excitement of walking, the fresh air, the beating of his own healthy blood +awoke music in him once more. He wished to find change. + +"Oh! Sabine!..." he sighed. + +He dedicated his songs to her: he strove to call her to life in his music, +his love, and his sorrow.... In vain: love and sorrow came to life surely: +but poor Sabine had no share in them. Love and sorrow looked towards the +future, not towards the past. Christophe was powerless against his youth. +The sap of life swelled up again in him with new vigor. His grief, his +regrets, his chaste and ardent love, his baffled desires, heightened the +fever that was in him. In spite of his sorrow, his heart beat in lively, +sturdy rhythm: wild songs leaped forth in mad, intoxicated strains: +everything in him hymned life and even sadness took on a festival shape. +Christophe was too frank to persist in self-deception: and he despised +himself. But life swept him headlong: and in his sadness, with death in his +heart, and life in all his limbs, he abandoned himself to the forces +newborn in him, to the absurd, delicious joy of living, which grief, pity, +despair, the aching wound of an irreparable loss, all the torment of death, +can only sharpen and kindle into being in the strong, as they rowel their +sides with furious spur. + +And Christophe knew that, in himself, in the secret hidden depths of his +soul, he had an inaccessible and inviolable sanctuary where lay the shadow +of Sabine. That the flood of life could not bear away.... Each of us bears +in his soul as it were a little graveyard of those whom he has loved. They +sleep there, through the years, untroubled. But a day cometh,--this we +know,--when the graves shall reopen. The dead issue from the tomb and smile +with their pale lips--loving, always--on the beloved, and the lover, in +whose breast their memory dwells, like the child sleeping in the mother's +womb. + + + + +III + +ADA + + +After the wet summer the autumn was radiant. In the orchards the trees were +weighed down with fruit The red apples shone like billiard balls. Already +some of the trees were taking on their brilliant garb of the falling year: +flame color, fruit color, color of ripe melon, of oranges and lemons, of +good cooking, and fried dishes. Misty lights glowed through the woods: and +from the meadows there rose the little pink flames of the saffron. + +He was going down a hill. It was a Sunday afternoon. He was striding, +almost running, gaining speed down the slope. He was singing a phrase, the +rhythm of which had been obsessing him all through his walk. He was red, +disheveled: he was walking, swinging his arms, and rolling his eyes like a +madman, when as he turned a bend in the road he came suddenly on a fair +girl perched on a wall tugging with all her might at a branch of a tree +from which she was greedily plucking and eating purple plums. Their +astonishment was mutual. She looked at him, stared, with her mouth full. +Then she burst out laughing. So did he. She was good to see, with her round +face framed in fair curly hair, which was like a sunlit cloud about her, +her full pink cheeks, her wide blue eyes, her rather large nose, +impertinently turned up, her little red mouth showing white teeth--the +canine little, strong, and projecting--her plump chin, and her full figure, +large and plump, well built, solidly put together. He called out: + +"Good eating!" And was for going on his road. But she called to him: + +"Sir! Sir! Will you be very nice? Help me to get down. I can't...." + +He returned and asked her how she had climbed up. + +"With my hands and feet.... It is easy enough to get up...." + +"Especially when there are tempting plums hanging above your head...." + +"Yes.... But when you have eaten your courage goes. You can't find the way +to get down." + +He looked at her on her perch. He said: + +"You are all right there. Stay there quietly. I'll come and see you +to-morrow. Good-night!" + +But he did not budge, and stood beneath her. She pretended to be afraid, +and begged him with little glances not to leave her. They stayed looking at +each other and laughing. She showed him the branch to which she was +clinging and asked: + +"Would you like some?" + +Respect for property had not developed in Christophe since the days of his +expeditions with Otto: he accepted without hesitation. She amused herself +with pelting him with plums. When he had eaten she said: + +"Now!..." + +He took a wicked pleasure in keeping her waiting. She grew impatient on her +wall. At last he said: + +"Come, then!" and held his hand up to her. + +But just as she was about to jump down she thought a moment. + +"Wait! We must make provision first!" + +She gathered the finest plums within reach and filled the front of her +blouse with them. + +"Carefully! Don't crush them!" + +He felt almost inclined to do so. + +She lowered herself from the wall and jumped into his arms. Although he was +sturdy he bent under her weight and all but dragged her down. They were of +the same height. Their faces came together. He kissed her lips, moist and +sweet with the juice of the plums: and she returned his kiss without more +ceremony. + +"Where are you going?" he asked. + +"I don't know." + +"Are you out alone?" + +"No. I am with friends. But I have lost them.... Hi! Hi!" she called +suddenly as loudly as she could. + +No answer. + +She did not bother about it any more. They began to walk, at random, +following their noses. + +"And you ... where are you going?" said she. + +"I don't know, either." + +"Good. We'll go together." + +She took some plums from her gaping blouse and began to munch them. + +"You'll make yourself sick," he said. + +"Not I! I've been eating them all day." + +Through the gap in her blouse he saw the white of her chemise. + +"They are all warm now," she said. + +"Let me see!" + +She held him one and laughed. He ate it. She watched him out of the corner +of her eye as she sucked at the fruit like a child. He did not know how the +adventure would end. It is probable that she at least had some suspicion. +She waited. + +"Hi! Hi!" Voices in the woods. + +"Hi! Hi!" she answered. "Ah! There they are!" she said to Christophe. "Not +a bad thing, either!" + +But on the contrary she was thinking that it was rather a pity. But speech +was not given to woman for her to say what she is thinking.... Thank God! +for there would be an end of morality on earth.... + +The voices came near. Her friends were near the road. She leaped the ditch, +climbed the hedge, and hid behind the trees. He watched her in amazement. +She signed to him imperiously to come to her. He followed her. She plunged +into the depths of the wood. + +"Hi! Hi!" she called once more when they had gone some distance. "You see, +they must look for me!" she explained to Christophe. + +Her friends had stopped on the road and were listening for her voice to +mark where it came from. They answered her and in their turn entered the +woods. But she did not wait for them. She turned about on right and on +left. They bawled loudly after her. She let them, and then went and called +in the opposite direction. At last they wearied of it, and, making sure +that the best way of making her come was to give up seeking her, they +called: + +"Good-bye!" and went off singing. + +She was furious that they should not have bothered about her any more than +that. She had tried to be rid of them: but she had not counted on their +going off so easily. Christophe looked rather foolish: this game of +hide-and-seek with a girl whom he did not know did not exactly enthrall +him: and he had no thought of taking advantage of their solitude. Nor did +she think of it: in her annoyance she forgot Christophe. + +"Oh! It's too much," she said, thumping her hands together. "They have left +me." + +"But," said Christophe, "you wanted them to." + +"Not at all." + +"You ran away." + +"If I ran away from them that is my affair, not theirs. They ought to look +for me. What if I were lost?..." + +Already she was beginning to be sorry for herself because if what might +have happened if ... if the opposite of what actually had occurred had come +about. + +"Oh!" she said. "I'll shake them!" She turned back and strode off. + +As she went she remembered Christophe and looked at him once more.--But it +was too late. She began to laugh. The little demon which had been in her +the moment before was gone. While she was waiting for another to come she +saw Christophe with the eyes of indifference. And then, she was hungry. Her +stomach was reminding her that it was supper-time: she was in a hurry to +rejoin her friends at the inn. She took Christophe's arm, leaned on it with +all her weight, groaned, and said that she was exhausted. That did not keep +her from dragging Christophe down a slope, running, and shouting, and +laughing like a mad thing. + +They talked. She learned who he was: she did not know his name, and seemed +not to be greatly impressed by his title of musician. He learned that she +was a shop-girl from a dress-maker's in the _Kaiserstrasse_ (the most +fashionable street in the town): her name was Adelheid--to friends, Ada. +Her companions on the excursion were one of her friends, who worked at the +same place as herself, and two nice young men, a clerk at Weiller's bank, +and a clerk from a big linen-draper's. They were turning their Sunday to +account: they had decided to dine at the Brochet inn, from which there is a +fine view over the Rhine, and then to return by boat. + +The others had already established themselves at the inn when they arrived. +Ada made a scene with her friends: she complained of their cowardly +desertion and presented Christophe as her savior. They did not listen to +her complaints: but they knew Christophe, the bank-clerk by reputation, the +clerk from having heard some of his compositions--(he thought it a good +idea to hum an air from one of them immediately afterwards)--and the +respect which they showed him made an impression on Ada, the more so as +Myrrha, the other young woman--(her real name was Hansi or Johanna)--a +brunette with blinking eyes, bumpy forehead, hair screwed back, Chinese +face, a little too animated, but clever and not without charm, in spite of +her goat-like head and her oily golden-yellow complexion,--at once began to +make advances to their _Hof Musicus_. They begged him to be so good as to +honor their repast with his presence. + +Never had he been in such high feather: for he was overwhelmed with +attentions, and the two women, like good friends as they were, tried each +to rob the other of him. Both courted him: Myrrha with ceremonious manners, +sly looks, as she rubbed her leg against his under the table--Ada, openly +making play with her fine eyes, her pretty mouth, and all the seductive +resources at her command. Such coquetry in its almost coarseness incommoded +and distressed Christophe. These two bold young women were a change from +the unkindly faces he was accustomed to at home. Myrrha interested him, he +guessed her to be more intelligent than Ada: but her obsequious manners and +her ambiguous smile were curiously attractive and repulsive to him at the +same time. She could do nothing against Ada's radiance of life and +pleasure: and she was aware of it. When she saw that she had lost the bout, +she abandoned the effort, turned in upon herself, went on smiling, and +patiently waited for her day to come. Ada, seeing herself mistress of the +field, did not seek to push forward the advantage she had gained: what she +had done had been mainly to despite her friend: she had succeeded, she was +satisfied. But she had been caught in her own game. She felt as she looked +into Christophe's eyes the passion that she had kindled in him: and that +same passion began to awake in her. She was silent: she left her vulgar +teasing: they looked at each other in silence: on their lips they had the +savor of their kiss. From time to time by fits and starts they joined +vociferously in the jokes of the others: then they relapsed into silence, +stealing glances at each other. At last they did not even look at each +other, as though they were afraid of betraying themselves. Absorbed in +themselves they brooded over their desire. + +When the meal was over they got ready to go. They had to go a mile and a +half through the woods to reach the pier. Ada got up first: Christophe +followed her. They waited on the steps until the others were ready: without +speaking, side by side, in the thick mist that was hardly at all lit up by +the single lamp hanging by the inn door.--Myrrha was dawdling by the +mirror. + +Ada took Christophe's hand and led him along the house towards the garden +into the darkness. Under a balcony from which hung a curtain of vines they +hid. All about them was dense darkness. They could not even see each other. +The wind stirred the tops of the pines. He felt Ada's warm fingers entwined +in his and the sweet scent of a heliotrope flower that she had at her +breast. + +Suddenly she dragged him to her: Christophe's lips found Ada's hair, wet +with the mist, and kissed her eyes, her eyebrows, her nose, her cheeks, the +corners of her mouth, seeking her lips, and finding them, staying pressed +to them. + +The others had gone. They called: + +"Ada!..." + +They did not stir, they hardly breathed, pressed close to each other, lips +and bodies. + +They heard Myrrha: + +"They have gone on." + +The footsteps of their companions died away in the night. They held each +other closer, in silence, stifling on their lips a passionate murmuring. + +In the distance a village clock rang out. They broke apart. They had to run +to the pier. Without a word they set out, arms and hands entwined, keeping +step--a little quick, firm step, like hers. The road was deserted: no +creature was abroad: they could not see ten yards ahead of them: they went, +serene and sure, into the beloved night. They never stumbled over the +pebbles on the road. As they were late they took a short cut. The path led +for some way down through vines and then began to ascend and wind up the +side of the hill. Through the mist they could hear the roar of the river +and the heavy paddles of the steamer approaching. They left the road and +ran across the fields. At last they found themselves on the bank of the +Rhine but still far from the pier. Their serenity was not disturbed. Ada +had forgotten her fatigue of the evening. It seemed to them that they could +have walked all night like that, on the silent grass, in the hovering +mists, that grew wetter and more dense along the river that was wrapped in +a whiteness as of the moon. The steamer's siren hooted: the invisible +monster plunged heavily away and away. They said, laughing: + +"We will take the next." + +By the edge of the river soft lapping waves broke at their feet. At the +landing stage they were told: + +"The last boat has just gone." + +Christophe's heart thumped. Ada's hand grasped his arm more tightly. + +"But," she said, "there will be another one to-morrow." + +A few yards away in a halo of mist was the flickering light of a lamp hung +on a post on a terrace by the river. A little farther on were a few lighted +windows--a little inn. + +They went into the tiny garden. The sand ground under their feet. They +groped their way to the steps. When they entered, the lights were being put +out. Ada, on Christophe's arm, asked for a room. The room to which they +were led opened on to the little garden. Christophe leaned out of the +window and saw the phosphorescent flow of the river, and the shade of the +lamp on the glass of which were crushed mosquitoes with large wings. The +door was closed. Ada was standing by the bed and smiling. He dared not look +at her. She did not look at him: but through her lashes she followed +Christophe's every movement. The floor creaked with every step. They could +hear the least noise in the house. They sat on the bed and embraced in +silence. + + * * * * * + +The flickering light of the garden is dead. All is dead.... Night.... The +abyss.... Neither light nor consciousness.... Being. The obscure, devouring +forces of Being. Joy all-powerful. Joy rending. Joy which sucks down the +human creature as the void a stone. The sprout of desire sucking up +thought. The absurd delicious law of the blind intoxicated worlds which +roll at night.... + +... A night which is many nights, hours that are centuries, records which +are death.... Dreams shared, words spoken with eyes closed, tears and +laughter, the happiness of loving in the voice, of sharing the nothingness +of sleep, the swiftly passing images flouting in the brain, the +hallucinations of the roaring night.... The Rhine laps in a little creek by +the house; in the distance his waters over the dams and breakwaters make a +sound as of a gentle rain falling on sand. The hull of the boat cracks and +groans under the weight of water. The chain by which it is tied sags and +grows taut with a rusty clattering. The voice of the river rises: it fills +the room. The bed is like a boat. They are swept along side by side by a +giddy current--hung in mid-air like a soaring bird. The night grows ever +more dark, the void more empty. Ada weeps, Christophe loses consciousness: +both are swept down under the flowing waters of the night.... + +Night.... Death.... Why wake to life again?... + +The light of the dawning day peeps through the dripping panes. The spark of +life glows once more in their languorous bodies. He awakes, Ada's eyes are +looking at him. A whole life passes in a few moments: days of sin, +greatness, and peace.... + +"Where am I? And am I two? Do I still exist? I am no longer conscious of +being. All about me is the infinite: I have the soul of a statue, with +large tranquil eyes, filled with Olympian peace...." + +They fall back into the world of sleep. And the familiar sounds of the +dawn, the distant bells, a passing boat, oars dripping water, footsteps on +the road, all caress without disturbing their happy sleep, reminding them +that they are alive, and making them delight in the savor of their +happiness.... + + * * * * * + +The puffing of the steamer outside the window brought Christophe from his +torpor. They had agreed to leave at seven so as to return to the town in +time for their usual occupations. He whispered: + +"Do you hear?" + +She did not open her eyes; she smiled, she put out her lips, she tried to +kiss him and then let her head fall back on his shoulder.... Through the +window panes he saw the funnel of the steamer slip by against the sky, he +saw the empty deck, and clouds of smoke. Once more he slipped into +dreaminess.... + +An hour passed without his knowing it. He heard it strike and started in +astonishment. + +"Ada!..." he whispered to the girl. "Ada!" he said again. "It's eight +o'clock." + +Her eyes were still closed: she frowned and pouted pettishly. + +"Oh! let me sleep!" she said. + +She sighed wearily and turned her back on him and went to sleep once more. + +He began to dream. His blood ran bravely, calmly through him. His limpid +senses received the smallest impressions simply and freshly. He rejoiced in +his strength and youth. Unwittingly he was proud of being a man. He smiled +in his happiness, and felt himself alone: alone as he had always been, more +lonely even but without sadness, in a divine solitude. No more fever. "No +more shadows. Nature could freely cast her reflection upon his soul in its +serenity. Lying on his back, facing the window, his eyes gazing deep into +the dazzling air with its luminous mists, he smiled: + +"How good it is to live!..." + +To live!... A boat passed.... The thought suddenly of those who were no +longer alive, of a boat gone by on which they were together: he--she.... +She?... Not that one, sleeping by his side.--She, the only she, the +beloved, the poor little woman who was dead.--But is it that one? How came +she there? How did they come to this room? He looks at her, he does not +know her: she is a stranger to him: yesterday morning she did not exist for +him. What does he know of her?--He knows that she is not clever. He knows +that she is not good. He knows that she is not even beautiful with her face +spiritless and bloated with sleep, her low forehead, her mouth open in +breathing, her swollen dried lips pouting like a fish. He knows that he +does not love her. And he is filled with a bitter sorrow when he thinks +that he kissed those strange lips, in the first moment with her, that he +has taken this beautiful body for which he cares nothing on the first night +of their meeting,--and that she whom he loved, he watched her live and die +by his side and never dared touch her hair with his lips, that he will +never know the perfume of her being. Nothing more. All is crumbled away. +The earth has taken all from him. And he never defended what was his.... + +And while he leaned over the innocent sleeper and scanned her face, and +looked at her with eyes of unkindness, she felt his eyes upon her. Uneasy +under his scrutiny she made a great effort to raise her heavy lids and to +smile: and she said, stammering a little like a waking child: + +"Don't look at me. I'm ugly...." + +She fell back at once, weighed down with sleep, smiled once more, murmured. + +"Oh! I'm so ... so sleepy!..." and went off again into her dreams. + +He could not help laughing: he kissed her childish lips more tenderly. He +watched the girl sleeping for a moment longer, and got up quietly. She gave +a comfortable sigh when he was gone. He tried not to wake her as he +dressed, though there was no danger of that: and when he had done he sat in +the chair near the window and watched the steaming smoking river which +looked as though it were covered with ice: and he fell into a brown study +in which there hovered music, pastoral, melancholy. + +From time to time she half opened her eyes and looked at him vaguely, took +a second or two, smiled at him, and passed from one sleep to another. She +asked him the time. + +"A quarter to nine." + +Half asleep she pondered: + +"What! Can it be a quarter to nine?" + +At half-past nine she stretched, sighed, and said that she was going to get +up. + +It was ten o'clock before she stirred. She was petulant. + +"Striking again!... The clock is fast!..." He laughed and went and sat on +the bed by her side. She put her arms round his neck and told him her +dreams. He did not listen very attentively and interrupted her with little +love words. But she made him be silent and went on very seriously, as +though she were telling something of the highest importance: + +"She was at dinner: the Grand Duke was there: Myrrha was a Newfoundland +dog.... No, a frizzy sheep who waited at table.... Ada had discovered a +method of rising from the earth, of walking, dancing, and lying down in the +air. You see it was quite simple: you had only to do ... thus ... thus ... +and it was done...." + +Christophe laughed at her. She laughed too, though a little ruffled at his +laughing. She shrugged her shoulders. + +"Ah! you don't understand!..." + +They breakfasted on the bed from the same cup, with the same spoon. + +At last she got up: she threw off the bedclothes and slipped down from the +bed. Then she sat down to recover her breath and looked at her feet. +Finally she clapped her hands and told him to go out: and as he was in no +hurry about it she took him by the shoulders and thrust him out of the door +and then locked it. + +After she had dawdled, looked over and stretched each of her handsome +limbs, she sang, as she washed, a sentimental _Lied_ in fourteen couplets, +threw water at Christophe's face--he was outside drumming on the +window--and as they left she plucked the last rose in the garden and then +they took the steamer. The mist was not yet gone: but the sun shone through +it: they floated through a creamy light. Ada sat at the stern with +Christophe: she was sleepy and a little sulky: she grumbled about the light +in her eyes, and said that she would have a headache all day. And as +Christophe did not take her complaints seriously enough she returned into +morose silence. Her eyes were hardly opened and in them was the funny +gravity of children who have just woke up. But at the next landing-stage an +elegant lady came and sat not far from her, and she grew lively at once: +she talked eagerly to Christophe about things sentimental and +distinguished. She had resumed with him the ceremonious _Sie_. + +Christophe was thinking about what she could say to her employer by way of +excuse for her lateness. She was hardly at all concerned about it. + +"Bah! It's not the first time." + +"The first time that ... what?" + +"That I have been late," she said, put out by the question. + +He dared not ask her what had caused her lateness. + +"What will you tell her?" + +"That my mother is ill, dead ... how do I know?" + +He was hurt by her talking so lightly. + +"I don't want you to lie." + +She took offense: + +"First of all, I never lie.... And then, I cannot very well tell her...." + +He asked her half in jest, half in earnest: + +"Why not?" + +She laughed, shrugged, and said that he was coarse and ill-bred, and that +she had already asked him not to use the _Du_ to her. + +"Haven't I the right?" + +"Certainly not." + +"After what has happened?" + +"Nothing has happened." + +She looked at him a little defiantly and laughed: and although she was +joking, he felt most strongly that it would not have cost her much to say +it seriously and almost to believe it. But some pleasant memory tickled +her: for she burst out laughing and looked at Christophe and kissed him +loudly without any concern for the people about, who did not seem to be in +the least surprised by it. + + * * * * * + +Now on all his excursions he was accompanied by shop-girls and clerks: he +did not like their vulgarity, and used to try to lose them: but Ada out of +contrariness was no longer disposed for wandering in the woods. When it +rained or for some other reason they did not leave the town he would take +her to the theater, or the museum, or the _Thiergarten_: for she insisted +on being seen with him. She even wanted him to go to church with her; but +he was so absurdly sincere that he would not set foot inside a church since +he had lost his belief--(on some other excuse he had resigned his position +as organist)--and at the same time, unknown to himself, remained much too +religious not to think Ada's proposal sacrilegious. + +He used to go to her rooms in the evening. Myrrha would be there, for she +lived in the same house. Myrrha was not at all resentful against him: she +would hold out her soft hand, caressingly, and talk of trivial and improper +things and then dip away discreetly. The two women had never seemed to be +such friends as since they had had small reason for being so: they were +always together. Ada had no secrets from Myrrha: she told her everything: +Myrrha listened to everything: they seemed to be equally pleased with it +all. + +Christophe was ill at ease in the company of the two women. Their +friendship, their strange conversations, their freedom of manner, the crude +way in which Myrrha especially viewed and spoke of things--(not so much in +his presence, however, as when he was not there, but Ada used to repeat her +sayings to him)--their indiscreet and impertinent curiosity, which was +forever turned upon subjects that were silly or basely sensual, the whole +equivocal and rather animal atmosphere oppressed him terribly, though it +interested him: for he knew nothing like it. He was at sea in the +conversations of the two little beasts, who talked of dress, and made silly +jokes, and laughed in an inept way with their eyes shining with delight +when they were off on the track of some spicy story. He was more at ease +when Myrrha left them. When the two women were together it was like being +in a foreign country without knowing the language. It was impossible to +make himself understood: they did not even listen: they poked fun at the +foreigner. + +When he was alone with Ada they went on speaking different languages: but +at least they did make some attempt to understand each other. To tell the +truth, the more he understood her, the less he understood her. She was the +first woman he had known. For if poor Sabine was a woman he had known, he +had known nothing of her: she had always remained for him a phantom of his +heart. Ada took upon herself to make him make up for lost time. In his turn +he tried to solve the riddle of woman; an enigma which perhaps is no enigma +except for those who seek some meaning in it. + +Ada was without intelligence: that was the least of her faults. Christophe +would have commended her for it, if she had approved it herself. But +although she was occupied only with stupidities, she claimed to have some +knowledge of the things of the spirit: and she judged everything with +complete assurance. She would talk about music, and explain to Christophe +things which he knew perfectly, and would pronounce absolute judgment and +sentence. It was useless to try to convince her she had pretensions and +susceptibilities in everything; she gave herself airs, she was obstinate, +vain: she would not--she could not understand anything. Why would she not +accept that she could understand nothing? He loved her so much better when +she was content with being just what she was, simply, with her own +qualities and failings, instead of trying to impose on others and herself! + +In fact, she was little concerned with thought. She was concerned with +eating, drinking, singing, dancing, crying, laughing, sleeping: she wanted +to be happy: and that would have been all right if she had succeeded. But +although she had every gift for it: she was greedy, lazy, sensual, and +frankly egoistic in a way that revolted and amused Christophe: although she +had almost all the vices which make life pleasant for their fortunate +possessor, if not for their friends--(and even then does not a happy face, +at least if it be pretty, shed happiness on all those who come near +it?)--in spite of so many reasons for being satisfied with life and herself +Ada was not even clever enough for that. The pretty, robust girl, fresh, +hearty, healthy-looking, endowed with abundant spirits and fierce +appetites, was anxious about her health. She bemoaned her weakness, while +she ate enough for four. She was always sorry for herself: she could not +drag herself along, she could not breathe, she had a headache, feet-ache, +her eyes ached, her stomach ached, her soul ached. She was afraid of +everything, and madly superstitious, and saw omens everywhere: at meals the +crossing of knives and forks, the number of the guests, the upsetting of a +salt-cellar: then there must be a whole ritual to turn aside misfortune. +Out walking she would count the crows, and never failed to watch which side +they flew to: she would anxiously watch the road at her feet, and when a +spider crossed her path in the morning she would cry out aloud: then she +would wish to go home and there would be no other means of not interrupting +the walk than to persuade her that it was after twelve, and so the omen was +one of hope rather than of evil. She was afraid of her dreams: she would +recount them at length to Christophe; for hours she would try to recollect +some detail that she had forgotten; she never spared him one; absurdities +piled one on the other, strange marriages, deaths, dressmakers' prices, +burlesque, and sometimes, obscene things. He had to listen to her and give +her his advice. Often she would be for a whole day under the obsession of +her inept fancies. She would find life ill-ordered, she would see things +and people rawly and overwhelm Christophe with her jeremiads; and it seemed +hardly worth while to have broken away from the gloomy middle-class people +with whom he lived to find once more the eternal enemy: the _"trauriger +ungriechischer Hypochondrist_." + +But suddenly in the midst of her sulks and grumblings, she would become +gay, noisy, exaggerated: there was no more dealing with her gaiety than +with her moroseness: she would burst out laughing for no reason and seem as +though she were never going to stop: she would rush across the fields, play +mad tricks and childish pranks, take a delight in doing silly things, in +mixing with the earth, and dirty things, and the beasts, and the spiders, +and worms, in teasing them, and hurting them, and making them eat each +other: the cats eat the birds, the fowls the worms, the ants the spiders, +not from any wickedness, or perhaps from an altogether unconscious instinct +for evil, from curiosity, or from having nothing better to do. She seemed +to be driven always to say stupid things, to repeat senseless words again +and again, to irritate Christophe, to exasperate him, set his nerves on +edge, and make him almost beside himself. And her coquetry as soon as +anybody--no matter who--appeared on the road!... Then she would talk +excitedly, laugh noisily, make faces, draw attention to herself: she would +assume an affected mincing gait. Christophe would have a horrible +presentiment that she was going to plunge into serious discussion.--And, +indeed, she would do so. She would become sentimental, uncontrolledly, just +as she did everything: she would unbosom herself in a loud voice. +Christophe would suffer and long to beat her. Least of all could he forgive +her her lack of sincerity. He did not yet know that sincerity is a gift as +rare as intelligence or beauty and that it cannot justly be expected of +everybody. He could not bear a lie: and Ada gave him lies in full measure. +She was always lying, quite calmly, in spite of evidence to the contrary. +She had that astounding faculty for forgetting what is displeasing to +them--or even what has been pleasing to them--which those women possess who +live from moment to moment. + +And, in spite of everything, they loved each other with all their hearts. +Ada was as sincere as Christophe in her love. Their love was none the less +true for not being based on intellectual sympathy: it had nothing in common +with base passion. It was the beautiful love of youth: it was sensual, but +not vulgar, because it was altogether youthful: it was naïve, almost +chaste, purged by the ingenuous ardor of pleasure. Although Ada was not, by +a long way, so ignorant as Christophe, yet she had still the divine +privilege of youth of soul and body, that freshness of the senses, limpid +and vivid as a running stream, which almost gives the illusion of purity +and through life is never replaced. Egoistic, commonplace, insincere in her +ordinary life,--love made her simple, true, almost good: she understood in +love the joy that is to be found in self-forgetfulness. Christophe saw this +with delight: and he would gladly have died for her. Who can tell all the +absurd and touching illusions that a loving heart brings to its love! And +the natural illusion of the lover was magnified an hundredfold in +Christophe by the power of illusion which is born in the artist. Ada's +smile held profound meanings for him: an affectionate word was the proof of +the goodness of her heart. He loved in her all that is good and beautiful +in the universe. He called her his own, his soul, his life. They wept +together over their love. + +Pleasure was not the only bond between them: there was an indefinable +poetry of memories and dreams,--their own? or those of the men and women +who had loved before them, who had been before them,--in them?... Without a +word, perhaps without knowing it, they preserved the fascination of the +first moments of their meeting in the woods, the first days, the first +nights together: those hours of sleep in each other's arms, still, +unthinking, sinking down into a flood of love and silent joy. Swift +fancies, visions, dumb thoughts, titillating, and making them go pale, and +their hearts sink under their desire, bringing all about them a buzzing as +of bees. A fine light, and tender.... Their hearts sink and beat no more, +borne down in excess of sweetness. Silence, languor, and fever, the +mysterious weary smile of the earth quivering under the first sunlight of +spring.... So fresh a love in two young creatures is like an April morning. +Like April it must pass. Youth of the heart is like an early feast of +sunshine. + + * * * * * + +Nothing could have brought Christophe closer to Ada in his love than the +way in which he was judged by others. + +The day after their first meeting it was known all over the town. Ada made +no attempt to cover up the adventure, and rather plumed herself on her +conquest. Christophe would have liked more discretion: but he felt that the +curiosity of the people was upon him: and as he did not wish to seem to fly +from it, he threw in his lot with Ada. The little town buzzed with tattle. +Christophe's colleagues in the orchestra paid him sly compliments to which +he did not reply, because he would not allow any meddling with his affairs. +The respectable people of the town judged his conduct very severely. He +lost his music lessons with certain families. With others, the mothers +thought that they must now be present at the daughters' lessons, watching +with suspicious eyes, as though Christophe were intending to carry off the +precious darlings. The young ladies were supposed to know nothing. +Naturally they knew everything: and while they were cold towards Christophe +for his lack of taste, they were longing to have further details. It was +only among the small tradespeople, and the shop people, that Christophe was +popular: but not for long: he was just as annoyed by their approval as by +the condemnation of the rest: and being unable to do anything against that +condemnation, he took steps not to keep their approval: there was no +difficulty about that. He was furious with the general indiscretion. + +The most indignant of all with him were Justus Euler and the Vogels. They +took Christophe's misconduct as a personal outrage. They had not made any +serious plans concerning him: they distrusted--especially Frau Vogel--these +artistic temperaments. But as they were naturally discontented and always +inclined to think themselves persecuted by fate, they persuaded themselves +that they had counted on the marriage of Christophe and Rosa; as soon as +they were quite certain that such a marriage would never come to pass, they +saw in it the mark of the usual ill luck. Logically, if fate were +responsible for their miscalculation, Christophe could not be: but the +Vogels' logic was that which gave them the greatest opportunity for finding +reasons for being sorry for themselves. So they decided that if Christophe +had misconducted himself it was not so much for his own pleasure as to give +offense to them. They were scandalized. Very religious, moral, and oozing +domestic virtue, they were of those to whom the sins of the flesh are the +most shameful, the most serious, almost the only sins, because they are the +only dreadful sins--(it is obvious that respectable people are never likely +to be tempted to steal or murder).--And so Christophe seemed to them +absolutely wicked, and they changed their demeanor towards him. They were +icy towards him and turned away as they passed him. Christophe, who was in +no particular need of their conversation, shrugged his shoulders at all the +fuss. He pretended not to notice Amalia's insolence: who, while she +affected contemptuously to avoid him, did all that she could to make him +fall in with her so that she might tell him all that was rankling in her. + +Christophe was only touched by Rosa's attitude. The girl condemned him more +harshly even than his family. Not that this new love of Christophe's seemed +to her to destroy her last chances of being loved by him: she knew that she +had no chance left--(although perhaps she went on hoping: she always +hoped).--But she had made an idol of Christophe: and that idol had crumbled +away. It was the worst sorrow for her ... yes, a sorrow more cruel to the +innocence and honesty of her heart, than being disdained and forgotten by +him. Brought up puritanically, with a narrow code of morality, in which she +believed passionately, what she had heard about Christophe had not only +brought her to despair but had broken her heart. She had suffered already +when he was in love with Sabine: she had begun then to lose some of her +illusions about her hero. That Christophe could love so commonplace a +creature seemed to her inexplicable and inglorious. But at least that love +was pure, and Sabine was not unworthy of it. And in the end death had +passed over it and sanctified it.... But that at once Christophe should +love another woman,--and such a woman!--was base, and odious! She took upon +herself the defense of the dead woman against him. She could not forgive +him for having forgotten her.... Alas! He was thinking of her more than +she: but she never thought that in a passionate heart there might be room +for two sentiments at once: she thought it impossible to be faithful to the +past without sacrifice of the present. Pure and cold, she had no idea of +life or of Christophe: everything in her eyes was pure, narrow, submissive +to duty, like herself. Modest of soul, modest of herself, she had only one +source of pride: purity: she demanded it of herself and of others. She +could not forgive Christophe for having so lowered himself, and she would +never forgive him. + +Christophe tried to talk to her, though not to explain himself--(what could +he say to her? what could he say to a little puritanical and naïve +girl?).--He would have liked to assure her that he was her friend, that he +wished for her esteem, and had still the right to it He wished to prevent +her absurdly estranging herself from him.--But Rosa avoided him in stern +silence: he felt that she despised him. + +He was both sorry and angry. He felt that he did not deserve such contempt; +and yet in the end he was bowled over by it: and thought himself guilty. Of +all the reproaches cast against him the most bitter came from himself when +he thought of Sabine. He tormented himself. + +"Oh! God, how is it possible? What sort of creature am I?..." + +But he could not resist the stream that bore him on. He thought that life +is criminal: and he closed his eyes so as to live without seeing it. He had +so great a need to live, and be happy, and love, and believe!... No: there +was nothing despicable in his love! He knew that it was impossible to be +very wise, or intelligent, or even very happy in his love for Ada: but what +was there in it that could be called vile? Suppose--(he forced the idea on +himself)--that Ada were not a woman of any great moral worth, how was the +love that he had for her the less pure for that? Love is in the lover, not +in the beloved. Everything is worthy of the lover, everything is worthy of +love. To the pure all is pure. All is pure in the strong and the healthy of +mind. Love, which adorns certain birds with their loveliest colors, calls +forth from the souls that are true all that is most noble in them. The +desire to show to the beloved only what is worthy makes the lover take +pleasure only in those thoughts and actions which are in harmony with the +beautiful image fashioned by love. And the waters of youth in which the +soul is bathed, the blessed radiance of strength and joy, are beautiful and +health-giving, making the heart great. + +That his friends misunderstood him filled him with bitterness. But the +worst trial of all was that his mother was beginning to be unhappy about +it. + +The good creature was far from sharing the narrow views of the Vogels. She +had seen real sorrows too near ever to try to invent others. Humble, broken +by life, having received little joy from it, and having asked even less, +resigned to everything that happened, without even trying to understand it, +she was careful not to judge or censure others: she thought she had no +right. She thought herself too stupid to pretend that they were wrong when +they did not think as she did: it would have seemed ridiculous to try to +impose on others the inflexible rules of her morality and belief. Besides +that, her morality and her belief were purely instinctive: pious and pure +in herself she closed her eyes to the conduct of others, with the +indulgence of her class for certain faults and certain weaknesses. That had +been one of the complaints that her father-in-law, Jean Michel, had lodged +against her: she did not sufficiently distinguish between those who were +honorable and those who were not: she was not afraid of stopping in the +street or the market-place to shake hands and talk with young women, +notorious in the neighborhood, whom a respectable woman ought to pretend to +ignore. She left it to God to distinguish between good and evil, to punish +or to forgive. From others she asked only a little of that affectionate +sympathy which is so necessary to soften the ways of life. If people were +only kind she asked no more. + +But since she had lived with the Vogels a change had come about in her. The +disparaging temper of the family had found her an easier prey because she +was crushed and had no strength to resist. Amalia had taken her in hand: +and from morning to night when they were working together alone, and Amalia +did all the talking, Louisa, broken and passive, unconsciously assumed the +habit of judging and criticising everything. Frau Vogel did not fail to +tell her what she thought of Christophe's conduct. Louisa's calmness +irritated her. She thought it indecent of Louisa to be so little concerned +about what put him beyond the pale: she was not satisfied until she had +upset her altogether. Christophe saw it. Louisa dared not reproach him: but +every day she made little timid remarks, uneasy, insistent: and when he +lost patience and replied sharply, she said no more: but still he could see +the trouble in her eyes: and when he came home sometimes he could see that +she had been weeping. He knew his mother too well not to be absolutely +certain that her uneasiness did not come from herself.--And he knew well +whence it came. + +He determined to make an end of it. One evening when Louisa was unable to +hold back her tears and had got up from the table in the middle of supper +without Christophe being able to discover what was the matter, he rushed +downstairs four steps at a time and knocked at the Vogels' door. He was +boiling with rage. He was not only angry about Frau Vogel's treatment of +his mother: he had to avenge himself for her having turned Rosa against +him, for her bickering against Sabine, for all that he had had to put up +with at her hands for months. For months he had borne his pent-up feelings +against her and now made haste to let them loose. + +He burst in on Frau Vogel and in a voice that he tried to keep calm, though +it was trembling with fury, he asked her what she had told his mother to +bring her to such a state. + +Amalia took it very badly: she replied that she would say what she pleased, +and was responsible to no one for her actions--to him least of all. And +seizing the opportunity to deliver the speech which she had prepared, she +added that if Louisa was unhappy he had to go no further for the cause of +it than his own conduct, which was a shame to himself and a scandal to +everybody else. + +Christophe was only waiting for her onslaught to strike out, He shouted +angrily that his conduct was his own affair, that he did not care a rap +whether it pleased Frau Vogel or not, that if she wished to complain of it +she must do so to him, and that she could say to him whatever she liked: +that rested with her, but he _forbade_ her--(did she hear?)--_forbade_ her +to say anything to his mother: it was cowardly and mean so to attack a poor +sick old woman. + +Frau Vogel cried loudly. Never had any one dared to speak to her in such a +manner. She said that she was not to be lectured fey a rapscallion,--and in +her own house, too!--And she treated him with abuse. + +The others came running up on the noise of the quarrel,--except Vogel, who +fled from anything that might upset, his health. Old Euler was called to +witness by the indignant Amalia and sternly bade Christophe in future to +refrain from speaking to or visiting them. He said that they did not need +him to tell them what they ought to do, that they did their duty and would +always do it. + +Christophe declared that he would go and would never again set foot in +their house. However, he did not go until he had relieved his feelings by +telling them what he had still to say about their famous Duty, which had +become to him a personal enemy. He said that their Duty was the sort of +thing to make him love vice. It was people like them who discouraged good, +by insisting on making it unpleasant. It was their fault that so many find +delight by contrast among those who are dishonest, but amiable and +laughter-loving. It was a profanation of the name of duty to apply it to +everything, to the most stupid tasks, to trivial things, with a stiff and +arrogant severity which ends by darkening and poisoning life. Duty, he +said, was exceptional: it should be kept for moments of real sacrifice, and +not used to lend the lover of its name to ill-humor and the desire to be +disagreeable to others. There was no reason, because they were stupid +enough or ungracious enough to be sad, to want everybody else to be so too +and to impose on everybody their decrepit way of living.... The first of +all virtues is joy. Virtue must be happy, free, and unconstrained. He who +does good must give pleasure to himself. But this perpetual upstart Duty, +this pedagogic tyranny, this peevishness, this futile discussion, this +acrid, puerile quibbling, this ungraciousness, this charmless life, without +politeness, without silence, this mean-spirited pessimism, which lets slip +nothing that can make existence poorer than it is, this vainglorious +unintelligence, which finds it easier to despise others than to understand +them, all this middle-class morality, without greatness, without largeness, +without happiness, without beauty, all these things are odious and hurtful: +they make vice appear more human than virtue. + +So thought Christophe: and in his desire to hurt those who had wounded him, +he did not see that he was being as unjust as those of whom he spoke. + +No doubt these unfortunate people were, almost as he saw them. But it was +not their fault: it was the fault of their ungracious life, which had made +their faces, their doings, and their thoughts ungracious. They had suffered +the deformation of misery--not that great misery which swoops down and +slays or forges anew--but the misery of ever recurring ill-fortune, that +small misery which trickles down drop by drop from the first day to the +last.... Sad, indeed! For beneath these rough exteriors what treasures in +reserve are there, of uprightness, of kindness, of silent heroism!... The +whole strength of a people, all the sap of the future. + +Christophe was not wrong in thinking duty exceptional. But love is so no +less. Everything is exceptional. Everything that is of worth has no worse +enemy--not the evil (the vices are of worth)--but the habitual. The mortal +enemy of the soul is the daily wear and tear. + +Ada was beginning to weary of it. She was not clever enough to find new +food for her love in an abundant nature like that of Christophe. Her senses +and her vanity had extracted from it all the pleasure they could find in +it. There was left her only the pleasure of destroying it. She had that +secret instinct common to so many women, even good women, to so many men, +even clever men, who are not creative either of art, or of children, or of +pure action,--no matter what: of life--and yet have too much life in apathy +and resignation to bear with their uselessness. They desire others to be as +useless as themselves and do their best to make them so. Sometimes they do +so in spite of themselves: and when they become aware of their criminal +desire they hotly thrust it back. But often they hug it to themselves: and +they set themselves according to their strength--some modestly in their own +intimate circle--others largely with vast audiences--to destroy everything +that has life, everything that loves life, everything that deserves life. +The critic who takes upon himself to diminish the stature of great men and +great thoughts--and the girl who amuses herself with dragging down her +lovers, are both mischievous beasts of the same kind.--But the second is +the pleasanter of the two. + +Ada then would have liked to corrupt Christophe a little, to humiliate him. +In truth, she was not strong enough. More intelligence was needed, even in +corruption. She felt that: and it was not the least of her rankling +feelings against Christophe that her love could do him no harm. She did not +admit the desire that was in her to do him harm: perhaps she would have +done him none if she had been able. But it annoyed her that she could not +do it. It is to fail in love for a woman not to leave her the illusion of +her power for good or evil over her lover: to do that must inevitably be to +impel her irresistibly to the test of it. Christophe paid no attention to +it. When Ada asked him jokingly: + +"Would you leave your music for me?" + +(Although she had no wish for him to do so.) + +He replied frankly: + +"No, my dear: neither you nor anybody else can do anything against that. I +shall always make music." + +"And you say you love?" cried she, put out. + +She hated his music--the more so because she did not understand it, and it +was impossible for her to find a means of coming to grips with this +invisible enemy and so to wound Christophe in his passion. If she tried to +talk of it contemptuously, or scornfully to judge Christophe's +compositions, he would shout with laughter; and in spite of her +exasperation Ada would relapse into silence: for she saw that she was being +ridiculous. + +But if there was nothing to be done in that direction, she had discovered +another weak spot in Christophe, one more easy of access: his moral faith. +In spite of his squabble with the Vogels, and in spite of the intoxication +of his adolescence, Christophe had preserved an instinctive modesty, a need +of purity, of which he was entirely unconscious. At first it struck Ada, +attracted and charmed her, then made her impatient and irritable, and +finally, being the woman she was, she detested it. She did not make a +frontal attack. She would ask insidiously: + +"Do you love me?" + +"Of course!" + +"How much do you love me?" + +"As much as it is possible to love." + +"That is not much ... after all!... What would you do for me?" + +"Whatever you like." + +"Would you do something dishonest." + +"That would be a queer way of loving." + +"That is not what I asked. Would you?" + +"It is not necessary." + +"But if I wished it?" + +"You would be wrong." + +"Perhaps.... Would you do it?" + +He tried to kiss her. But she thrust him away. + +"Would you do it? Yes or no?" + +"No, my dear." + +She turned her back on him and was furious. + +"You do not love me. You do not know what love is." + +"That is quite possible," he said good-humoredly. He knew that, like +anybody else, he was capable in a moment of passion of committing some +folly, perhaps something dishonest, and--who knows?--even more: but he +would have thought shame of himself if he had boasted of it in cold blood, +and certainly it would be dangerous to confess it to Ada. Some instinct +warmed him that the beloved foe was lying in ambush, and taking stock of +his smallest remark; he would not give her any weapon against him. + +She would return to the charge again, and ask him: + +"Do you love me because you love me, or because I love you?" + +"Because I love you." + +"Then if I did not love you, you would still love me?" + +"Yes." + +"And if I loved some one else you would still love me?" + +"Ah! I don't know about that.... I don't think so.... In any case you would +be the last person to whom I should say so." + +"How would it be changed?" + +"Many things would be changed. Myself, perhaps. You, certainly." + +"And if I changed, what would it matter?" + +"All the difference in the world. I love you as you are. If you become +another creature I can't promise to love you." + +"You do not love, you do not love! What is the use of all this quibbling? +You love or you do not love. If you love me you ought to love me just as I +am, whatever I do, always." + +"That would be to love you like an animal." + +"I want to be loved like that." + +"Then you have made a mistake," said he jokingly. "I am not the sort of man +you want. I would like to be, but I cannot. And I will not." + +"You are very proud of your intelligence! You love your intelligence more +than you do me." + +"But I love you, you wretch, more than you love yourself. The more +beautiful and the more good you are, the more I love you." + +"You are a schoolmaster," she said with asperity. + +"What would you? I love what is beautiful. Anything ugly disgusts me." + +"Even in me?" + +"Especially in you." + +She drummed angrily with her foot. + +"I will not be judged." + +"Then complain of what I judge you to be, and of what I love in you," said +he tenderly to appease her. + +She let him take her in his arms, and deigned to smile, and let him kiss +her. But in a moment when he thought she had forgotten she asked uneasily: + +"What do you think ugly in me?" + +He would not tell her: he replied cowardly: + +"I don't think anything ugly in you." + +She thought for a moment, smiled, and said: + +"Just a moment, Christli: you say that you do not like lying?" + +"I despise it." + +"You are right," she said. "I despise it too. I am of a good conscience. I +never lie." + +He stared at her: she was sincere. Her unconsciousness disarmed him. + +"Then," she went on, putting her arms about his neck, "why would you be +cross with me if I loved some one else and told you so?" + +"Don't tease me." + +"I'm not teasing: I am not saying that I do love some one else: I am saying +that I do not.... But if I did love some one later on...." + +"Well, don't let us think of it." + +"But I want to think of it.... You would not be angry, with me? You could +not be angry with me?" + +"I should not be angry with you. I should leave you. That is all." + +"Leave me? Why? If I still loved you ...?" + +"While you loved some one else?" + +"Of course. It happens sometimes." + +"Well, it will not happen with us." + +"Why?" + +"Because as soon as you love some one else, I shall love you no longer, my +dear, never, never again." + +"But just now you said perhaps.... Ah! you see you do not love me!" + +"Well then: all the better for you." + +"Because ...?" + +"Because if I loved you when you loved some one else it might turn out +badly for you, me, and him." + +"Then!... Now you are mad. Then I am condemned to stay with you all my +life?" + +"Be calm. You are free. You shall leave me when you like. Only it will not +be _au revoir_: it will be good-bye." + +"But if I still love you?" + +"When people love, they sacrifice themselves to each other." + +"Well, then ... sacrifice yourself!" + +He could not help laughing at her egoism: and she laughed too. + +"The sacrifice of one only," he said, "means the love of one only." + +"Not at all. It means the love of both. I shall not love you much longer if +you do not sacrifice yourself for me. And think, Christli, how much you +will love me, when you have sacrificed yourself, and how happy you will +be." + +They laughed and were glad to have a change from the seriousness of the +disagreement. + +He laughed and looked at her. At heart, as she said, she had no desire to +leave Christophe at present: if he irritated her and often bored her she +knew the worth of such devotion as his: and she loved no one else. She +talked so for fun, partly because she knew he disliked it, partly because +she took pleasure in playing with equivocal and unclean thoughts like a +child which delights to mess about with dirty water. He knew this. He did +not mind. But he was tired of these unwholesome discussions, of the silent +struggle against this uncertain and uneasy creature whom he loved, who +perhaps loved him: he was tired from the effort that he had to make to +deceive himself about her, sometimes tired almost to tears. He would think: +"Why, why is she like this? Why are people like this? How second-rate life +is!"... At the same time he would smile as he saw her pretty face above +him, her blue eyes, her flower-like complexion, her laughing, chattering +lips, foolish a little, half open to reveal the brilliance of her tongue +and her white teeth. Their lips would almost touch: and he would look at +her as from a distance, a great distance, as from another world: he would +see her going farther and farther from him, vanishing in a mist.... And +then he would lose sight of her. He could hear her no more. He would fall +into a sort of smiling oblivion, in which he thought of his music, his +dreams, a thousand things foreign, to Ada.... Ah! beautiful music!... so +sad, so mortally sad! and yet kind, loving.... Ah! how good it is!... It is +that, it is that.... Nothing else is true.... + +She would shake his arm. A voice would cry: + +"Eh, what's the matter with you? You are mad, quite mad. Why do you look at +me like that? Why don't you answer?" + +Once more he would see the eyes looking at him. Who was it?... Ah! yes.... +He would sigh. + +She would watch him. She would try to discover what he was thinking of. She +did not understand: but she felt that it was useless: that she could not +keep hold of him, that there was always a door by which he could escape. +She would conceal her irritation. + +"Why are you crying?" she asked him once as he returned from one of his +strange journeys into another life. + +He drew his hands across his eyes. He felt that they were wet. + +"I do not know," he said. + +"Why don't you answer? Three times you have said the same thing." + +"What do you want?" he asked gently. + +She went back to her absurd discussions. He waved his hand wearily. + +"Yes," she said. "I've done. Only a word more!" And off she started again. + +Christophe shook himself angrily. + +"Will you keep your dirtiness to yourself!" + +"I was only joking." + +"Find cleaner subjects, then!" + +"Tell me why, then. Tell me why you don't like it." + +"Why? You can't argue as to why a dump-heap smells. It does smell, and that +is all! I hold my nose and go away." + +He went away, furious: and he strode along taking in great breaths of the +cold air. + +But she would begin again, once, twice, ten times. She would bring forward +every possible subject that could shock him and offend his conscience. + +He thought it was only a morbid jest of a neurasthenic girl, amusing +herself by annoying him. He would shrug his shoulders or pretend not to +hear her: he would not take her seriously. But sometimes he would long to +throw her out of the window: for neurasthenia and the neurasthenics were +very little to his taste.... + +But ten minutes away from her were enough to make him forget everything +that had annoyed him. He would return to Ada with a fresh store of hopes +and new illusions. He loved her. Love is a perpetual act of faith. Whether +God exist or no is a small matter: we believe, because we believe. We love +because we love; there is no need of reasons!... + + * * * * * + +After Christophe's quarrel with the Vogels it became impossible for them to +stay in the house, and Louisa had to seek another lodging for herself and +her son. + +One day Christophe's younger brother Ernest, of whom they had not heard for +a long time, suddenly turned up. He was out of work, having been dismissed +in turn from all the situations he had procured; his purse was empty and +his health ruined; and so he had thought it would be as well to +re-establish himself in his mother's house. + +Ernest was not on bad terms with either of his brothers: they thought very +little of him and he knew it: but he did not bear any grudge against them, +for he did not care. They had no ill-feeling against him. It was not worth +the trouble. Everything they said to him slipped off his back without +leaving a mark. He just smiled with his sly eyes, tried to look contrite, +thought of something else, agreed, thanked them, and in the end always +managed to extort money from one or other of them. In spite of himself +Christophe was fond of the pleasant mortal who, like himself, and more than +himself, resembled their father Melchior in feature. Tall and strong like +Christophe, he had regular features, a frank expression, a straight nose, a +laughing mouth, fine teeth, and endearing manners. When even Christophe saw +him he was disarmed and could not deliver half the reproaches that he had +prepared: in his heart he had a sort of motherly indulgence for the +handsome boy who was of his blood, and physically at all events did him +credit. He did not believe him to be bad: and Ernest was not a fool. +Without culture, he was not without brains: he was even not incapable of +taking an interest in the things of the mind. He enjoyed listening to +music: and without understanding his brother's compositions he would listen +to them with interest. Christophe, who did not receive too much sympathy +from his family, had been glad to see him at some of his concerts. + +But Ernest's chief talent was the knowledge that he possessed of the +character of his two brothers, and his skill in making use of his +knowledge. It was no use Christophe knowing Ernest's egoism and +indifference: it was no use his seeing that Ernest never thought of his +mother or himself except when he had need of them: he was always taken in +by his affectionate ways and very rarely did he refuse him anything. He +much preferred him to his other brother Rodolphe, who was orderly and +correct, assiduous in his business, strictly moral, never asked for money, +and never gave any either, visited his mother regularly every Sunday, +stayed an hour, and only talked about himself, boasting about himself, his +firm, and everything that concerned him, never asking about the others, and +taking mo interest in them, and going away when the hour was up, quite +satisfied with having done his duty. Christophe could not bear him. He +always arranged to be out when Rodolphe came. Rodolphe was jealous of him: +he despised artists, and Christophe's success really hurt him, though he +did not fail to turn his small fame to account in the commercial circles in +which he moved: but he never said a word about it either to his mother or +to Christophe: he pretended to ignore it. On the other hand, he never +ignored the least of the unpleasant things that happened to Christophe. +Christophe despised such pettiness, and pretended not to notice it: but it +would really have hurt him to know, though he never thought about it, that +much of the unpleasant information that Rodolphe had about him came from +Ernest. The young rascal fed the differences between Christophe and +Rodolphe: no doubt he recognized Christophe's superiority and perhaps even +sympathized a little ironically with his candor. But he took good care to +turn it to account: and while he despised Rodolphe's ill-feeling he +exploited it shamefully. He flattered his vanity and jealousy, accepted his +rebukes deferentially and kept him primed with the scandalous gossip of the +town, especially with everything concerning Christophe,--of which he was +always marvelously informed. So he attained his ends, and Rodolphe, in +spite of his avarice, allowed Ernest to despoil him just as Christophe did. + +So Ernest made use and a mock of them both, impartially. And so both of +them loved him. + +In spite of his tricks Ernest was in a pitiful condition when he turned up +at his mother's house. He had come from Munich, where he had found and, as +usual, almost immediately lost a situation. He had had to travel the best +part of the way on foot, through storms of rain, sleeping God knows where. +He was covered with mud, ragged, looking like a beggar, and coughing +miserably. Louisa was upset and Christophe ran to him in alarm when they +saw him come in. Ernest, whose tears flowed easily, did not fail to make +use of the effect he had produced: and there was a general reconciliation: +all three wept in each other's arms. + +Christophe gave up his room: they warmed the bed, and laid the invalid in +it, who seemed to be on the point of death. Louisa and Christophe sat by +his bedside and took it in turns to watch by him. They called in a doctor, +procured medicines, made a good fire in the room, and gave him special +food. + +Then they had to clothe him from head to foot: linen, shoes, clothes, +everything new. Ernest left himself in their hands. Louisa and Christophe +sweated to squeeze the money from their expenditure. They were very +straitened at the moment: the removal, the new lodgings, which were dearer +though just as uncomfortable, fewer lessons for Christophe and more +expenses. They could just make both ends meet. They managed somehow. No +doubt Christophe could have applied to Rodolphe, who was more in a position +to help Ernest, but he would not: he made it a point of honor to help his +brother alone. He thought himself obliged to do so as the eldest,--and +because he was Christophe. Hot with shame he had to accept, to declare his +willingness to accept an offer which he had indignantly rejected a +fortnight before,--a proposal from an agent of an unknown wealthy amateur +who wanted to buy a musical composition for publication under his own name. +Louisa took work out, mending linen. They hid their sacrifice from each +other: they lied about the money they brought home. + +When Ernest was convalescent and sitting huddled up by the fire, he +confessed one day between his fits of coughing that he had a few +debts.--They were paid. No one reproached him. That would not have been +kind to an invalid and a prodigal son who had repented and returned home. +For Ernest seemed to have been changed by adversity and sickness. With +tears in his eyes he spoke of his past misdeeds: and Louisa kissed him and +told him to think no more of them. He was fond: he had always been able to +get round his mother by his demonstrations of affection: Christophe had +once been a little jealous of him. Now he thought it natural that the +youngest and the weakest son should be the most loved. In spite of the +small difference in their ages he regarded him almost as a son rather than +as a brother. Ernest showed great respect for him: sometimes he would +allude to the burdens that Christophe was taking upon himself, and to his +sacrifice of money: but Christophe would not let him go on, and Ernest +would content himself with showing his gratitude in his eyes humbly and +affectionately. He would argue with the advice that Christophe gave him: +and he would seem disposed to change his way of living and to work +seriously as soon as he was well again. + +He recovered: but had a long convalescence. The doctor declared that his +health, which he had abused, needed to be fostered. So he stayed on in his +mother's house, sharing Christophe's bed, eating heartily the bread that +his brother earned, and the little dainty dishes that Louisa prepared, for +him. He never spoke of going. Louisa and Christophe never mentioned it +either. They were too happy to have found again the son and the brother +they loved. + +Little by little in the long evenings that he spent with Ernest Christophe +began to talk intimately to him. He needed to confide in somebody. Ernest +was clever: he had a quick mind and understood--or seemed to understand--on +a hint only. There was pleasure in talking to him. And yet Christophe dared +not tell him about what lay nearest to his heart: his love. He was kept +back by a sort of modesty. Ernest, who knew all about it, never let it +appear that he knew. + +One day when Ernest was quite well again he went in the sunny afternoon and +lounged along the Rhine. As he passed a noisy inn a little way out of the +town, where there were drinking and dancing on Sundays, he saw Christophe +sitting with Ada and Myrrha, who were making a great noise. Christophe saw +him too, and blushed. Ernest was discreet and passed on without +acknowledging him. + +Christophe was much embarrassed by the encounter: it made him more keenly +conscious of the company in which he was: it hurt him that his brother +should have seen him then: not only because it made him lose the right of +judging Ernest's conduct, but because he had a very lofty, very naïve, and +rather archaic notion of his duties as an elder brother which would have +seemed absurd to many people: he thought that in failing in that duty, as +he was doing, he was lowered in his own eyes. + +In the evening when they were together in their room, he waited for Ernest +to allude to what had happened. But Ernest prudently said nothing and +waited also. Then while they were undressing Christophe decided to speak +about his love. He was so ill at ease that he dared not look at Ernest: and +in his shyness he assumed a gruff way of speaking. Ernest did not help him +out: he was silent and did not look at him, though he watched him all the +same: and he missed none of the humor of Christophe's awkwardness and +clumsy words. Christophe hardly dared pronounce Ada's name: and the +portrait that he drew of her would have done just as well for any woman who +was loved. But he spoke of his love: little by little he was carried away +by the flood of tenderness that filled his heart: he said how good it was +to love, how wretched he had been before he had found that light in the +darkness, and that life was nothing without a dear, deep-seated love. His +brother listened gravely: he replied tactfully, and asked no questions: but +a warm handshake showed that he was of Christophe's way of thinking. They +exchanged ideas concerning love and life. Christophe was happy at being so +well understood. They exchanged a brotherly embrace before they went to +sleep. + +Christophe grew accustomed to confiding his love to Ernest, though always +shyly and reservedly. Ernest's discretion reassured him. He let him know +his uneasiness about Ada: but he never blamed her: he blamed himself: and +with tears in his eyes he would declare that he could not live if he were +to lose her. + +He did not forget to tell Ada about Ernest: he praised his wit and his good +looks. + +Ernest never approached Christophe with a request to be introduced to Ada: +but he would shut himself up in his room and sadly refuse to go out, saying +that he did not know anybody. Christophe would think ill of himself on +Sundays for going on his excursions with Ada, while his brother stayed at +home. And yet he hated not to be alone with his beloved: he accused himself +of selfishness and proposed that Ernest should come with them. + +The introduction took place at Ada's door, on the landing. Ernest and Ada +bowed politely. Ada came out, followed by her inseparable Myrrha, who when +she saw Ernest gave a little cry of surprise. Ernest smiled, went up to +Myrrha, and kissed her: she seemed to take it as a matter of course. + +"What! You know each other?" asked Christophe in astonishment. + +"Why, yes!" said Myrrha, laughing. + +"Since when?" + +"Oh, a long time!" + +"And you knew?" asked Christophe, turning to Ada. "Why, did you not tell +me?" + +"Do you think I know all Myrrha's lovers?" said Ada, shrugging her +shoulders. + +Myrrha took up the word and pretended in fun to be angry. Christophe could +not find out any more about it. He was depressed. It seemed to him that +Ernest and Myrrha and Ada had been lacking in honesty, although indeed he +could not have brought any lie up against them: but it was difficult to +believe that Myrrha, who had no secrets from Ada, had made a mystery of +this, and that Ernest and Ada were not already acquainted with each other. +He watched them. But they only exchanged a few trivial words and Ernest +only paid attention to Myrrha all the rest of the day. Ada only spoke to +Christophe: and she was much more amiable to him than usual. + +From that time on Ernest always joined them. Christophe could have done +without him: but he dared not say so. He had no other motive for wanting to +leave his brother out than his shame in having him for boon companion. He +had no suspicion of him. Ernest gave him no cause for it: he seemed to be +in love with Myrrha and was always reserved and polite with Ada, and even +affected to avoid her in a way that was a little out of place: it was as +though he wished to show his brother's mistress a little of the respect he +showed to himself. Ada was not surprised by it and was none the less +careful. + +They went on long excursions together. The two brothers would walk on in +front. Ada and Myrrha, laughing and whispering, would follow a few yards +behind. They would stop in the middle of the road and talk. Christophe and +Ernest would stop and wait for them. Christophe would lose patience and go +on: but soon he would turn back annoyed and irritated, by hearing Ernest +talking and laughing with the two young women. He would want to know what +they were saying: but when they came up with him their conversation would +stop. + +"What are you three always plotting together?" he would ask. + +They would reply with some joke. They had a secret understanding like +thieves at a fair. + + * * * * * + +Christophe had a sharp quarrel with Ada. They had been cross with each +other all day. Strange to say, Ada had not assumed her air of offended +dignity, to which she usually resorted in such cases, so as to avenge +herself, by making herself as intolerably tiresome as usual. Now she simply +pretended to ignore Christophe's existence and she was in excellent spirits +with the other two. It was as though in her heart she was not put out at +all by the quarrel. + +Christophe, on the other hand, longed to make peace: he was more in love +than ever. His tenderness was now mingled with a feeling of gratitude for +all the good things love had brought him, and regret for the hours he had +wasted in stupid argument and angry thoughts--and the unreasoning fear, the +mysterious idea that their love was nearing its end. Sadly he looked at +Ada's pretty face and she pretended not to see him while she was laughing +with the others: and the sight of her woke in him so many dear memories, of +great love, of sincere intimacy.--Her face had sometimes--it had now--so +much goodness in it, a smile so pure, that Christophe asked himself why +things were not better between them, why they spoiled their happiness with +their whimsies, why she would insist on forgetting their bright hours, and +denying and combating all that was good and honest in her--what strange +satisfaction she could find in spoiling, and smudging, if only in thought, +the purity of their love. He was conscious of an immense need of believing +in the object of his love, and he tried once more to bring back his +illusions. He accused himself of injustice: he was remorseful for the +thoughts that he attributed to her, and of his lack of charity. + +He went to, her and tried to talk to her; she answered him with a few curt +words: she had no desire for a reconciliation with him. He insisted: he +begged her to listen to him for a moment away from the others. She followed +him ungraciously. When they were a few yards away so that neither Myrrha +nor Ernest could see them, he took her hands and begged her pardon, and +knelt at her feet in the dead leaves of the wood. He told her that he could +not go on living so at loggerheads with her: that he found no pleasure in +the walk, or the fine day: that he could enjoy nothing, and could not even +breathe, knowing that she detested him: he needed her love. Yes: he was +often unjust, violent, disagreeable: he begged her to forgive him: it was +the fault of his love, he could not bear anything second-rate in her, +nothing that was altogether unworthy of her and their memories of their +dear past. He reminded her of it all, of their first meeting, their first +days together: he said that he loved her just as much, that he would always +love her, that she should not go away from him! She was everything to +him.... + +Ada listened to him, smiling, uneasy, almost softened. She looked at him +with kind eyes, eyes that said that they loved each other, and that she +was no longer angry. They kissed, and holding each other close they went +into the leafless woods. She thought Christophe good and gentle, and was +grateful to him for his tender words: but she did not relinquish the +naughty whims that were in her mind. But she hesitated, she did not cling +to them so tightly: and yet she did not abandon what she had planned to do. +Why? Who can say?... Because she had vowed what she would do?--Who knows? +Perhaps she thought it more entertaining to deceive her lover that day, to +prove to him, to prove to herself her freedom. She had no thought of losing +him: she did not wish for that. She thought herself more sure of him than +ever. + +They reached a clearing in the forest. There were two paths. Christophe +took one. Ernest declared that the other led more quickly to the top of the +hill whither they were going. Ada agreed with him. Christophe, who knew the +way, having often been there, maintained that they were wrong. They did not +yield. Then they agreed to try it: and each wagered that he would arrive +first. Ada went with Ernest. Myrrha accompanied Christophe: she pretended +that she was sure that he was right: and she added, "As usual." Christophe +had taken the game seriously: and as he never liked to lose, he walked +quickly, too quickly for Myrrha's liking, for she was in much less of a +hurry than he. + +"Don't be in a hurry, my friend," she said, in her quiet, ironic voice, "we +shall get there first." + +He was a little sorry. + +"True," he said, "I am going a little too fast: there is no need." + +He slackened his pace. + +"But I know them," he went on. "I am sure they will run so as to be there +before us." + +Myrrha burst out laughing. + +"Oh! no," she said. "Oh! no: don't you worry about that." + +She hung on his arm and pressed close to him. She was a little shorter +than Christophe, and as they walked she raised her soft eyes to his. She +was really pretty and alluring. He hardly recognized her: the change was +extraordinary. Usually her face was rather pale and puffy: but the smallest +excitement, a merry thought, or the desire to please, was enough to make +her worn expression vanish, and her cheeks go pink, and the little wrinkles +in her eyelids round and below her eyes disappear, and her eyes flash, and +her whole face take on a youth, a life, a spiritual quality that never was +in Ada's. Christophe was surprised by this metamorphosis, and turned his +eyes away from hers: he was a little uneasy at being alone with her. She +embarrassed him and prevented him from dreaming as he pleased: he did not +listen to what she said, he did not answer her, or if he did it was only at +random: he was thinking--he wished to think only of Ada. He thought of the +kindness in her eyes, her smile, her kiss: and his heart was filled with +love. Myrrha wanted to make him admire the beauty of the trees with their +little branches against the clear sky.... Yes: it was all beautiful: the +clouds were gone, Ada had returned to him, he had succeeded in breaking the +ice that lay between them: they loved once more: near or far, they were +one. He sighed with relief: how light the air was! Ada had come back to him +... Everything brought her to mind.... It was a little damp: would she not +be cold?... The lovely trees were powdered with hoar-frost: what a pity she +should not see them!... But he remembered the wager, and hurried on: he was +concerned only with not losing the way. He shouted joyfully as they reached +the goal: + +"We are first!" + +He waved his hat gleefully. Myrrha watched him and smiled. + +The place where they stood was a high, steep rock in the middle of the +woods. From this flat summit with its fringe of nut-trees and little +stunted oaks they could see, over the wooded slopes, the tops of the pines +bathed in a purple mist, and the long ribbon of the Rhine in the blue +valley. Not a bird called. Not a voice. Not a breath of air. A still, calm +winter's day, its chilliness faintly warmed by the pale beams of a misty +sun. Now and then in the distance there came the sharp whistle of a train +in the valley. Christophe stood at the edge of the rock and looked down at +the countryside. Myrrha watched Christophe. + +He turned to her amiably: + +"Well! The lazy things. I told them so!... Well: we must wait for them...." + +He lay stretched out in the sun on the cracked earth. + +"Yes. Let us wait...." said Myrrha, taking off her hat. + +In her voice there was something so quizzical that he raised his head and +looked at her. + +"What is it?" she asked quietly. + +"What did you say?" + +"I said: Let us wait. It was no use making me run so fast." + +"True." + +They waited lying on the rough ground. Myrrha hummed a tune. Christophe +took it up for a few phrases. But he stopped every now and then to listen. + +"I think I can hear them." + +Myrrha went on singing. + +"Do stop for a moment." + +Myrrha stopped. + +"No. It is nothing." + +She went on with her song. + +Christophe could not stay still. + +"Perhaps they have lost their way." + +"Lost? They could not. Ernest knows all the paths." + +A fantastic idea passed through Christophe's mind. + +"Perhaps they arrived first, and went away before we came!" + +Myrrha was lying on her back and looking at the sun. She was seized with +a wild burst of laughter in the middle of her song and all but choked. +Christophe insisted. He wanted to go down to the station, saying that their +friends would be there already. Myrrha at last made up her mind to move. + +"You would be certain to lose them!... There was never any talk about the +station. We were to meet here." + +He sat down by her side. She was amused by his eagerness. He was conscious +of the irony in her gaze as she looked at him. He began to be seriously +troubled--to be anxious about them: he did not suspect them. He got up once +more. He spoke of going down into the woods again and looking for them, +calling to them. Myrrha gave a little chuckle: she took from her pocket a +needle, scissors, and thread: and she calmly undid and sewed in again the +feathers in her hat: she seemed to have established herself for the day. + +"No, no, silly," she said. "If they wanted to come do you think they would +not come of their own accord?" + +There was a catch at his heart. He turned towards her: she did not look at +him: she was busy with her work. He went up to her. + +"Myrrha!" he said. + +"Eh?" she replied without stopping. He knelt now to look more nearly at +her. + +"Myrrha!" he repeated. + +"Well?" she asked, raising her eyes from her work and looking at him with a +smile. "What is it?" + +She had a mocking expression as she saw his downcast face. + +"Myrrha!" he asked, choking, "tell me what you think...." + +She shrugged her shoulders, smiled, and went on working. + +He caught her hands and took away the hat at which she was sewing. + +"Leave off, leave off, and tell me...." + +She looked squarely at him and waited. She saw that Christophe's lips were +trembling. + +"You think," he said in a low voice, "that Ernest and Ada ...?" + +She smiled. + +"Oh! well!" + +He started back angrily. + +"No! No! It is impossible! You don't think that!... No! No!" + +She put her hands on his shoulders and rocked with laughter. + +"How dense you are, how dense, my dear!" + +He shook her violently. + +"Don't laugh! Why do you laugh? You would not laugh if it were true. You +love Ernest...." + +She went on laughing and drew him to her and kissed him. In spite of +himself he returned her kiss. But when he felt her lips on his, her lips, +still warm with his brother's kisses, he flung her away from him and held +her face away from his own: he asked: + +"You knew it? It was arranged between you?" + +She said "Yes," and laughed. + +Christophe did not cry out, he made no movement of anger. He opened his +mouth as though he could not breathe: he closed his eyes and clutched at +his breast with his hands: his heart was bursting. Then he lay down on the +ground with his face buried in his hands and he was shaken by a crisis of +disgust and despair like a child. + +Myrrha, who was not very soft-hearted, was sorry for him: involuntarily +she was filled with motherly compassion, and leaned over him, and spoke +affectionately to him, and tried to make him sniff at her smelling-bottle. +But he thrust her away in horror and got up so sharply that she was afraid. +He had neither strength nor desire for revenge. He looked at her with his +face twisted with grief. + +"You drab," he said in despair. "You do not know the harm you have +done...." + +She tried to hold him back. He fled through the woods, spitting out his +disgust with such ignominy, with such muddy hearts, with such incestuous +sharing as that to which they had tried to bring him. He wept, he trembled: +he sobbed with disgust. He was filled with horror, of them all, of himself, +of his body and soul. A storm of contempt broke loose in him: it had long +been brewing: sooner or later there had to come the reaction against the +base thoughts, the degrading compromises, the stale and pestilential +atmosphere in which he had been living for months: but the need of loving, +of deceiving himself about the woman he loved, had postponed the crisis as +long as possible. Suddenly it burst upon him: and it was better so. There +was a great gust of wind of a biting purity, an icy breeze which swept away +the miasma. Disgust in one swoop had killed his love for Ada. + +If Ada thought more firmly to establish her domination over Christophe by +such an act, that proved once more her gross inappreciation of her lover. +Jealousy which binds souls that are besmirched could only revolt a nature +like Christophe's, young, proud, and pure. But what he could not forgive, +what he never would forgive, was that the betrayal was not the outcome of +passion in Ada, hardly even of one of those absurd and degrading though +often irresistible caprices to which the reason of a woman is sometimes +hard put to it not to surrender. No--he understood now,--it was in her a +secret desire to degrade him, to humiliate him, to punish him for his moral +resistance, for his inimical faith, to lower him to the common level, to +bring him to her feet, to prove to herself her own power for evil. And he +asked himself with horror: what is this impulse towards dirtiness, which +is in the majority of human beings--this desire to besmirch the purity of +themselves and others,--these swinish souls, who take a delight in rolling +in filth, and are happy when not one inch of their skins is left clean!... + +Ada waited two days for Christophe to return to her. Then she began to be +anxious, and sent him a tender note in which she made no allusion to what +had happened. Christophe did not even reply. He hated Ada so profoundly +that no words could express his hatred. He had cut her out of his life. She +no longer existed for him. + + * * * * * + +Christophe was free of Ada, but he was not free of himself. In vain did +he try to return into illusion and to take up again the calm and chaste +strength of the past. We cannot return to the past. We have to go onward: +it is useless to turn back, save only to see the places by which we have +passed, the distant smoke from the roofs under which we have slept, dying +away on the horizon in the mists of memory. But nothing so distances us +from the soul that we had as a few months of passion. The road takes +a sudden turn: the country is changed: it is as though we were saying +good-bye for the last time to all that we are leaving behind. + +Christophe could not yield to it. He held out his arms to the past: he +strove desperately to bring to life again the soul that had been his, +lonely and resigned. But it was gone. Passion itself is not so dangerous as +the ruins that it heaps up and leaves behind. In vain did Christophe not +love, in vain--for a moment--did he despise love: he bore the marks of its +talons: his whole being was steeped in it: there was in his heart a void +which must be filled. With that terrible need of tenderness and pleasure +which devours men and women when they have once tasted it, some other +passion was needed, were it only the contrary passion, the passion of +contempt, of proud purity, of faith in virtue.--They were not enough, they +were not enough to stay his hunger: they were only the food of a moment. +His life consisted of a succession of violent reactions--leaps from +one extreme to the other. Sometimes he would bend his passion to rules +inhumanly ascetic: not eating, drinking water, wearing himself out with +walking, heavy tasks, and so not sleeping, denying himself every sort of +pleasure. Sometimes he would persuade himself that strength is the true +morality for people like himself: and he would plunge into the quest of +joy. In either case he was unhappy. He could no longer be alone. He could +no longer not be alone. + +The only thing that could have saved him would have been to find a true +friendship,--Rosa's perhaps: he could have taken refuge in that. But the +rupture was complete between the two families. They no longer met. Only +once had Christophe seen Rosa. She was just coming out from Mass. He had +hesitated to bow to her: and when she saw him she had made a movement +towards him: but when he had tried to go to her through the stream of the +devout walking down the steps, she had turned her eyes away: and when he +approached her she bowed coldly and passed on. In the girl's heart he felt +intense, icy contempt. And he did not feel that she still loved him and +would have liked to tell him so: but she had come to think of her love as a +fault and foolishness: she thought Christophe bad and corrupt, and further +from her than ever. So they were lost to each other forever. And perhaps +it was as well for both of them. In spite of her goodness, she was not +near enough to life to be able to understand him. In spite of his need of +affection and respect he would have stifled in a commonplace and confined +existence, without joy, without sorrow, without air. They would both have +suffered. The unfortunate occurrence which cut them apart was, when all was +told, perhaps, fortunate as often happens--as always happens--to those who +are strong and endure. + +But at the moment it was a great sorrow and a great misfortune for them. +Especially for Christophe. Such virtuous intolerance, such narrowness of +soul, which sometimes seems to deprive those who have the most of them of +all intelligence, and those who are most good of kindness, irritated him, +hurt him, and flung him back in protest into a freer life. + +During his loafing with Ada in the beer gardens of the neighborhood he had +made acquaintance with several good fellows--Bohemians, whose carelessness +and freedom of manners had not been altogether distasteful to him. One +of them, Friedemann, a musician like himself, an organist, a man of +thirty, was not without intelligence, and was good at his work, but he was +incurably lazy and rather than make the slightest effort to be more than +mediocre, he would have died of hunger, though not, perhaps, of thirst. +He comforted himself in his indolence by speaking ill of those who lived +energetically, God knows why; and his sallies, rather heavy for the most +part, generally made people laugh. Having more liberty than his companions, +he was not afraid,--though timidly, and with winks and nods and suggestive +remarks,--to sneer at those who held positions: he was even capable of not +having ready-made opinions about music, and of having a sly fling at the +forged reputations of the great men of the day. He had no mercy upon women +either: when he was making his jokes he loved to repeat the old saying of +some misogynist monk about them, and Christophe enjoyed its bitterness just +then more than anybody: + +_"Femina mors animae."_ + +In his state of upheaval Christophe found some distraction in talking +to Friedemann. He judged him, he could not long take pleasure in this +vulgar bantering wit: his mockery and perpetual denial became irritating +before long and he felt the impotence of it all: but it did soothe his +exasperation with the self-sufficient stupidity of the Philistines. While +he heartily despised his companion, Christophe could not do without him. +They were continually seen together sitting with the unclassed and doubtful +people of Friedemann's acquaintance, who were even more worthless than +himself. They used to play, and harangue, and drink the whole evening. +Christophe would suddenly wake up in the midst of the dreadful smell of +food and tobacco: he would look at the people about him with strange eyes: +he would not recognize them: he would think in agony: + +"Where am I? Who are these people? What have I to do with them?" + +Their remarks and their laughter would make him sick. But he could not +bring himself to leave them: he was afraid of going home and of being left +alone face to face with his soul, his desires, and remorse. He was going to +the dogs: he knew it: he was doing it deliberately,--with cruel clarity he +saw in Friedemann the degraded image of what he was--of what he would be +one day: and he was passing through a phase of such disheartenedness and +disgust that instead of being brought to himself by such a menace, it +actually brought him low. + +He would have gone to the dogs, if he could. Fortunately, like all +creatures of his kind, he had a spring, a succor against destruction which +others do not possess: his strength, his instinct for life, his instinct +against letting himself perish, an instinct more intelligent than his +intelligence, and stronger than his will. And also, unknown to himself, +he had the strange curiosity of the artist, that passionate, impersonal +quality, which is in every creature really endowed with creative power. In +vain did he love, suffer, give himself utterly to all his passions: he saw +them. They were in him but they were not himself. A myriad of little souls +moved obscurely in him towards a fixed point unknown, yet certain, just +like the planetary worlds which are drawn through space into a mysterious +abyss. That perpetual state of unconscious action and reaction was shown +especially in those giddy moments when sleep came over his daily life, and +from the depths of sleep and the night rose the multiform face of Being +with its sphinx-like gaze. For a year Christophe had been obsessed with +dreams in which in a second of time he felt clearly with perfect illusion +that he _was_ at one and the same time several different creatures, often +far removed from each other by countries, worlds, centuries. In his waking +state Christophe was still under his hallucination and uneasiness, though +he could not remember what had caused it. It was like the weariness left by +some fixed idea that is gone, though traces of it are left and there is no +understanding it. But while his soul was so troublously struggling through +the network of the days, another soul, eager and serene, was watching +all his desperate efforts. He did not see it: but it cast over him the +reflection of its hidden light. That soul was joyously greedy to feel +everything, to suffer everything, to observe and understand men, women, the +earth, life, desires, passions, thoughts, even those that were torturing, +even those that were mediocre, even those that were vile: and it was enough +to lend them a little of its light, to save Christophe from destruction. It +made him feel--he did not know how--that he was not altogether alone. That +love of being and of knowing everything, that second soul, raised a rampart +against his destroying passions. + +But if it was enough to keep his head above water, it did not allow him +to climb out of it unaided. He could not succeed in seeing clearly into +himself, and mastering himself, and regaining possession of himself. Work +was impossible for him. He was passing through an intellectual crisis: the +most fruitful of his life: all his future life was germinating in it: but +that inner wealth for the time being only showed itself in extravagance: +and the immediate effect of such superabundance was not different from that +of the flattest sterility. Christophe was submerged by his life. All his +powers had shot up and grown too fast, all at once, suddenly. Only his will +had not grown with them: and it was dismayed by such a throng of monsters. +His personality was cracking in every part. Of this earthquake, this inner +cataclysm, others saw nothing. Christophe himself could see only his +impotence to will, to create, to be. Desires, instincts, thoughts issued +one after another like clouds of sulphur from the fissures of a volcano: +and he was forever asking himself: "And now, what will come out? What will +become of me? Will it always be so? or is this the end of all? Shall I be +nothing, always?" + +And now there sprang up in him his hereditary fires, the vices of those who +had gone before him.--He got drunk. He would return home smelling of wine, +laughing, in a state of collapse. + +Poor Louisa would look at him, sigh, say nothing, and pray. + +But one evening when he was coming out of an inn by the gates of the town +he saw, a few yards in front of him on the road, the droll shadow of his +uncle Gottfried, with his pack on his back. The little man had not been +home for months, and his periods of absence were growing longer and longer. +Christophe hailed him gleefully. Gottfried, bending under his load, turned +round: he looked at Christophe, who was making extravagant gestures, and +sat down on a milestone to wait for him. Christophe came up to him with +a beaming face, skipping along, and shook his uncle's hand with great +demonstrations of affection. Gottfried took a long look at him and then he +said: + +"Good-day, Melchior." + +Christophe thought his uncle had made a mistake, and burst out laughing. + +"The poor man is breaking up," he thought; "he is losing his memory." + +Indeed, Gottfried did look old, shriveled, shrunken, and dried: his +breathing came short and painfully. Christophe went on talking. Gottfried +took his pack on his shoulders again and went on in silence. They went home +together, Christophe gesticulating and talking at the top of his voice, +Gottfried coughing and saying nothing. And when Christophe questioned him, +Gottfried still called him Melchior. And then Christophe asked him: + +"What do you mean by calling me Melchior? My name is Christophe, you know. +Have you forgotten my name?" + +Gottfried did not stop. He raised his eyes toward Christophe and looked at +him, shook his head, and said coldly: + +"No. You are Melchior: I know you." + +Christophe stopped dumfounded. Gottfried trotted along: Christophe followed +him without a word. He was sobered. As they passed the door of a café he +went up to the dark panes of glass, in which the gas-jets of the entrance +and the empty streets were reflected, and he looked at himself: he +recognized Melchior. He went home crushed. + +He spent the night--a night of anguish--in examining himself, in +soul-searching. He understood now. Yes: he recognized the instincts and +vices that had come to light in him: they horrified him. He thought of that +dark watching by the body of Melchior, of all that he had sworn to do, and, +surveying his life since then, he knew that he had failed to keep his vows. +What had he done in the year? What had he done for his God, for his art, +for his soul? What had he done for eternity? There was not a day that had +not been wasted, botched, besmirched. Not a single piece of work, not a +thought, not an effort of enduring quality. A chaos of desires destructive +of each other. Wind, dust, nothing.... What did his intentions avail him? +He had fulfilled none of them. He had done exactly the opposite of what +he had intended. He had become what he had no wish to be: that was the +balance-sheet of his life. + +He did not go to bed. About six in the morning it was still dark,--he heard +Gottfried getting ready to depart.--For Gottfried had had no intentions of +staying on. As he was passing the town he had come as usual to embrace his +sister and nephew: but he had announced that he would go on next morning. + +Christophe went downstairs. Gottfried saw his pale face and his eyes hollow +with a night of torment. He smiled fondly at him and asked him to go a +little of the way with him. They set out together before dawn. They had +no need to talk: they understood each other. As they passed the cemetery +Gottfried said: + +"Shall we go in?" + +When he came to the place he never failed to pay a visit to Jean Michel and +Melchior. Christophe had not been there for a year. Gottfried knelt by +Melchior's grave and said: + +"Let us pray that they may sleep well and not come to torment us." + +His thought was a mixture of strange superstitions and sound sense: +sometimes it surprised Christophe: but now it was only too dear to him. +They said no more until they left the cemetery. + +When they had closed the creaking gate, and were walking along the wall +through the cold fields, waking from slumber, by the little path which led +them under the cypress trees from which the snow was dropping, Christophe +began to weep. + +"Oh! uncle," he said, "how wretched I am!" + +He dared not speak of his experience in love, from an odd fear of +embarrassing or hurting Gottfried: but he spoke of his shame, his +mediocrity, his cowardice, his broken vows. + +"What am I to do, uncle? I have tried, I have struggled: and after a year +I am no further on than before. Worse: I have gone back. I am good for +nothing. I am good for nothing! I have ruined my life. I am perjured!..." + +They were walking up the hill above the town. Gottfried said kindly: + +"Not for the last time, my boy. We do not do what we will to do. We will +and we live: two things. You must be comforted. The great thing is, you +see, never to give up willing and living. The rest does not depend on us." + +Christophe repeated desperately: + +"I have perjured myself." + +"Do you hear?" said Gottfried. + +(The cocks were crowing in all the countryside.) + +"They, too, are crowing for another who is perjured. They crow for every +one of us, every morning." + +"A day will come," said Christophe bitterly, "when, they will no longer +crow for me ... A day to which there is no to-morrow. And what shall I have +made of my life?" + +"There is always a to-morrow," said Gottfried. + +"But what can one do, if willing is no use?" + +"Watch and pray." + +"I do not believe." + +Gottfried smiled. + +"You would not be alive if you did not believe. Every one believes. Pray." + +"Pray to what?" + +Gottfried pointed to the sun appearing on the horizon, red and frozen. + +"Be reverent before the dawning day. Do not think of what will be in a +year, or in ten years. Think of to-day. Leave your theories. All theories, +you see, even those of virtue, are bad, foolish, mischievous. Do not abuse +life. Live in to-day. Be reverent towards each day. Love it, respect it, +do not sully it, do not hinder it from coming to flower. Love it even when +it is gray and sad like to-day. Do not be anxious. See. It is winter now. +Everything is asleep. The good earth will awake again. You have only to be +good and patient like the earth. Be reverent. Wait. If you are good, all +will go well. If you are not, if you are weak, if you do not succeed, well, +you must be happy in that. No doubt it is the best you can do. So, then, +why _will_? Why be angry because of what you cannot do? We all have to do +what we can.... _Als ich kann._" + +"It is not enough," said Christophe, making a face. + +Gottfried laughed pleasantly. + +"It is more than anybody does. You are a vain fellow. You want to be a +hero. That is why you do such silly things.... A hero!... I don't quite +know what that is: but, you see, I imagine that a hero is a man who does +what he can. The others do not do it." + +"Oh!" sighed Christophe. "Then what is the good of living? It is not worth +while. And yet there are people who say: 'He who wills can!'"... + +Gottfried laughed again softly. + +"Yes?... Oh! well, they are liars, my friend. Or they do not will anything +much...." + +They had reached the top of the hill. They embraced affectionately. The +little peddler went on, treading wearily. Christophe stayed there, lost in +thought, and watched him go. He repeated his uncle's saying: + +"_Als ich kann_ (The best I can)." + +And he smiled, thinking: + +"Yes.... All the same.... It is enough." + +He returned to the town. The frozen snow crackled under his feet. The +bitter winter wind made the bare branches of the stunted trees on the hill +shiver. It reddened his cheeks, and made his skin tingle, and set his blood +racing. The red roofs of the town below were smiling under the brilliant, +cold sun. The air was strong and harsh. The frozen earth seemed to rejoice +in bitter gladness. And Christophe's heart was like that. He thought: + +"I, too, shall wake again." + +There were still tears in his eyes. He dried them with the back of his +hand, and laughed to see the sun dipping down behind a veil of mist. The +clouds, heavy with snow, were floating over the town, lashed by the squall. +He laughed at them. The wind blew icily.... + +"Blow, blow!... Do what you will with me. Bear me with you!... I know now +where I am going." + + + + +REVOLT + + + + +I + +SHIFTING SANDS + + +Free! He felt that he was free!... Free of others and of himself! The +network of passion in which he had been enmeshed for more than a year had +suddenly been burst asunder. How? He did not know. The filaments had given +before the growth of his being. It was one of those crises of growth in +which robust natures tear away the dead casing of the year that is past, +the old soul in which they are cramped and stifled. + +Christophe breathed deeply, without understanding what had happened. An icy +whirlwind was rushing through the great gate of the town as he returned +from taking Gottfried on his way. The people were walking with heads +lowered against the storm. Girls going to their work were struggling +against the wind that blew against their skirts: they stopped every now +and then to breathe, with their nose and cheeks red, and they looked +exasperated, and as though they wanted to cry. He thought of that other +torment through which he had passed. He looked at the wintry sky, the town +covered with snow, the people struggling along past him: he looked about +him, into himself: he was no longer bound. He was alone!... Alone! How +happy to be alone, to be his own! What joy to have escaped from his bonds, +from his torturing memories, from the hallucinations of faces that he loved +or detested! What joy at last to live, without being the prey of life, to +have become his own master!... + +He went home white with snow. He shook himself gaily like a dog. As he +passed his mother, who was sweeping the passage, he lifted her up, giving +little inarticulate cries of affection such as one makes to a tiny child. +Poor old Louisa struggled in her son's arms: she was wet with the melting +snow: and she called him, with a jolly laugh, a great gaby. + +He went up to his room three steps at a time.--He could hardly see himself +in his little mirror it was so dark. But his heart was glad. His room +was low and narrow and it was difficult to move in it, but it was like a +kingdom to him. He locked the door and laughed with pleasure. At last he +was finding himself! How long he had been gone astray! He was eager to +plunge into thought like a bather into water. It was like a great lake afar +off melting into the mists of blue and gold. After a night of fever and +oppressive heat he stood by the edge of it, with his legs bathed in the +freshness of the water, his body kissed by the wind of a summer morning. He +plunged in and swam: he knew not whither he was going, and did not care: it +was joy to swim whithersoever he listed. He was silent, then he laughed, +and listened for the thousand thousand sounds of his soul: it swarmed with +life. He could make out nothing: his head was swimming: he felt only a +bewildering happiness. He was glad to feel in himself such unknown forces: +and indolently postponing putting his powers to the test he sank back into +the intoxication of pride in the inward flowering, which, held back for +months, now burst forth like a sudden spring. + +His mother called him to breakfast. He went down: he was giddy and +light-headed as though he had spent a day in the open air: but there was +such a radiance of joy in him that Louisa asked what was the matter. He +made no reply: he seized her by the waist and forced her to dance with him +round the table on which the tureen was steaming. Out of breath Louisa +cried that he was mad: then she clasped her hands. + +"Dear God!" she said anxiously. "Sure, he is in love again!" + +Christophe roared with laughter. He hurled his napkin into the air. + +"In love?..." he cried. "Oh! Lord!... but no! I've had enough! You can be +easy on that score. That is done, done, forever!... Ouf!" + +He drank a glassful of water. + +Louisa looked at him, reassured, wagged her head, and smiled. + +"That's a drunkard's pledge," she said. "It won't last until to-night." + +"Then the day is clear gain," he replied good-humoredly. + +"Oh, yes!" she said. "But what has made you so happy?" + +"I am happy. That is all." + +Sitting opposite her with his elbows on the table he tried to tell her all +that he was going to do. She listened with kindly skepticism and gently +pointed out that his soup was going cold. He knew that she did not hear +what he was saying: but he did not care: he was talking for his own +satisfaction. + +They looked at each other smiling: he talking: she hardly listening. +Although she was proud of her son she attached no great importance to +his artistic projects: she was thinking: "He is happy: that matters +most."--While he was growing more and more excited with his discourse he +watched his mother's dear face, with her black shawl tightly tied round her +head, her white hair, her young eyes that devoured him lovingly, her sweet +and tranquil kindliness. He knew exactly what she was thinking. He said to +her jokingly: + +"It is all one to you, eh? You don't care about what I'm telling you?" + +She protested weakly: + +"Oh, no! Oh, no!" + +He kissed her. + +"Oh, yes! Oh, yes! You need not defend yourself. You are right. Only love +me. There is no need to understand me--either for you or for anybody else. +I do not need anybody or anything now: I have everything in myself...." + +"Oh!" said Louisa. "Another maggot in his brain!... But if he must have one +I prefer this to the other." + + * * * * * + +What sweet happiness to float on the surface of the lake of his +thoughts!... Lying in the bottom of a boat with his body bathed in sun, his +face kissed by the light fresh wind that skims over the face of the waters, +he goes to sleep: he is swung by threads from the sky. Under his body lying +at full length, under the rocking boat he feels the deep, swelling water: +his hand dips into it. He rises: and with his chin on the edge of the boat +he watches the water flowing by as he did when he was a child. He sees the +reflection of strange creatures darting by like lightning.... More, and yet +more.... They are never the same. He laughs at the fantastic spectacle that +is unfolded within him: he laughs at his own thoughts: he has no need to +catch and hold them. Select? Why select among So many thousands of dreams? +There is plenty of time!... Later on!... He has only to throw out a line at +will to draw in the monsters whom he sees gleaming in the water. He lets +them pass.... Later on!... + +The boat floats on at the whim of the warm wind and the insentient stream. +All is soft, sun, and silence. + + * * * * * + +At last languidly he throws out his line. Leaning out over the lapping +water he follows it with his eyes until it disappears. After a few moments +of torpor he draws it in slowly: as he draws it in it becomes heavier: just +as he is about to fish it out of the water he stops to take breath. He +knows that he has his prey: he does not know what it is: he prolongs the +pleasure of expectancy. + +At last he makes up his mind: fish with gleaming, many-colored scales +appear from the water: they writhe like a nest of snakes. He looks at them +curiously, he stirs them with his finger: but hardly has he drawn them from +the water than their colors fade and they slip between his fingers. He +throws them back into the water and begins to fish for others. He is more +eager to see one after another all the dreams stirring in him than to catch +at any one of them: they all seem more beautiful to him when they are +freely swimming in the transparent lake.... + +He caught all kinds of them, each more extravagant than the last. Ideas had +been heaped up in him for months and he had not drawn upon them, so that he +was bursting with riches. But it was all higgledy-piggledy: his mind was +a Babel, an old Jew's curiosity shop in which there were piled up in the +one room rare treasures, precious stuffs, scrap-iron, and rags. He could +not distinguish their values: everything amused him. There were thrilling +chords, colors which rang like bells, harmonies which buzzed like bees, +melodies smiling like lovers' lips. There were visions of the country, +faces, passions, souls, characters, literary ideas, metaphysical ideas. +There were great projects, vast and impossible, tetralogies, decalogies, +pretending to depict everything in music, covering whole worlds. And, most +often there were obscure, flashing sensations, called forth by a trifle, +the sound of a voice, a man or a woman passing in the street, the pattering +of rain. An inward rhythm.--Many of these projects advanced no further +than their title: most of them were never more than a note or two: it was +enough. Like all very young people, he thought he had created what he +dreamed of creating. + + * * * * * + +But he was too keenly alive to be satisfied for long with such fantasies. +He wearied of an illusory possession: he wished to seize his dreams.--How +to begin? They seemed to him all equally important. He turned and turned +them: he rejected them, he took them up again.... No, he never took them up +again: they were no longer the same, they were never to be caught twice: +they were always changing: they changed in his hands, under his eyes, while +he was watching them. He must make haste: he could not: he was appalled by +the slowness with which he worked. He would have liked to do everything in +one day, and he found it horribly difficult to complete the smallest thing. +His dreams were passing and he was passing himself: while he was doing +one thing it worried him not to be doing another. It was as though it was +enough to have chosen one of his fine subjects for it to lose all interest +for him. And so all his riches availed him nothing. His thoughts had life +only on condition that he did not tamper with them: everything that he +succeeded in doing was still-born. It was the torment of Tantalus: within +reach were fruits that became stones as soon as he plucked them: near his +lips was a clear stream which sank away whenever he bent down, to drink. + +To slake his thirst lie tried to sip at the springs that he had conquered, +his old compositions.... Loathsome in taste! At the first gulp, he spat it +out again, cursing. What! That tepid water, that insipid music, was that +his music?--He read through all his compositions: he was horrified: he +understood not a note of them, he could not even understand how he had come +to write them. He blushed. Once after reading through a page more foolish +than the rest he turned round to make sure that there was nobody in the +room, and then he went and hid his face in his pillow like a child ashamed. +Sometimes they seemed to him so preposterously silly that they were quite +funny, and he forgot that they were his own.... + +"What an idiot!" he would cry, rocking with laughter. + +But nothing touched him more than those compositions in which he had set +out to express his own passionate feelings: the sorrows and joys of love. +Then he would bound in his chair as though a fly had stung him: he would +thump on the table, beat his head, and roar angrily: he would coarsely +apostrophize himself: he would vow himself to be a swine, trebly a +scoundrel, a clod, and a clown--a whole litany of denunciation. In the end +he would go and stand before his mirror, red with shouting, and then he +would take hold of his chin and say: + +"Look, look, you scurvy knave, look at the ass-face that is yours! I'll +teach you to lie, you blackguard! Water, sir, water." + +He would plunge his face into his basin, and hold it under water until he +was like to choke. When he drew himself up, scarlet, with his eyes starting +from his head, snorting like a seal, he would rush to his table, without +bothering to sponge away the water trickling down him: he would seize the +unhappy compositions, angrily tear them in pieces, growling: + +"There, you beast!... There, there, there!..." + +Then he would recover. + +What exasperated him most in his compositions was their untruth. Not +a spark of feeling in them. A phraseology got by heart, a schoolboy's +rhetoric: he spoke of love like a blind man of color: he spoke of it from +hearsay, only repeating the current platitudes. And it was not only love: +it was the same with all the passions, which had been used for themes and +declamations.--And yet he had always tried to be sincere.--But it is not +enough to wish to be sincere: it is necessary to have the power to be so: +and how can a man be so when as yet he knows nothing of life? What had +revealed the falseness of his work, what had suddenly digged a pit between +himself and his past was the experience which he had had during the last +six months of life. He had left fantasy: there was now in him a real +standard to which he could bring all the thoughts for judgment as to their +truth or untruth. + +The disgust which his old work, written without passion, roused in him, +made him decide with his usual exaggeration that he would write no more +until he was forced to write by some passionate need: and leaving the +pursuit of his ideas at that, he swore that he would renounce music +forever, unless creation were imposed upon him in a thunderclap. + + * * * * * + +He made this resolve because he knew quite well that the storm was coming. + +Thunder falls when it will, and where it will. But there are peaks which +attract it. Certain places--certain souls--breed storms: they create them, +or draw them from all points of the horizon: and certain ages of life, +like certain months of the year, are so saturated with electricity, that +thunderstorms are produced in them,--if not at will--at any rate when they +are expected. + +The whole being of a man is taut for it. Often the storm lies brooding for +days and days. The pale sky is hung with burning, fleecy clouds. No wind +stirs. The still air ferments, and seems to boil. The earth lies in a +stupor: no sound comes from it. The brain hums feverishly: all nature +awaits the explosion of the gathering forces, the thud of the hammer which +is slowly rising to fall back suddenly on the anvil of the clouds. Dark, +warm shadows pass: a fiery wind rises through the body, the nerves quiver +like leaves.... Then silence falls again. The sky goes on gathering +thunder. + +In such expectancy there is voluptuous anguish. In spite of the discomfort +that weighs so heavily upon you, you feel in your veins the fire which is +consuming the universe. The soul surfeited boils in the furnace, like wine +in a vat. Thousands of germs of life and death are in labor in it. What +will issue from it? The soul knows not. Like a woman with child, it is +silent: it gazes in upon itself: it listens anxiously for the stirring in +its womb, and thinks: "What will be born of me?"... + +Sometimes such waiting is in vain. The storm passes without breaking: but +you wake heavy, cheated, enervated, disheartened. But it is only postponed: +the storm will break: if not to-day, then to-morrow: the longer it is +delayed, the more violent will it be.... + +Now it comes!... The clouds have come up from all corners of the soul. +Thick masses, blue and black, torn by the frantic darting of the lightning: +they advance heavily, drunkenly, darkening the soul's horizon, blotting out +light. An hour of madness!... The exasperated Elements, let loose from +the cage in which they are held bound by the Laws which hold the balance +between the mind and the existence of things, reign, formless and colossal, +in the night of consciousness. The soul is in agony. There is no longer the +will to live. There is only longing for the end, for the deliverance of +death.... + +And suddenly there is lightning! + +Christophe shouted for joy. + + * * * * * + +Joy, furious joy, the sun that lights up all that is and will be, the +godlike joy of creation! There is no joy but in creation. There are no +living beings but those who create. All the rest are shadows, hovering +over the earth, strangers to life. All the joys of life are the joys of +creation: love, genius, action,--quickened by flames issuing from one and +the same fire. Even those who cannot find a place by the great fireside: +the ambitious, the egoists, the sterile sensualists,--try to gain warmth in +the pale reflections of its light. + +To create in the region of the body, or in the region of the mind, is to +issue from the prison of the body: it is to ride upon the storm of life: it +is to be He who Is. To create is to triumph over death. + +Wretched is the sterile creature, that man or that woman who remains alone +and lost upon the earth, scanning their withered bodies, and the sight of +themselves from which no flame of life will ever leap! Wretched is the soul +that does not feel its own fruitfulness, and know itself to be big with +life and love, as a tree with blossom in the spring! The world may heap +honors and benefits upon such a soul: it does but crown a corpse. + + * * * * * + +When Christophe was struck by the flash of lightning, an electric fluid +coursed through his body: he trembled under the shock. It was as though +on the high seas, in the dark night, he had suddenly sighted land. Or it +was as though in a crowd he had gazed into two eyes saluting him. Often it +would happen to him after hours of prostration when his mind was leaping +desperately through the void. But more often still it came in moments +when he was thinking of something else, talking to his mother, or walking +through the streets. If he were in the street a certain human respect kept +him from too loudly demonstrating his joy. But if he were at home nothing +could keep him back. He would stamp. He would sound a blare of triumph: his +mother knew that well, and she had come to know what it meant. She used to +tell Christophe that he was like a hen that has laid an egg. + +He was permeated with his musical imagination. Sometimes it took shape in +an isolated phrase complete in itself: more often it would appear as a +nebula enveloping a whole work: the structure of the work, its general +lines, could be perceived through a veil, torn asunder here and there +by dazzling phrases which stood out from the darkness with the clarity +of sculpture. It was only a flash: sometimes others would come in quick +succession: each lit up other corners of the night. But usually, the +capricious force haying once shown itself unexpectedly, would disappear +again for several days into its mysterious retreats, leaving behind it a +luminous ray. + +This delight in inspiration was so vivid that Christophe was disgusted by +everything else. The experienced artist knows that inspiration is rare and +that intelligence is left to complete the work of intuition: he puts his +ideas under the press and squeezes out of them the last drop of the divine +juices that are in them--(and if need be sometimes he does not shrink from +diluting them with clear water)--Christophe was too young and too sure of +himself not to despise such contemptible practices. He dreamed impossibly +of producing nothing that was not absolutely spontaneous. If he had not +been deliberately blind he would certainly have seen the absurdity of his +aims. Ho doubt he was at that time in a period of inward abundance in which +there was no gap, no chink, through which boredom or emptiness could creep. +Everything served as an excuse to his inexhaustible fecundity: everything +that his eyes saw or his ears heard, everything with which he came in +contact in his daily life: every look, every word, brought forth a crop of +dreams. In the boundless heaven of his thoughts he saw circling millions +of milky stars, rivers of living light.--And yet, even then, there were +moments when everything was suddenly blotted out. And although the night +could not endure, although he had hardly time to suffer from these long +silences of his soul, he did not escape a secret terror of that unknown +power which came upon him, left him, came again, and disappeared.... How +long, this time? Would it ever come again?--His pride rejected that thought +and said: "This force is myself. When it ceases to be, I shall cease to be: +I shall kill myself."--He never ceased to tremble: but it was only another +delight. + +But, if, for the moment, there was no danger of the spring running dry, +Christophe was able already to perceive that it was never enough to +fertilize a complete work. Ideas almost always appeared rawly: he had +painfully to dig them out of the ore. And always they appeared without any +sort of sequence, and by fits and starts: to unite them he had to bring to +bear on them an element of reflection and deliberation and cold will, which +fashioned them into new form. Christophe was too much of an artist not to +do so: but he would not accept it: he forced himself to believe that he +did no more than transcribe what was within himself, while he was always +compelled more or less to transform it so as to make it intelligible.--More +than that: sometimes he would absolutely forge a meaning for it. However +violently the musical idea might come upon him it would often have been +impossible for him to say what it meant. It would come surging up from the +depths of life, from far beyond the limits of consciousness: and in that +absolutely pure Force, which eluded common rhythms, consciousness could +never recognize in it any of the motives which stirred in it, none of the +human feelings which it defines and classifies: joys, sorrows, they were +all merged in one single passion which was unintelligible, because it +was above the intelligence. And yet, whether it understood or no, the +intelligence needed to give a name to this form, to bind it down to +one or other of the structures of logic, which man is forever building +indefatigably in the hive of his brain. + +So Christophe convinced himself--he wished to do so--that the obscure power +that moved him had an exact meaning, and that its meaning was in accordance +with his will. His free instinct, risen from the unconscious depths, was +willy-nilly forced to plod on under the yoke of reason with perfectly clear +ideas which had nothing at all in common with it. And work so produced was +no more than a lying juxtaposition of one of those great subjects that +Christophe's mind had marked out for itself, and those wild forces which +had an altogether different meaning unknown to himself. + + * * * * * + +He groped his way, head down, borne on by the contradictory forces warring +in him, and hurling into his incoherent works a fiery and strong quality +of life which he could not express, though he was joyously and proudly +conscious of it. + +The consciousness of his new vigor made him able for the first time to +envisage squarely everything about him, everything that he had been taught +to honor, everything that he had respected without question: and he judged +it all with insolent freedom. The veil was rent: he saw the German lie. + +Every race, every art has its hypocrisy. The world is fed with a little +truth and many lies. The human mind is feeble: pure truth agrees with it +but ill: its religion, its morality, its states, its poets, its artists, +must all be presented to it swathed in lies. These lies are adapted to the +mind of each race: they vary from one to the other: it is they that make it +so difficult for nations to understand each other, and so easy for them to +despise each other. Truth is the same for all of us: but every nation has +its own lie, which it calls its idealism: every creature therein breathes +it from birth to death: it has become a condition of life: there are only +a few men of genius who can break free from it through heroic moments of +crisis, when they are alone in the free world of their thoughts. + +It was a trivial thing which suddenly revealed to Christophe the lie of +German art. It was not because it had not always been visible that he had +not seen it: he was not near it, he had not recoiled from it. Now the +mountain appeared to his gaze because he had moved away from it. + +He was at a concert of the _Städtische Townhalle_. The concert was given +in a large hall occupied by ten or twelve rows of little tables--about two +or three hundred of them. At the end of the room was a stage where the +orchestra was sitting. All round Christophe were officers dressed up in +their long, dark coats,--with broad, shaven faces, red, serious, and +commonplace: women talking and laughing noisily, ostentatiously at their +ease: jolly little girls smiling and showing all their teeth: and large men +hidden behind their beards and spectacles, looking like kindly spiders with +round eyes. They got up with every fresh glass to drink a toast: they did +this almost religiously: their faces, their voices changed: it was as +though they were saying Mass: they offered each other the libations, they +drank of the chalice with a mixture of solemnity and buffoonery. The music +was drowned under the conversation and the clinking of glasses. And yet +everybody was trying to talk and eat quietly. The _Herr Konzertmeister_, a +tall, bent old man, with a white beard hanging like a tail from his chin, +and a long aquiline nose, with spectacles, looked like a philologist.--All +these types were familiar to Christophe. But on that day he had an +inclination--he did not know why--to see them as caricatures. There are +days like that when, for no apparent reason, the grotesque in people and +things which in ordinary life passes unnoticed, suddenly leaps into view. + +The programme of the music included the _Egmont_ overture, a valse of +Waldteufel, _Tannhäuser's Pilgrimage to Rome_, the overture to the _Merry +Wives_ of Nicolai, the religious march of _Athalie_, and a fantasy on the +_North Star_. The orchestra played the Beethoven overture correctly, and +the valse deliciously. During the _Pilgrimage of Tannhäuser_, the uncorking +of bottles was heard. A big man sitting at the table next to Christophe +beat time to the _Merry Wives_ by imitating Falstaff. A stout old lady, in +a pale blue dress, with a white belt, golden pince-nez on her flat nose, +red arms, and an enormous waist, sang in a loud voice _Lieder_ of Schumann +and Brahms. She raised her eyebrows, made eyes at the wings, smiled with +a smile that seemed to curdle on her moon-face, made exaggerated gestures +which must certainly have called to mind the _café-concert_ but for the +majestic honesty which shone in her: this mother of a family played the +part of the giddy girl, youth, passion: and Schumann's poetry had a faint +smack of the nursery. The audience was in ecstasies.--But they grew solemn +and attentive when there appeared the Choral Society of the Germans of the +South (_Süddeutschen Männer Liedertafel_), who alternately cooed and roared +part songs full of feeling. There were forty and they sang four parts: it +seemed as though they had set themselves to free their execution of every +trace of style that could properly be called choral: a hotch-potch of +little melodious effects, little timid puling shades of sound, dying +_pianissimos_, with sudden swelling, roaring _crescendos_, like some one +heating on an empty box: no breadth or balance, a mawkish style: it was +like Bottom: + +"Let me play the lion. I will roar you as gently as any sucking dove. I +will roar you as it were a nightingale." + +Christophe listened: foam the beginning with growing amazement. There was +nothing new in it all to him. He knew these concerts, the orchestra, the +audience. But suddenly it all seemed to him false. All of it: even to +what he most loved, the _Egmont_ overture, in which the pompous disorder +and correct agitation hurt him in that hour like a want of frankness. No +doubt it was not Beethoven or Schumann that he heard, but their absurd +interpreters, their cud-chewing audience whose crass stupidity was spread +about their works like a heavy mist.--No matter, there was in the works, +even the most beautiful of them, a disturbing quality which Christophe had +never before felt.--What was it? He dared not analyze it, deeming it a +sacrilege to question his beloved masters. But in vain did he shut his eyes +to it: he had seen it. And, in spite of himself, he went on seeing it: like +the _Vergognosa_ at Pisa he looked: between his fingers. + +He saw German art stripped. All of them--the great and the idiots--laid +bare their souls with a complacent tenderness. Emotion overflowed, moral +nobility trickled down, their hearts melted in distracted effusions: the +sluice gates were opened to the fearful German tender-heartedness: it +weakened the energy of the stronger, it drowned the weaker under its +grayish waters: it was a flood: in the depths of it slept German thought. +And, what thoughts were those of a Mendelssohn, a Brahms, a Schumann, and, +following them, the whole legion of little writers of affected and tearful +_Lieder_! Built on sand. Never rock. Wet and shapeless clay.--It was all +so foolish, so childish often, that Christophe could not believe that it +never occurred to the audience. He looked about him: but he saw only gaping +faces, convinced in advance of the beauties they were hearing and the +pleasure that they ought to find in it. How could they admit their own +right to judge for themselves? They were filled with respect for these +hallowed names. What did they not respect? They were respectful before +their programmes, before their glasses, before themselves. It was clear +that mentally they dubbed everything excellent that remotely or nearly +concerned them. + +Christophe passed in review the audience and the music alternately: the +music reflected the audience, the audience reflected the music. Christophe +felt laughter overcoming him and he made faces. However, he controlled +himself. But when the Germans of the South came and solemnly sang the +_Confession_ that reminded him of the blushes of a girl in love, Christophe +could not contain himself. He shouted with laughter. Indignant cries of +"Ssh!" were raised. His neighbors looked at him, scared: their honest, +scandalized faces filled him with joy: he laughed louder than ever, he +laughed, he laughed until he cried. Suddenly the audience grew angry. They +cried: "Put him out!" He got up, and went, shrugging his shoulders, shaking +with suppressed laughter. His departure caused a scandal. It was the +beginning of hostilities between Christophe and his birthplace. + + * * * * * + +After that experience Christophe shut himself up and set himself to read +once more the works of the "hallowed" musicians. He was appalled to find +that certain of the masters whom he loved most had _lied_. He tried hard +to doubt it at first, to believe that he was mistaken.--But no, there was +no way out of it. He was staggered by the conglomeration of mediocrity and +untruth which constitutes the artistic treasure of a great people. How many +pages could bear examination! + +From that time on he could begin to read other works, other masters, who +were dear to him, only with a fluttering heart.... Alas! There was some +spell cast upon him: always there was the same discomfiture. With some of +them his heart was rent: it was as though he had lost a dear friend, as if +he had suddenly seen that a friend in whom he had reposed entire confidence +had been deceiving him for years. He wept for it. He did not sleep at +night: he could not escape his torment. He blamed himself: perhaps he had +lost his judgment? Perhaps he had become altogether an idiot?--No, no. More +than ever he saw the radiant beauty of the day and with more freshness and +love than ever he felt the generous abundance of life: his heart was not +deceiving him.... + +But for a long time he dared not approach those who were the best for him, +the purest, the Holy of Holies. He trembled at the thought of bringing his +faith in them to the test. But how resist the pitiless instinct of a brave +and truthful soul, which will go on to the end, and see things as they are, +whatever suffering may be got in doing so?--So he opened the sacred works, +he called upon the last reserve, the imperial guard.... At the first glance +he saw that they were no more immaculate than the others. He had not the +courage to go on. Every now and then he stopped and closed the book: like +the son of Noah, he threw his cloak about his father's nakedness.... + +Then he was prostrate in the midst of all these ruins. He would rather have +lost an arm, than have tampered with his blessed illusions. In his heart he +mourned. But there was so much sap in him, so much reserve of life, that +his confidence in art was not shaken. With a young man's naïve presumption +he began life again as though no one had ever lived it before him. +Intoxicated by his new strength, he felt--not without reason, perhaps--that +with a very few exceptions there is almost no relation between living +passion and the expression which art has striven to give to it. But he was +mistaken in thinking himself more happy or more true when he expressed it. +As he was filled with passion it was easy for him to discover it at the +back of what he had written: but no one else would have recognized it +through the imperfect vocabulary with which he designated its variations. +Many artists whom he condemned were in the same case. They had had, and had +translated profound emotions: but the secret of their language had died +with them. + +Christophe was no psychologist: he was not bothered with all these +arguments: what was dead for him had always been so. He revised his +judgment of the past with all the confident and fierce injustice of youth. +He stripped the noblest souls, and had no pity for their foibles. There +were the rich melancholy, the distinguished fantasy, the kindly thinking +emptiness of Mendelssohn. There were the bead-stringing and the affectation +of Weber, his dryness of heart, his cerebral emotion. There was Liszt, the +noble priest, the circus rider, neo-classical and vagabond, a mixture in +equal doses of real and false nobility, of serene idealism and disgusting +virtuosity. Schubert, swallowed up by his sentimentality, drowned at the +bottom of leagues of stale, transparent water. The men of the heroic ages, +the demi-gods, the Prophets, the Fathers of the Church, were not spared. +Even the great Sebastian, the man of ages, who bore in himself the past +and the future,--Bach,--was not free of untruth, of fashionable folly, of +school-chattering. The man who had seen God, the man who lived in God, +seemed sometimes to Christophe to have had an insipid and sugared religion, +a Jesuitical style, rococo. In his cantatas there were languorous and +devout airs--(dialogues of the Soul coquetting with Jesus)--which sickened +Christophe: then he seemed to see chubby cherubim with round limbs, and +flying draperies. And also he had a feeling that the genial _Cantor_ +always wrote in a closed room: his work smacked of stuffiness: there was +not in his music that brave outdoor air that was breathed in others, +not such great musicians, perhaps, but greater men--more human--than +he. Like Beethoven or Händel. What hurt him in all of them, especially +in the classics, was their lack of freedom: almost all their works +were "constructed." Sometimes an emotion was filled out with all the +commonplaces of musical rhetoric, sometimes with a simple rhythm, +an ornamental design, repeated, turned upside down, combined in +every conceivable way in a mechanical fashion. These symmetrical and +twaddling constructions--classical, and neo-classical sonatas and +symphonies--exasperated Christophe, who, at that time, was not very +sensible of the beauty of order, and vast and well-conceived plans. That +seemed to him to be rather masons' work than musicians'. + +But he was no less severe with the romantics. It was a strange thing, and +he was more surprised by it than anybody,--but no musicians irritated him +more than those who had pretended to be--and had actually been--the most +free, the most spontaneous, the least constructive,--those, who, like +Schumann, had poured drop by drop, minute by minute, into their innumerable +little works, their whole life. He was the more indignantly in revolt +against them as he recognized in them his adolescent soul and all the +follies that he had vowed to pluck out of it. In truth, the candid Schumann +could not be taxed with falsity: he hardly ever said anything that he had +not felt. But that was just it: his example made Christophe understand that +the worst falsity in German art came into it not when the artists tried to +express something which they had not felt, but rather when they tried to +express the feelings which they did in fact feel--_feelings which were +false_. Music is an implacable mirror of the soul. The more a German +musician is naïve and in good faith, the more he displays the weaknesses +of the German soul, its uncertain depths, its soft tenderness, its want of +frankness, its rather sly idealism, its incapacity for seeing itself, for +daring to come face to face with itself. That false idealism is the secret +sore even of the greatest--of Wagner. As he read his works Christophe +ground his teeth. _Lohengrin_ seemed to him a blatant lie. He loathed the +huxtering chivalry, the hypocritical mummery, the hero without fear and +without a heart, the incarnation of cold and selfish virtue admiring itself +and most patently self-satisfied. He knew it too well, he had seen it in +reality, the type of German Pharisee, foppish, impeccable, and hard, bowing +down before its own image, the divinity to which it has no scruple about +sacrificing others. The _Flying Dutchman_ overwhelmed him with its massive +sentimentality and its gloomy boredom. The loves of the barbarous decadents +of the _Tetralogy_ were of a sickening staleness. Siegmund carrying off +his sister sang a tenor drawing-room song. Siegfried and Brünnhilde, like +respectable German married people, in the _Götterdämmerung_ laid bare +before each other, especially for the benefit of the audience, their +pompous and voluble conjugal passion. Every sort of lie had arranged to +meet in that work: false idealism, false Christianity, false Gothicism, +false legend, false gods, false humans. Never did more monstrous convention +appear than in that theater which was to upset all the conventions. Neither +eyes, nor mind, nor heart could be deceived by it for a moment: if they +were, then they must wish to be so.--They did wish to be so. Germany was +delighted with that doting, childish art, an art of brutes let loose, and +mystic, namby-pamby little girls. + +And Christophe could do nothing: as soon as he heard the music he was +caught up like the others, more than the others, by the flood, and the +diabolical will of the man who had let it loose. He laughed, and he +trembled, and his cheeks burned, and he felt galloping armies rushing +through him! And he thought that those who bore such storms within +themselves might have all allowances made for them. What cries of joy +he uttered when in the hallowed works which he could not read without +trembling he felt once more his old emotion, ardent still, with nothing +to tarnish the purity of what he loved! These were glorious relics that +he saved from the wreck. What happiness they gave him! It seemed to him +that he had saved a part of himself. And was it not himself? These great +Germans, against whom he revolted, were they not his blood, his flesh, his +most precious life? He was only severe with them because he was severe with +himself. Who loved them better than he? Who felt more than he the goodness +of Schubert, the innocence of Haydn, the tenderness of Mozart, the great +heroic heart of Beethoven? Who more often than he took refuge in the +murmuring of the forests of Weber, and the cool shade of the cathedrals of +John Sebastian, raising against the gray sky of the North, above the plains +of Germany, their pile of stone, and their gigantic towers with their +sun-tipped spires?--But he suffered from their lies, and he could not +forget them. He attributed them to the race, their greatness to themselves. +He was wrong. Greatness and weaknesses belong equally to the race whose +great, shifting thought flows like the greatest river of music and poetry +at which Europe comes to drink.--And in what other people would he have +found the simple purity which now made it possible for him to condemn it so +harshly? + +He had no notion of that. With the ingratitude of a spoiled child he turned +against his mother the weapons which he had received from her. Later, +later, he was to feel all that he owed to her, and how dear she was to +him.... + +But he was in a phase of blind reaction against all the idols of his +childhood. He was angry with himself and with them because he had believed +in them absolutely and passionately--and it was well that it was so. There +is an age in life when we must dare to be unjust, when we must make a +clean sweep of all admiration and respect got at second-hand, and deny +everything--truth and untruth--everything which we have not of ourselves +known for truth. Through education, and through everything that he sees and +hears about him, a child absorbs so many lies and blind follies mixed with +the essential verities of life, that the first duty of the adolescent who +wishes to grow into a healthy man is to sacrifice everything. + + * * * * * + +Christophe was passing through that crisis of healthy disgust. His instinct +was impelling him to eliminate from his life all the undigested elements +which encumbered it. + +First of all to go was that sickening sweet tenderness which sucked away +the soul of Germany like a damp and moldy riverbed. Light! Light! A rough, +dry wind which should sweep away the miasmas of the swamp, the misty +staleness of the _Lieder, Liedchen, Liedlein_, as numerous as drops of rain +in which inexhaustibly the Germanic _Gemüt_ is poured forth: the countless +things like _Sehnsucht_ (Desire), _Heimweh_ (Homesickness), _Aufschwung_ +(Soaring), _Trage_ (A question), _Warum_? (Why?), _an den Mond_ (To +the Moon), _an die Sterne_ (To the Stars), _an die Nachtigall_ (To the +Nightingale), _an den Frühling_ (To Spring), _an den Sonnenschein_ (To +Sunshine): like _Frühlingslied_ (Spring Song), _Frühlingslust_ (Delights of +Spring), _Frühlingsgruss_ (Hail to the Spring), _Frülingsfahrt_ (A Spring +Journey), _Frülingsnacht_ (A Spring Night), _Frühlingsbotschaft_ (The +Message of Spring): like _Stimme der Liebe_ (The Voice of Love), _Sprache +der Liebe_ (The Language of Love), _Trauer der Liebe_ (Love's Sorrow), +_Geist der Liebe_ (The Spirit of Love), _Fülle der Liebe_ (The Fullness +of Love): like _Blumenlied_ (The Song of the Flowers), _Blumenbrief_ (The +Letter of the Flowers), _Blumengruss_ (Flowers' Greeting): like _Herzeleid_ +(Heart Pangs), _Mein Herz ist schwer_ (My Heart is Heavy), _Mein Herz ist +betrübt_ (My Heart is Troubled), _Mein Aug' ist trüb_ (My Eye is Heavy): +like the candid and silly dialogues with the _Röselein_ (The Little Rose), +with the brook, with the turtle dove, with the lark: like those idiotic +questions: _"If the briar could have no thorns?"--"Is an old husband like +a lark who has built a nest?"--"Is she newly plighted?"_: the whole deluge +of stale tenderness, stale emotion, stale melancholy, stale poetry.... How +many lovely things profaned, rare things, used in season or out! For the +worst of it was that it was all useless: a habit of undressing their hearts +in public, a fond and foolish propensity of the honest people of Germany +for plunging loudly into confidences. With nothing to say they were always +talking! Would their chatter never cease?--As well bid frogs in a pond be +silent. + +It was in the expression of love that Christophe was most rawly conscious +of untruth: for he was in a position to compare it with the reality. The +conventional love songs, lacrymose and proper, contained nothing like the +desires of man or the heart of woman. And yet the people who had written +them must have loved at least once in their lives! Was it possible that +they could have loved like that? No, no, they had lied, as they always did, +they had lied to themselves: they had tried to idealize themselves.... +Idealism! That meant that they were afraid of looking at life squarely, +were incapable of seeing things like a man, as they are.--Everywhere the +same timidity, the same lack of manly frankness. Everywhere the same chilly +enthusiasm, the same pompous lying solemnity, in their patriotism, in +their drinking, in their religion. The _Trinklieder_ (Drinking Songs) were +prosopopeia to wine and the bowl: _"Du, herrlich Glas ..."_ ("Thou, noble +glass ..."). Faith--the one thing in the world which should be spontaneous, +springing from the soul like an unexpected sudden stream--was a +manufactured article, a commodity of trade. Their patriotic songs were made +for docile flocks of sheep basking in unison.... Shout, then!--What! Must +you go on lying--"_idealizing_"--till you are surfeited, till it brings you +to slaughter and madness!... + +Christophe ended by hating all idealism. He preferred frank brutality to +such lying. But at heart he was more of an idealist than the rest, and he +had not--he could not have--any more real enemies than the brutal realists +whom he thought he preferred. + +He was blinded by passion. He was frozen by the mist, the anæmic lying, +"the sunless phantom Ideas." With his whole being he reached upwards to +the sun. In his youthful contempt for the hypocrisy with which he was +surrounded, or for what he took to be hypocrisy, he did not see the high, +practical wisdom of the race which little by little had built up for itself +its grandiose idealism in order to suppress its savage instincts, or to +turn them to account. Not arbitrary reasons, not moral and religious codes, +not legislators and statesmen, priests and philosophers, transform the +souls of peoples and often impose upon them a new nature: but centuries of +misfortune and experience, which forge the life of peoples who have the +will to live. + + * * * * * + +And yet Christophe went on composing: and his compositions were not +examples of the faults which he found in others. In him creation was an +irresistible necessity which would not submit to the rules which his +intelligence laid down for it. No man creates from reason, but from +necessity.--It is not enough to have recognized the untruth and affectation +inherent in the majority of the feelings to avoid falling into them: long +and painful endeavor is necessary: nothing is more difficult than to be +absolutely true in modern society with its crushing heritage of indolent +habits handed down through generations. It is especially difficult for +those people, those nations who are possessed by an indiscreet mania for +letting their hearts speak--for making them speak--unceasingly, when most +generally it had much better have been silent. + +Christophe's heart was very German in that: it had not yet learned the +virtue of silence: and that virtue did not belong to his age. He had +inherited from his father a need for talking, and talking loudly. He +knew it and struggled against it: bat the conflict paralyzed part of his +forces.--And he had another gift of heredity, no less burdensome, which +had come to him from his grandfather: an extraordinary difficulty--in +expressing himself exactly.--He was the son of a _virtuoso_. He was +conscious of the dangerous attraction of virtuosity: a physical pleasure, +the pleasure of skill, of agility, of satisfied muscular activity, the +pleasure of conquering, of dazzling, of enthralling in his own person +the many-headed audience: an excusable pleasure, in a young man almost +an innocent pleasure, though none the less destructive of art and soul: +Christophe knew it: it was in his blood: he despised it, but all the same +he yielded to it. + +And so, torn between the instincts of his race and those of his genius, +weighed down by the burden of a parasitical past, which covered him with +a crust that he could not break through, he floundered along, and was +much nearer than he thought to all that he shunned and banned. All his +compositions were a mixture of truth and turgidness, of lucid strength and +faltering stupidity. It was only in rare moments that his personality could +pierce the casing of the dead personality which hampered his movements. + +He was alone. He had no guide to help him out of the mire. When he thought +he was out of it he slipped back again. He went blindly on, wasting his +time and strength in futile efforts. He was spared no trial: and in the +disorder of his creative striving he never knew what was of greatest worth +in what he created. He tied himself up in absurd projects, symphonic poems, +which pretended to philosophy and were of monstrous dimensions. He was too +sincere to be able to hold to them for long together: and he would discard +them in disgust before he had stretched out a single movement. Or he would +set out to translate into overtures the most inaccessible works of poetry. +Then he would flounder about in a domain which was not his own. When +he drew up scenarios for himself--(for he stuck at nothing)--they were +idiotic: and when he attacked the great works of Goethe, Hebbel, Kleist, or +Shakespeare, he understood them all wrong. It was not want of intelligence +but want of the critical spirit: he could not yet understand others, he was +too much taken up with himself: he found himself everywhere with his naïve +and turgid soul. + +But besides these monsters who were not really begotten, he wrote a +quantity of small pieces, which were the immediate expression of passing +emotions--the most eternal of all: musical thoughts, _Lieder_. In this as +in other things he was in passionate reaction against current practices. +He would take up the most famous poems, already set to music, and was +impertinent enough to try to treat them differently and with greater truth +than Schumann and Schubert. Sometimes he would try to give to the poetic +figures of Goethe--to Mignon, the Harpist in _Wilhelm Meister_, their +individual character, exact and changing. Sometimes he would tackle certain +love songs which the weakness of the artists and the dullness of the +audience in tacit agreement had clothed about with sickly sentimentality: +and he would unclothe them: he would restore to them their rough, crude +sensuality. In a word, he set out to make passions and people live for +themselves and not to serve as toys for German families seeking an easy +emotionalism on Sundays when they sat about in some _Biergarten_. + +But generally he would find the poets, even the greatest of them, too +literary: and he would select the simplest texts for preference: texts of +old _Lieder_, jolly old songs, which he had read perhaps in some improving +work: he would take care not to preserve their choral character: he would +treat them with a fine, lively, and altogether lay audacity. Or he would +take words from the Gospel, or proverbs, sometimes even words heard by +chance, scraps of dialogues of the people, children's thoughts: words often +awkward and prosaic in which there was only pure feeling. With them he was +at his ease, and he would reach a depth with them which was not in his +other compositions, a depth which he himself never suspected. + +Good or bad, more often bad than good, his works as a whole had abounding +vitality. They were not altogether new: far from it. Christophe was often +banal, through his very sincerity: he repeated sometimes forms already used +because they exactly rendered his thought, because he also felt in that way +and not otherwise. Nothing would have induced him to try to be original: it +seemed to him that a man must be very commonplace to burden himself with +such an idea. He tried to be himself, to say what he felt, without worrying +as to whether what he said had been said before him or not. He took a pride +in believing that it was the best way of being original and that Christophe +had only been and only would be alive once. With the magnificent impudence +of youth, nothing seemed to him to have been done before: and everything +seemed to him to be left for doing--or for doing again. And the feeling +of this inward fullness of life, of a life stretching endless before him, +brought him to a state of exuberant and rather indiscreet happiness. He +was perpetually in a state of jubilation, which had no need of joy: it +could adapt itself to sorrow: its source overflowed with life, was, in its +strength, mother of all happiness and virtue. To live, to live too much!... +A man who does not feel within himself this intoxication of strength, this +jubilation in living--even in the depths of misery,--is not an artist. +That is the touchstone. True greatness is shown in this power of rejoicing +through joy and sorrow. A Mendelssohn or a Brahms, gods of the mists of +October, and of fine rain, have never known the divine power. + +Christophe was conscious of it: and he showed his joy simply, impudently. +He saw no harm in it, he only asked to share it with others. He did not +see how such joy hurts the majority of men, who never can possess it and +are always envious of it. For the rest he never bothered about pleasing +or displeasing: he was sure of himself, and nothing seemed to him simpler +than to communicate his conviction to others,--to conquer. Instinctively he +compared his riches with the general poverty of the makers of music: and he +thought that it would be very easy to make his superiority recognized. Too +easy, even. He had only to show himself. + +He showed himself. + + * * * * * + +They were waiting for him. + +Christophe had made no secret of his feelings. Since he had become aware +of German Pharisaism, which refuses to see things as they are, he had +made it a law for himself that he should be absolutely, continually, +uncompromisingly sincere in everything without regard for anything or +anybody or himself. And as he could do nothing without going to extremes, +he was extravagant in his sincerity: he would say outrageous things and +scandalize people a thousand times less naïve than himself. He never +dreamed that it might annoy them. When he realized the idiocy of some +hallowed composition he would make haste to impart his discovery to +everybody he encountered: musicians of the orchestra, or amateurs of his +acquaintance. He would pronounce the most absurd judgments with a beaming +face. At first no one took him seriously: they laughed at his freaks. But +it was not long before they found that he was always reverting to them, +insisting on them in a way that was really bad taste. It became evident +that Christophe believed in his paradoxes: and they became less amusing. He +was a nuisance: at concerts he would make ironic remarks in a loud voice, +or would express his scorn for the glorious masters in no veiled fashion +wherever he might be. + +Everything passed from mouth to mouth in the little town: not a word was +lost. People were already affronted by his conduct during the past year. +They had not forgotten the scandalous fashion in which he had shown himself +abroad with Ada and the troublous times of the sequel. He had forgotten, +it himself: one day wiped out another, and he was very different from what +he had been two months before. But others had not forgotten: those who, in +all small towns, take upon themselves scrupulously to note down all the +faults, all the imperfections, all the sad, ugly, and unpleasant happenings +concerning their neighbors, so that nothing is ever forgotten. Christophe's +new extravagances were naturally set, side by side with his former +indiscretions, in the scroll. The former explained the latter. The outraged +feelings of offended morality were now bolstered up by those of scandalized +good taste. The kindliest of them said: + +"He is trying to be particular." + +But most alleged: + +_"Total verrückt!"_ (Absolutely mad.) + +An opinion no less severe and even more dangerous was beginning to find +currency--an opinion assured of success by reason of its illustrious +origin: it was said that, at the Palace, whither Christophe still went upon +his official duties, he had had the bad taste in conversation with the +Grand Duke himself, with revolting lack of decency, to give vent to his +ideas concerning the illustrious masters: it was said that he had called +Mendelssohn's _Elijah_ "a clerical humbug's paternoster," and he had called +certain _Lieder_ of Schumann "_Backfisch Musik_": and that in the face of +the declared preference of the august Princess for those works! The Grand +Duke had cut short his impertinences by saying dryly: + +"To hear you, sir, one would doubt your being a German." This vengeful +utterance, coming from so lofty an eminence, reached the lowest depths: and +everybody who thought he had reason to be annoyed with Christophe, either +for his success, or for some more personal if not more cogent reason, did +not fail to call to mind that he was not in fact pure German. His father's +family, it was remembered, came originally from Belgium. It was not +surprising, therefore, that this immigrant should decry the national +glories. That explained everything and German vanity found reasons therein +for greater self-esteem, and at the same time for despising its adversary. + +Christophe himself most substantially fed this Platonic vengeance. It is +very imprudent to criticise others when you are yourself on the point of +challenging criticism. A cleverer or less frank artist would have shown +more modesty and more respect for his predecessors. But Christophe could +see no reason for hiding his contempt for mediocrity or his joy in his +own strength, and his joy was shown in no temperate fashion. Although +from childhood Christophe had been turned in upon himself for want of any +creature to confide in, of late he had come by a need of expansiveness. He +had too much joy for himself: his breast was too small to contain it: he +would have burst if he had not shared his delight. Failing a friend, he had +confided in his colleague in the orchestra, the second _Kapellmeister_, +Siegmund Ochs, a young Wurtemberger, a good fellow, though crafty, who +showed him an effusive deference. Christophe did not distrust him: and, +even if he had, how could it have occurred to him that it might be harmful +to confide his joy to one who did not care, or even to an enemy? Ought they +not rather to be grateful to him? Was it not for them also that he was +working? He brought happiness for all, friends and enemies alike.--He had +no idea that there is nothing more difficult than to make men accept a new +happiness: they almost prefer their old misery: they need food that has +been masticated for ages. But what is most intolerable to them is the +thought that they owe such happiness to another. They cannot forgive that +offense until there is no way of evading it: and in any case, they do +contrive to make the giver pay dearly for it. + +There were, then, a thousand reasons why Christophe's confidences should +not be kindly received by anybody. But there were a thousand and one +reasons why they should not be acceptable to Siegmund Ochs. The first +_Kapellmeister_, Tobias Pfeiffer, was on the point of retiring: and, in +spite of his youth, Christophe had every chance of succeeding him. Ochs +was too good a German not to recognize that Christophe was worthy of the +position, since the Court was on his side. But he had too good an opinion +of himself not to believe that he would have been more worthy had the Court +known him better. And so he received Christophe's effusions with a strange +smile when, he arrived at the theater in the morning with a face that he +tried hard to make serious, though it beamed in spite of himself. + +"Well?" he would say slyly as he came up to him, "another masterpiece?" + +Christophe would take his arm. + +"Ah! my friend. It is the best of all ... If you could hear it!... Devil +take me, it is too beautiful! There has never been anything like it. God +help the poor audience! They will only long for one thing when they have +heard it: to die." + +His words did not fall upon deaf ears. Instead of smiling, or of chaffing +Christophe about his childish enthusiasm--he would have been the first +to laugh at it and beg pardon if he had been made to feel the absurdity +of it--Ochs went into ironic ecstasies: he drew Christophe on to further +enormities: and when he left him made haste to repeat them all, making them +even more grotesque. The little circle of musicians chuckled over them: and +every one was impatient for the opportunity of judging the unhappy +compositions.--They were all judged beforehand. + +At last they appeared--Christophe had chosen from the better of his works +an overture to the _Judith_ of Hebbel, the savage energy of which had +attracted him, in his reaction against German atony, although he was +beginning to lose his taste for it, knowing intuitively the unnaturalness +of such assumption of genius, always and at all costs. He had added a +symphony which bore the bombastic title of the Basle Boecklin, "_The Dream +of Life_," and the motto: "_Vita somnium breve_." A song-cycle completed +the programme, with a few classical works, and a _Festmarsch_ by Ochs, +which Christophe had kindly offered to include in his concert, though he +knew it to be mediocre. + +Nothing much happened during the rehearsals. Although the orchestra +understood absolutely nothing of the composition it was playing and +everybody was privately disconcerted by the oddities of the new music, they +had no time to form an opinion: they were not capable of doing so until +the public had pronounced on it. Besides, Christophe's confidence imposed +on the artists, who, like every good German orchestra, were docile and +disciplined. His only difficulties were with the singer. She was the +blue lady of the _Townhalle_ concert. She was famous through Germany: +the domestic creature sang Brünnhilde Kundry at Dresden and Bayreuth +with undoubted lung-power. But if in the Wagnerian school she had +learned the art of which that school is justly proud, the art of good +articulation, of projecting the consonants through space, and of +battering the gaping audience with the vowels as with a club, she had not +learned--designedly--the art of being natural. She provided for every word: +everything was accentuated: the syllables moved with leaden feet, and there +was a tragedy in every sentence. Christophe implored her to moderate her +dramatic power a little. She tried at first graciously enough: but her +natural heaviness and her need for letting her voice go carried her away. +Christophe became nervous. He told the respectable lady that he had tried +to make human beings speak with his speaking-trumpet and not the dragon +Fafner. She took his insolence in bad part--naturally. She said that, +thank Heaven! she knew what singing was, and that she had had the honor of +interpreting the _Lieder_ of Maestro Brahms, in the presence of that great +man, and that he had never tired of hearing her. + +"So much the worse! So much the worse!" cried Christophe. + +She asked him with a haughty smile to be kind enough to explain the meaning +of his energetic remark. He replied that never in his life had Brahms +known what it was to be natural, that his eulogies were the worst possible +censure, and that although he--Christophe--was not very polite, as she had +justly observed, never would he have gone so far as to say anything so +unpleasant. + +The argument went on in this fashion: and the lady insisted on singing in +her own way, with heavy pathos and melodramatic effects--until one day when +Christophe declared coldly that he saw the truth: it was her nature and +nothing could change it: but since the _Lieder_ could not be sung properly, +they should not be sung at all: he withdrew them from the programme.--It +was on the eve of the concert and they were counting on the _Lieder_: she +had talked about them: she was musician enough to appreciate certain of +their qualities: Christophe insulted her: and as she was not sure that the +morrow's concert would not set the seal on the young man's fame, she did +not wish to quarrel with a rising star. She gave way suddenly: and during +the last rehearsal she submitted docilely to all Christophe's wishes. But +she had made up her mind--at the concert--to have her own way. + + * * * * * + +The day came. Christophe had no anxiety. He was too full of his music to +be able to judge it. He realized that some of his works in certain places +bordered on the ridiculous. But what did that matter? Nothing great can be +written without touching the ridiculous. To reach the heart of things it +is necessary to dare human respect, politeness, modesty, the timidity of +social lies under which the heart is stifled. If nobody is to be affronted +and success attained, a man must be resigned all his life to remain bound +by convention and to give to second-rate people the second-rate truth, +mitigated, diluted, which they are capable of receiving: he must dwell in +prison all his life. A man is great only when he has set his foot on such +anxieties. Christophe trampled them underfoot. Let them hiss him: he was +sure of not leaving them indifferent. He conjured up the faces that certain +people of his acquaintance would make as they heard certain rather bold +passages. He expected bitter criticism: he smiled at it already. In any +case they would have to be blind--or deaf--to deny that there was force +in it--pleasant or otherwise, what did it matter?--Pleasant! Pleasant!... +Force! That is enough. Let it go its way, and bear all before it, like the +Rhine!... + +He had one setback. The Grand Duke did not come. The royal box was only +occupied by Court people, a few ladies-in-waiting. Christophe was irritated +by it. He thought: "The fool is cross with me. He does not know what to +think of my work: he is afraid of compromising himself." He shrugged his +shoulders, pretending not to be put out by such idiocy. Others paid more +attention to it: it was the first lesson for him, a menace of his future. + +The public had not shown much more interest than the Grand Duke: quite a +third of the hall was empty. Christophe could not help thinking bitterly of +the crowded halls at his concerts when he was a child. He would not have +been surprised by the change if he had had more experience: it would have +seemed natural to him that there were fewer people come to hear him when +he made good music than when he made bad: for it is not music but the +musician in which the greater part of the public is interested: and it is +obvious that a musician who is a man and like everybody else is much less +interesting than a musician in a child's little trowsers or short frock, +who tickles sentimentality or amuses idleness. + +After waiting in vain for the hall to fill, Christophe decided to begin. +He tried to pretend that it was better so, saying, "A few friends but +good."--His optimism did not last long. + +His pieces were played in silence.--There is a silence in an audience +which seems big and overflowing with love. But there was nothing in this. +Nothing. Utter sleep. Blankness. Every phrase seemed to drop into depths +of indifference. With his back turned to the audience, busy with his +orchestra, Christophe was fully aware of everything that was happening in +the hall, with those inner antennæ which every true musician is endowed, so +that he knows whether what he is playing is waking an echo in the hearts +about him. He went on conducting and growing excited while he was frozen by +the cold mist of boredom rising from the stalls and the boxes behind him. + +At last the overture was ended: and the audience applauded. It applauded +coldly, politely, and was then silent. Christophe would rather have had +them hoot.... A hiss! One hiss! Anything to give a sign of life, or at +least of reaction against his work!... Nothing.--He looked at the audience. +The people were looking at each other, each trying to find out what the +other thought. They did not succeed and relapsed into indifference. + +The music went on. The symphony was played.--Christophe found it hard to +go on to the end. Several times he was on the point of throwing down his +baton and running away. Their apathy overtook him: at last he could not +understand what he was conducting: he could not breathe: he felt that he +was falling into fathomless boredom. There was not even the whispered +ironic comment which he had anticipated at certain passages: the audience +were reading their programmes. Christophe heard the pages turned all +together with a dry rustling: and then, once more there was silence until +the last chord, when the same polite applause showed that they had not +understood that the symphony was finished.--And yet there were four pairs +of hands went on clapping when the others had finished: but they awoke no +echo, and stopped ashamed: that made the emptiness seem more empty, and the +little incident served to show the audience how bored it had been. + +Christophe took a seat in the middle of the orchestra: he dared not look to +right or left. He wanted to cry: and at the same time he was quivering with +rage. He was fain to get up and shout at them: "You bore me! Ah! How you +bore me! I cannot bear it!... Go away! Go away, all of you!..." + +The audience woke up a little: they were expecting the singer,--they were +accustomed to applauding her. In that ocean of new music in which they were +drifting without a compass, she at least was sure, a known land, and a +solid, in which there was no danger of being lost. Christophe divined their +thoughts exactly, and he laughed bitterly. The singer was no less conscious +of the expectancy of the audience: Christophe saw that in her regal airs +when he came and told her that it was her turn to appear. They looked at +each other inimically. Instead of offering her his arm, Christophe thrust +his hands into his pockets and let her go on alone. Furious and out of +countenance she passed him. He followed her with a bored expression. As +soon as she appeared the audience gave her an ovation: that made everybody +happier: every face brightened, the audience grew interested, and glasses +were brought into play. Certain of her power she tackled the _Lieder_, in +her own way, of course, and absolutely disregarded Christophe's remarks of +the evening before. Christophe, who was accompanying her, went pale. He had +foreseen her rebellion. At the first change that she made he tapped on the +piano and said angrily: + +"No!" + +She went on. He whispered behind her back in a low voice of fury: + +"No! No! Not like that!... Not that!" + +Unnerved by his fierce growls, which the audience could not hear, though +the orchestra caught every syllable, she stuck to it, dragging her notes, +making pauses like organ stops. He paid no heed to them and went ahead: in +the end they got out of time. The audience did not notice it: for some time +they had been saying that Christophe's music was not made to seem pleasant +or right to the ear: but Christophe, who was not of that opinion, was +making lunatic grimaces: and at last he exploded. He stopped short in the +middle of a bar: + +"Stop," he shouted. + +She was carried on by her own impetus for half a bar and then stopped: + +"That's enough," he said dryly. + +There was a moment of amazement in the audience. After a few seconds he +said icily: + +"Begin again!" + +She looked at him in stupefaction: her hands trembled: she thought for a +moment of throwing his book at his head: afterwards she did not understand +how it was that she did not do so. But she was overwhelmed by Christophe's +authority and his unanswerable tone of voice: she began again. She sang the +song-cycle, without changing one shade of meaning, or a single movement: +for she felt that he would spare her nothing: and she shuddered at the +thought of a fresh insult. + +When she had finished the audience recalled her frantically. They were not +applauding the _Lieder_--(they would have applauded just the same if she +had sung any others)--but the famous singer who had grown old in harness: +they knew that they could safely admire her. Besides, they wanted to make +up to her for the insult she had just received. They were not quite sure, +but they did vaguely understand that the singer had made a mistake: and +they thought it indecent of Christophe to call their attention to it. They +encored the songs. But Christophe shut the piano firmly. + +The singer did not notice his insolence: she was too much upset to think +of singing again. She left the stage hurriedly and shut herself up in her +box: and then for a quarter of an hour she relieved her heart of the flood +of wrath and rage that was pent up in it: a nervous attack, a deluge of +tears, indignant outcries and imprecations against Christophe,--she omitted +nothing. Her cries of anger could be heard through the closed door. Those +of her friends who had made their way there told everybody when they left +that Christophe had behaved like a cad. Opinion travels quickly in a +concert hall. And so when Christophe went to his desk for the last piece +of music the audience was stormy. But it was not his composition: it +was the _Festmarsch_ by Ochs, which Christophe had kindly included in +his programme. The audience--who were quite at their ease with the dull +music--found a very simple method of displaying their disapproval of +Christophe without going so far as to hiss him: they acclaimed Ochs +ostentatiously, recalled the composer two or three times, and he appeared +readily. And that was the end of the concert. + +The Grand Duke and everybody at the Court--the bored, gossiping little +provincial town--lost no detail of what had happened. The papers which were +friendly towards the singer made no allusion to the incident: but they +all agreed in exalting her art while they only mentioned the titles of +the _Lieder_ which she had sung. They published only a few lines about +Christophe's other compositions, and they all said almost the same things: +"... Knowledge of counterpoint. Complicated writing. Lack of inspiration. +No melody. Written with the head, not with the heart. Want of sincerity. +Trying to be original...." Followed a paragraph on true originality, that +of the masters who are dead and buried, Mozart, Beethoven, Loewe, Schubert, +Brahms, "those who are original without thinking of it."--Then by a natural +transition they passed to the revival at the Grand Ducal Theater of the +_Nachtlager von Granada_ of Konradin Kreutzer: a long account was given of +"the delicious music, as fresh and jolly as when it was first written." + +Christophe's compositions met with absolute and astonished lack of +comprehension from the most kindly disposed critics: veiled hostility from +those who did not like him, and were arming themselves for later ventures: +and from the general public, guided by neither friendly nor hostile +critics, silence. Left to its own thoughts the general public does not +think at all: that goes without saying. + + * * * * * + +Christophe was bowled over. + +And yet there was nothing surprising in his defeat. There were reasons, +three to one, why his compositions should not please. They were immature. +They were, secondly, too advanced to be understood at once. And, +lastly, people were only too glad to give a lesson to the impertinent +youngster.--But Christophe was not cool-headed enough to admit that his +reverse was legitimate. He had none of that serenity which the true artist +gains from the mournful experience of long misunderstanding at the hands of +men and their incurable stupidity. His naïve confidence in the public and +in success which he thought he could easily gain because he deserved it, +crumbled away. He would have thought it natural to have enemies. But what +staggered him was to find that he had not a single friend. Those on whom he +had counted, those who hitherto had seemed to be interested in everything +that he wrote, had not given him a single word of encouragement since the +concert. He tried to probe them: they took refuge behind vague words. He +insisted, he wanted to know what they really thought: the most sincere of +them referred back to his former works, his foolish early efforts.--More +than once in his life he was to hear his new works condemned by comparison, +with the older ones,--and that by the same people who, a few years before, +had condemned his older works when they were new: that is the usual +ordering of these things. Christophe did not like it: he exclaimed loudly. +If people did not like him, well and good: he accepted that: it even +pleased him since he could not be friends with everybody. But that people +should pretend to be fond of him and not allow him to grow up, that they +should try to force him all his life to remain a child, was beyond the +pale! What is good at twelve is not good at twenty: and he hoped not +to stay at that, but to change and to go on changing always.... These +idiots who tried to stop life!... What was interesting in his childish +compositions was not their childishness and silliness, but the force in +them hungering for the future. And they were trying to kill his future!... +No, they had never understood what he was, they had never loved him, never +then or now: they only loved the weakness and vulgarity in him, everything +that he had in common with others, and not _himself_, not what he really +was: their friendship was a misunderstanding.... + +He was exaggerating, perhaps. It often happens with quite nice people who +are incapable of liking new work which they sincerely love when it is +twenty years old. New life smacks too strong for their weak senses--the +scent of it must evaporate in the winds of Time. A work of art only becomes +intelligible to them when it is crusted over with the dust of years. + +But Christophe could not admit of not being understood when he was +_present_ and of being understood when he was _past_. He preferred to think +that he was not understood at all, in any case, even. And he raged against +it. He was foolish enough to want to make himself understood, to explain +himself, to argue. Although no good purpose was served thereby: he would +have had to reform the taste of his time. But he was afraid of nothing. He +was determined by hook or by crook to clean up German taste. But it was +utterly impossible: he could not convince anybody by means of conversation, +in which he found it difficult to find words, and expressed himself with an +excess of violence about the great musicians and even about the men to whom +he was talking: he only succeeded in making a few more enemies. He would +have had to prepare his ideas beforehand, and then to force the public to +hear him.... + +And just then, at the appointed hour, his star--his evil star--gave him the +means of doing so. + + * * * * * + +He was sitting in the restaurant of the theater in a group of musicians +belonging to the orchestra whom he was scandalizing by his artistic +judgments. They were not all of the same opinion: but they were all ruffled +by the freedom of his language. Old Krause, the alto, a good fellow +and a good musician, who sincerely loved Christophe, tried to turn the +conversation: he coughed, then looked out for an opportunity of making a +pun. But Christophe did not hear him: he went on: and Krause mourned and +thought: + +"What makes him say such things? God bless him! You can think these things: +but you must not say them." + +The odd thing was that he also thought "these things": at least, he had a +glimmering of them, and Christophe's words roused many doubts in him: but +he had not the courage to confess it, or openly to agree--half from fear of +compromising himself, half from modesty and distrust of himself. + +Weigl, the cornet-player, did not want to know anything: he was ready to +admire anything, or anybody, good or bad, star or gas-jet: everything was +the same to him: there were no degrees in his admiration: he admired, +admired, admired. It was a vital necessity to him: it hurt him when anybody +tried to curb him. + +Old Kuh, the violoncellist, suffered even more. He loved bad music with +all his heart. Everything that Christophe hounded down with his sarcasm +and invective was infinitely dear to him: instinctively his choice pitched +on the most conventional works: his soul was a reservoir of tearful and +high-flown emotion. Indeed, he was not dishonest in his tender regard for +all the sham great men. It was when he tried to pretend that he liked the +real great men that he was lying to himself--in perfect innocence. There +are "Brahmins" who think to find in their God the breath of old men of +genius: they love Beethoven in Brahms. Kuh went one better: he loved Brahms +in Beethoven. + +But the most enraged of all with. Christophe's paradoxes was Spitz, the +bassoon. It was not so much his musical instinct that was wounded as his +natural servility. One of the Roman Emperors wished to die standing. Spitz +wished to die, as he had lived, crawling: that was his natural position: +it was delightful to him to grovel at the feet of everything that was +official, hallowed, "arrived": and he was beside himself when anybody tried +to keep him from playing the lackey, comfortably. + +So, Kuh groaned, Weigl threw up his hands in despair, Krause made jokes, +and Spitz shouted in a shrill voice. But Christophe went on imperturbably +shouting louder than the rest: and saying monstrous things about Germany +and the Germans. + +At the next table a young man was listening to him and rocking with +laughter. He had black curly hair, fine, intelligent eyes, a large nose, +which at its end could not make up its mind to go either to right or left, +and rather than go straight on, went to both sides at once, thick lips, +and a clever, mobile face: he was following everything that Christophe +said, hanging on his lips, reflecting every word with a sympathetic and +yet mocking attention, wrinkling up his forehead, his temples, the corners +of his eyes, round his nostrils and cheeks, grimacing with laughter, +and every now and then shaking all over convulsively. He did not join in +the conversation, but he did not miss a word of it. He showed his joy +especially when he saw Christophe, involved in some argument and heckled by +Spitz, flounder about, stammer, and stutter with anger, until he had found +the word he was seeking,--a rock with which to crush his adversary. And his +delight knew no bounds when Christophe, swept along by his passions far +beyond the capacity of his thought, enunciated monstrous paradoxes which +made his hearers snort. + +At last they broke up, each of them tired out with feeling and alleging his +own superiority. As Christophe, the last to go, was leaving the room he was +accosted by the young man who had listened to his words with such pleasure. +He had not yet noticed him. The other politely removed his hat, smiled, and +asked permission to introduce himself: + +"Franz Mannheim." + +He begged pardon for his indiscretion in listening to the argument, and +congratulated Christophe on the _maestria_ with which he had pulverized his +opponents. He was still laughing at the thought of it. Christophe was glad +to hear it, and looked at him a little distrustfully: + +"Seriously?" he asked. "You are not laughing at me?" + +The other swore by the gods. Christophe's face lit up. + +"Then you think I am right? You are of my opinion?" + +"Well," said Mannheim, "I am not a musician. I know nothing of music. The +only music I like--(if it is not too flattering to say so)--is yours.... +That may show you that my taste is not so bad...." + +"Oh!" said Christophe skeptically, though he was flattered all the same, +"that proves nothing." + +"You are difficult to please.... Good!... I think as you do: that proves +nothing. And I don't venture to judge what you say of German musicians. +But, anyhow, it is so true of the Germans in general, the old Germans, all +the romantic idiots with their rancid thought, their sloppy emotion, their +senile reiteration which we are asked to admire, '_the eternal Yesterday, +which has always been, and always will be, and will be law to-morrow +because it is law to-day._' ...!" + +He recited a few lines of the famous passage in Schiller: + + "... _Das ewig Gestrige, + Das immer war imd immer wiederkehrt_...." + +"Himself, first of all!" He stopped in the middle of his recitation. + +"Who?" asked Christophe. + +"The pump-maker who wrote that!" + +Christophe did not understand. But Mannheim went on: + +"I should like to have a general cleaning up of art and thought every fifty +years--nothing to be left standing." + +"A little drastic," said Christophe, smiling. + +"No, I assure you. Fifty years is too much: I should say thirty.... And +even less!... It is a hygienic measure. One does not keep one's ancestors +in one's house. One gets rid of them, when they are dead, and sends, them +elsewhere,--there politely to rot, and one places stones on them to be +quite sure that they will not come back. Nice people put flowers on them, +too. I don't mind if they like it. All I ask is to be left in peace. I +leave them alone! Each for his own side, say I: the dead and the living." + +"There are some dead who are more alive than the living." + +"No, no! It would be more true to say that there are some living who are +more dead than the dead." + +"Maybe. In any case, there are old things which are still young." + +"Then if they are still young we can find them for ourselves.... But I +don't believe it. What has been good once never is good again. Nothing is +good but change. Before all we have to rid ourselves of the old men and +things. There are too many of them in Germany. Death to them, say I!" + +Christophe listened to these squibs attentively and labored to discuss +them: he was in part in sympathy with them, he recognized certain of his +own thoughts in them: and at the same time he felt a little embarrassed at +having them so blown out to the point of caricature. But as he assumed that +everybody else was as serious as himself, he thought that perhaps Mannheim, +who seemed to be more learned than himself and spoke more easily, was +right, and was drawing the logical conclusions from his principles. Vain +Christophe, whom so many people could not forgive for his faith in himself, +was really most naïvely modest often tricked by his modesty when he was +with those who were better educated than himself,--especially, when they +consented not to plume themselves on it to avoid an awkward discussion. +Mannheim, who was amusing himself with his own paradoxes, and from one +sally to another had reached extravagant quips and cranks, at which he +was laughing immensely, was not accustomed to being taken seriously: he +was delighted with the trouble that Christophe was taking to discuss his +nonsense, and even to understand it: and while he laughed, he was grateful +for the importance which Christophe gave him: he thought him absurd and +charming. + +They parted very good friends: and Christophe was not a little surprised +three hours later at rehearsal to see Mannheim's head poked through the +little door leading to the orchestra, smiling and grimacing, and making +mysterious signs at him. When the rehearsal was over Christophe went to +him. Mannheim took his arm familiarly. + +"You can spare a moment?... Listen. I have an idea. Perhaps you will think +it absurd.... Would not you like for once in a way to write what you think +of music and the musicos? Instead of wasting your breath in haranguing four +dirty knaves of your band who are good for nothing but scraping and blowing +into bits of wood, would it not be better to address the general public?" + +"Not better? Would I like?... My word! And when do you want me to write? It +is good of you!..." + +"I've a proposal for you.... Some friends and I: Adalbert von Waldhaus, +Raphael Goldenring, Adolf Mai, and Lucien Ehrenfeld,--have started a +Review, the only intelligent Review in the town: the _Dionysos_.--(You must +know it....)--We all admire each other and should be glad if you would join +us. Will you take over our musical criticism?" + +Christophe was abashed by such an honor: he was longing to accept: he was +only afraid of not being worthy: he could not write. + +"Oh! come," said Mannheim, "I am sure you can. And besides, as soon as you +are a critic you can do anything you like. You've no need to be afraid of +the public. The public is incredibly stupid. It is nothing to be an artist: +an artist is only a sort of comedian: an artist can be hissed. But a critic +has the right to say: 'Hiss me that man!' The whole audience lets him do +its thinking. Think whatever you like. Only look as if you were thinking +something. Provided you give the fools their food, it does not much matter +what, they will gulp down anything." + +In the end Christophe consented, with effusive thanks. He only made it a +condition that he should be allowed to say what he liked. + +"Of course, of course," said Mannheim. "Absolute freedom! We are all free." + +He looked him up at the theater once more after the performance to +introduce him to Adalbert von Waldhaus and his friends. They welcomed him +warmly. + +With the exception of Waldhaus, who belonged to one of the noble families +of the neighborhood, they were all Jews and all very rich: Mannheim +was the son of a banker: Mai the son of the manager of a metallurgical +establishment: and Ehrenfeld's father was a great jeweler. Their fathers +belonged to the older generation of Jews, industrious and acquisitive, +attached to the spirit of their race, building their fortunes with keen +energy, and enjoying their energy much more than their fortunes. Their sons +seemed to be made to destroy what their fathers had builded: they laughed +at family prejudice and their ant-like mania for economy and delving: they +posed as artists, affected to despise money and to fling it out of window. +But in reality they hardly ever let it slip through their fingers: and in +vain did they do all sorts of foolish things: they never could altogether +lead astray their lucidity of mind and practical sense. For the rest, their +parents kept an eye on them, and reined them in. The most prodigal of them, +Mannheim, would sincerely have given away all that he had: but he never had +anything: and although he was always loudly inveighing against his father's +niggardliness, in his heart he laughed at it and thought that he was right. +In fine, there was only Waldhaus really who was in control of his fortune, +and went into it wholeheartedly and reckless of cost, and bore that of the +Review. He was a poet. He wrote "_Polymètres_" in the manner of Arno Holz +and Walt Whitman, with lines alternately very long and very short, in which +stops, double and triple stops, dashes, silences, commas, italics and +italics, played a great part. And so did alliteration and repetition--of +a word--of a line--of a whole phrase. He interpolated words of every +language. He wanted--(no one has ever known why)--to render the _Cézanne_ +into verse. In truth, he was poetic enough and had a distinguished taste +for stale things. He was sentimental and dry, naïve and foppish: his +labored verses affected a cavalier carelessness. He would have been a +good poet for men of the world. But there are too many of the kind in the +Reviews and artistic circles: and he wished to be alone. He had taken it +into his head to play the great gentleman who is above the prejudices of +his caste. He had more prejudices than anybody. He did not admit their +existence. He took a delight in surrounding himself with Jews in the Review +which he edited, to rouse the indignation of his family, who were very +anti-Semite, and to prove his own freedom of mind to himself. With his +colleagues, he assumed a tone of courteous equality. But in his heart he +had a calm and boundless contempt for them. He was not unaware that they +were very glad to make use of his name and money: and he let them do so +because it pleased him to despise them. + +And they despised him for letting them do so: for they knew very well that +it served his turn. A fair exchange, Waldhaus lent them his name and +fortune: and they brought him their talents, their eye for business and +subscribers. They were much more intelligent than he. Not that they had +more personality. They had perhaps even less. But in the little town they +were, as the Jews are everywhere and always,--by the mere fact of their +difference of race which for centuries has isolated them and sharpened +their faculty for making observation--they were the most advanced in mind, +the most sensible of the absurdity of its moldy institutions and decrepit +thought. Only, as their character was less free than their intelligence, +it did not help them, while they mocked, from trying rather to turn those +institutions and ideas to account than to reform them. In spite of their +independent professions of faith, they were like the noble Adalbert, little +provincial snobs, rich, idle young men of family, who dabbled and flirted +with letters for the fun of it. They were very glad to swagger about as +giant-killers: but they were kindly enough and never slew anybody but a few +inoffensive people or those whom they thought could never harm them. They +cared nothing for setting by the ears a society to which they knew very +well they would one day return and embrace all the prejudices which they +had combated. And when they did venture to make a stir on a little scandal, +or loudly to declare war on some idol of the day,--who was beginning to +totter,--they took care never to burn their boats: in case of danger they +re-embarked. Whatever then might be the issue of the campaign,--when it +was finished it was a long time before war would break out again: the +Philistines could sleep in peace. All that these new _Davidsbündler_ wanted +to do was to make it appear that they could have been terrible if they had +so desired: but they did not desire. They preferred to be on friendly terms +with artists and to give suppers to actresses. + +Christophe was not happy in such a set. They were always talking of women +and horses: and their talk was not refined. They were stiff and formal. +Adalbert spoke in a mincing, slow voice, with exaggerated, bored, and +boring politeness. Adolf Mai, the secretary of the Review, a heavy, +thick-set, bull-necked, brutal-looking young man, always pretended to be +in the right: he laid down the law, never listened to what anybody said, +seemed to despise the opinion of the person he was talking to, and also +that person. Goldenring, the art critic, who had a twitch, and eyes +perpetually winking behind his large spectacles,--no doubt in imitation +of the painters whose society he cultivated, wore long hair, smoked in +silence, mumbled scraps of sentences which he never finished, and made +vague gestures in the air with his thumb. Ehrenfeld was little, bald, and +smiling, had a fair beard and a sensitive, weary-looking face, a hooked +nose, and he wrote the fashions and the society notes in the Review. In a +silky voice he used to talk obscurely: he had a wit, though of a malignant +and often ignoble kind.--All these young millionaires were anarchists, of +course: when a man possesses everything it is the supreme luxury for him to +deny society: for in that way he can evade his responsibilities. So might a +robber, who has just fleeced a traveler, say to him: "What are you staying +for? Get along! I have no more use for you." + +Of the whole bunch Christophe was only in sympathy with Mannheim: he was +certainly the most lively of the five: he was amused by everything that +he said and everything that was said to him: stuttering, stammering, +blundering, sniggering, talking nonsense, he was incapable of following an +argument, or of knowing exactly what he thought himself: but he was quite +kindly, bearing no malice, having not a spark of ambition. In truth, he was +not very frank: he was always playing a part: but quite innocently, and he +never did anybody any harm. + +He espoused all sorts of strange Utopias--most often generous. He was too +subtle and too skeptical to keep his head even in his enthusiasms, and he +never compromised himself by applying his theories. But he had to have +some hobby: it was a game to him, and he was always changing from one to +another. For the time being his craze was for kindness. It was not enough +for him to be kind naturally: he wished to be thought kind: he professed +kindness, and acted it. Out of reaction against the hard, dry activity of +his kinsfolk, and against German austerity, militarism, and Philistinism, +he was a Tolstoyan, a Nirvanian, an evangelist, a Buddhist,--he was not +quite sure what,--an apostle of a new morality that was soft, boneless, +indulgent, placid, easy-living, effusively forgiving every sin, especially +the sins of the flesh, a morality which did not conceal its predilection +for those sins and much less readily forgave the virtues--a morality +which was only a compact of pleasure, a libertine association of mutual +accommodations, which amused itself by donning the halo of sanctity. There +was in it a spice of hypocrisy which was a little offensive to delicate +palates, and would have even been frankly nauseating if it had taken itself +seriously. But it made no pretensions towards that: it merely amused +itself. His blackguardly Christianity was only meant to serve until some +other hobby came along to take its place--no matter what: brute force, +imperialism, "laughing lions."--Mannheim was always playing a part, playing +with his whole heart: he was trying on all the feelings that he did not +possess before becoming a good Jew like the rest and with all the spirit +of his race. He was very sympathetic, and extremely irritating. For some +time Christophe was one of his hobbies. Mannheim swore by him. He blew his +trumpet everywhere. He dinned his praises into the ears of his family. +According to him Christophe was a genius, an extraordinary man, who made +strange music and talked about it in an astonishing fashion, a witty +man--and a handsome: fine lips, magnificent teeth. He added that Christophe +admired him.--One evening he took him home to dinner. Christophe found +himself talking to his new friend's father, Lothair Mannheim, the banker, +and Franz's sister, Judith. + +It was the first time that he had been in a Jew's house. Although there +were many Jews in the little town, and although they played an important +part in its life by reason of their wealth, cohesion, and intelligence, +they lived a little apart. There were always rooted prejudices in the minds +of the people and a secret hostility that was credulous and injurious +against them. Christophe's family shared these prejudices. His grandfather +did not love Jews: but the irony of fate had decreed that his two best +pupils should be of the race--(one had become a composer, the other a +famous _virtuoso_): for there had been moments when he was fain to embrace +these two good musicians: and then he would remember sadly that they +had crucified the Lord: and he did not know how to reconcile his two +incompatible currents of feeling. But in the end he did embrace them. He +was inclined to think that the Lord would forgive them because of their +love for music.--Christophe's father, Melchior, who pretended to be +broad-minded, had had fewer scruples about taking money from the Jews: and +he even thought it good to do so: but he ridiculed them, and despised +them.--As for his mother, she was not sure that she was not committing a +sin when she went to cook for them. Those whom she had had to do with were +disdainful enough with her: but she had no grudge against them, she bore +nobody any ill-will: she was filled with pity for these unhappy people whom +God had damned: sometimes she would be filled with compassion when she saw +the daughter of one of them go by or heard the merry laughter of their +children. + +"So pretty she is!... Such pretty children!... How dreadful!..." she would +think. + +She dared not say anything to Christophe, when he told her that he was +going to dine with the Mannheims: but her heart sank. She thought that +it was unnecessary to believe everything bad that was said about the +Jews--(people speak ill of everybody)--and that there are honest people +everywhere, but that it was better and more proper to keep themselves to +themselves, the Jews on their side, the Christians on theirs. + +Christophe shared none of these prejudices. In his perpetual reaction +against his surroundings he was rather attracted towards the different +race. But he hardly knew them. He had only come in contact with the more +vulgar of the Jews: little shopkeepers, the populace swarming in certain +streets between the Rhine and the cathedral, forming, with the gregarious +instinct of all human beings, a sort of little ghetto. He had often +strolled through the neighborhood, catching sight of and feeling a sort of +sympathy with certain types of women with hollow cheeks, and full lips, +and wide cheek-bones, a da Vinci smile, rather depraved, while the coarse +language and shrill laughter destroyed this harmony that was in their faces +when in repose. Even in the dregs of the people, in those large-headed, +beady-eyed creatures with their bestial faces, their thick-set, squat +bodies, those degenerate descendants of the most noble of all peoples, even +in that thick, fetid muddiness there were strange phosphorescent gleams, +like will-o'-the-wisps dancing over a swamp: marvelous glances, minds +subtle and brilliant, a subtle electricity emanating from the ooze which +fascinated and disturbed Christophe. He thought that hidden deep were fine +souls struggling, great hearts striving to break free from the dung: and he +would have liked to meet them, and to aid them: without knowing them, he +loved them, while he was a little fearful of them. And he had never had any +opportunity of meeting the best of the Jews. + +His dinner at the Mannheims' had for him the attraction of novelty and +something of that of forbidden fruit. The Eve who gave him the fruit +sweetened its flavor. From the first moment Christophe had eyes only for +Judith Mannheim. She was utterly different from all the women he had known. +Tall and slender, rather thin, though solidly built, with her face framed +in her black hair, not long, but thick and curled low on her head, covering +her temples and her broad, golden brow; rather short-sighted, with large +pupils, and slightly prominent eyes: with a largish nose and wide nostrils, +thin cheeks, a heavy chin, strong coloring, she had a fine profile showing +much energy and alertness: full face, her expression was more changing, +uncertain, complex: her eyes and her cheeks were irregular. She seemed to +give revelation of a strong race, and in the mold of that race, roughly +thrown together, were manifold incongruous elements, of doubtful and +unequal quality, beautiful and vulgar at the same time. Her beauty lay +especially in her silent lips, and in her eyes, in which there seemed to be +greater depth by reason of their short-sightedness, and darker by reason of +the bluish markings round them. + +It needed to be more used than Christophe was to those eyes, which are +more those of a race than of an individual, to be able to read through the +limpidity that unveiled them with such vivid quality, the real soul of the +woman whom he thus encountered. It was the soul of the people of Israel +that he saw in her sad and burning eyes, the soul that, unknown to them, +shone forth from them. He lost himself as he gazed into them. It was only +after some time that he was able, after losing his way again and again, to +strike the track again on that oriental sea. + +She looked at him: and nothing could disturb the clearness of her gaze: +nothing in his Christian soul seemed to escape her. He felt that. Under the +seduction of the woman's eyes upon him he was conscious of a virile desire, +clear and cold, Which stirred in him brutally, indiscreetly. There was +no evil in the brutality of it. She took possession of him: not like a +coquette, whose desire is to seduce without caring whom she seduces. Had +she been a coquette she would have gone to greatest lengths: but she knew +her power, and she left it to her natural instinct to make use of it in +its own way,--especially when she had so easy a prey as Christophe.--What +interested her more was to know her adversary--(any man, any stranger, was +an adversary for her,--an adversary with whom later on, if occasion served, +she could sign a compact of alliance).--She wished to know his quality. +Life being a game, in which the cleverest wins, it was a matter of reading +her opponent's cards and of not showing her own. When she succeeded she +tasted the sweets of victory. It mattered little whether she could turn +it to any account. It was purely for her pleasure. She had a passion for +intelligence: not abstract intelligence, although she had brains enough, +if she had liked, to have succeeded in any, branch of knowledge and would +have made a much better successor to Lothair Mannheim, the banker, than +her brother. But she preferred intelligence in the quick, the sort of +intelligence which studies men. She loved to pierce through to the soul and +to weigh its value--(she gave as scrupulous an attention to it as the +Jewess of Matsys to the weighing of her gold)--with marvelous divination +she could find the weak spot in the armor, the imperfections and foibles +which are the key to the soul,--she could lay her hands on its secrets: it +was her way of feeling her sway over it. But she never dallied with her +victory: she never did anything with her prize. Once her curiosity and +her vanity were satisfied she lost her interest and passed on to another +specimen. All her power was sterile. There was something of death in her +living soul. She had the genius of curiosity and boredom. + + * * * * * + +And so she looked at Christophe and he looked at her. She hardly spoke. An +imperceptible smile was enough, a little movement of the corners of her +mouth: Christophe was hypnotized by her. Every now and then her smile would +fade away, her face would become cold, her eyes indifferent: she would +attend to the meal or speak coldly to the servants: it was as though she +were no longer listening. Then her eyes would light up again: and a few +words coming pat would show that she had heard and understood everything. + +She coldly examined her brother's judgment of Christophe: she knew Franz's +crazes: her irony had had fine sport when she saw Christophe appear, whose +looks and distinction had been vaunted by her brother--(it seemed to her +that Franz had a special gift for seeing facts as they are not: or perhaps +he only thought it a paradoxical joke).--But when she looked at Christophe +more closely she recognized that what Franz had said was not altogether +false: and as she went on with her scrutiny she discovered in Christophe a +vague, unbalanced, though robust and bold power: that gave her pleasure, +for she knew, better than any, the rarity of power. She was able to +make Christophe talk about whatever she liked, and reveal his thoughts, +and display the limitations and defects of his mind: she made him play +the piano: she did not love music but she understood it: and she saw +Christophe's musical originality, although his music had roused no sort of +emotion in her. Without the least change in the coldness of her manner, +with a few short, apt, and certainly not flattering, remarks she showed her +growing interest in Christophe. + +Christophe saw it: and he was proud of it: for he felt the worth of such +judgment and the rarity of her approbation. He made no secret of his desire +to win it: and he set about it so naïvely as to make the three of them +smile: he talked only to Judith and for Judith: he was as unconcerned with +the others as though they did not exist. + +Franz watched him as he talked: he followed his every word, with his lips +and eyes, with a mixture of admiration and amusement: and he laughed aloud +as he glanced at his father and his sister, who listened impassively and +pretended not to notice him. + +Lothair Mannheim,--a tall old man, heavily built, stooping a little, +red-faced, with gray hair standing straight up on end, very black mustache +and eyebrows, a heavy though energetic and jovial face, which gave the +impression of great vitality--had also studied Christophe during the first +part of the dinner, slyly but good-naturedly: and he too had recognized +at once that there was "something" in the boy. But he was not interested +in music or musicians: it was not in his line: he knew nothing about it +and made no secret of his ignorance: he even boasted of it--(when a man +of that sort confesses his ignorance of anything he does so to feed his +vanity).--As Christophe had clearly shown at once, with a rudeness in which +there was no shade of malice, that, he could without regret dispense with +the society of the banker, and that the society of Fräulein Judith Mannheim +would serve perfectly to fill his evening, old Lothair in some amusement +had taken his seat by the fire: he read his paper, listening vaguely and +ironically to Christophe's crotchets and his queer music, which sometimes +made him laugh inwardly at the idea that there could be people who +understood it and found pleasure in it. He did not trouble to follow the +conversation: he relied on his daughter's cleverness to tell him exactly +what the newcomer was worth. She discharged her duty conscientiously. + +When Christophe had gone Lothair asked Judith: + +"Well, you probed him enough: what do you think of the artist?" + +She laughed, thought for a moment, reckoned up, and said: + +"He is a little cracked: but he is not stupid." + +"Good," said Lothair. "I thought so too. He will succeed, then?" + +"Yes, I think so. He has power," + +"Very good," said Lothair with the magnificent logic of the strong who are +only interested in the strong, "we must help him." + + * * * * * + +Christophe went away filled with admiration for Judith Mannheim. He was not +in love with her as Judith thought. They were both--she with her subtlety, +he with his instinct which took the place of mind in him,--mistaken +about each other. Christophe was fascinated by the enigma and the +intense activity of her mind: but he did not love her. His eyes and his +intelligence were ensnared: his heart escaped.--Why?--It were difficult to +tell. Because he had caught a glimpse of some doubtful, disturbing quality +in her?--In other circumstances that would have been a reason the more +for loving: love is never stronger than when it goes out to one who will +make it suffer.--If Christophe did not love Judith it was not the fault of +either of them. The real reason, humiliating enough for both, was that he +was still too near his last love. Experience had not made him wiser. But he +had loved Ada so much, he had consumed so much faith, force, and illusion +in that passion that there was not enough left for a new passion. Before +another flame could be kindled he would have to build a new pyre in his +heart: short of that there could only be a few flickerings, remnants of the +conflagration that had escaped by chance, which asked only to be allowed to +burn, cast a brief and brilliant light and then died down for want of food. +Six months later, perhaps, he might have loved Judith blindly. Now he saw +in her only a friend,--a rather disturbing friend in truth--but he tried to +drive his uneasiness back: it reminded him of Ada: there was no attraction +in that memory: he preferred not to think of it. What attracted him in +Judith was everything in her which was different from other women, not that +which she had in common with them. She was the first intelligent woman +he had met. She was intelligent from head to foot. Even her beauty--her +gestures, her movements, her features, the fold of her lips, her eyes, her +hands, her slender elegance--was the reflection of her intelligence: her +body was molded by her intelligence: without her intelligence she would +have passed unnoticed: and no doubt she would even have been thought plain +by most people. Her intelligence delighted Christophe. He thought it larger +and more free than it was: he could not yet know how deceptive it was. He +longed ardently to confide in her and to impart his ideas to her. He had +never found anybody to take an interest in his dreams: he was turned in +upon, himself: what joy then to find a woman to be his friend! That he had +not a sister had been one of the sorrows of his childhood: it seemed to +him that a sister would have understood him more than a brother could have +done. And when he met Judith he felt that childish and illusory hope of +having a brotherly love spring up in him. Not being in love, love seemed to +him a poor thing compared with friendship. + +Judith felt this little shade of feeling and was hurt by it. She was not in +love with Christophe, and as she had excited other passions in other young +men of the town, rich young men of better position, she could not feel +any great satisfaction in knowing Christophe to be in love with her. But +it piqued her to know that he was not in love. No doubt she was pleased +with him for confiding his plans: she was not surprised by it: but it +was a little mortifying for her to know that she could only exercise an +intellectual influence over him--(an unreasoning influence is much more +precious to a woman).--She did not even exercise her influence: Christophe +only courted her mind. Judith's intellect was imperious. She was used to +molding to her will the soft thoughts of the young men of her acquaintance. +As she knew their mediocrity she found no pleasure in holding sway over +them. With Christophe the pursuit was more interesting because more +difficult. She was not interested in his projects: but she would have liked +to direct his originality of thought, his ill-grown power, and to make them +good,--in her own way, of course, and not in Christophe's, which she did +not take the trouble to understand. She saw at once that she could not +succeed without a struggle: she had marked down in Christophe all sorts of +notions and ideas which she thought childish and extravagant: they were +weeds to her: she tried hard to eradicate them. She did not get rid of +a single one. She did not gain the least satisfaction for her vanity. +Christophe was intractable. Not being in love he had no reason for +surrendering his ideas to her. + +She grew keen on the game and instinctively tried for some time to overcome +him. Christophe was very nearly taken in again in spite of his lucidity of +mind at that time. Men are easily taken in by any flattery of their vanity +or their desires: and an artist is twice as easy to trick as any other man +because he has more imagination. Judith had only to draw Christophe into a +dangerous flirtation to bowl him over once more more thoroughly than ever. +But as usual she soon wearied of the game: she found that such a conquest +was hardly worth while: Christophe was already boring her: she did not +understand him. + +She did not understand him beyond a certain point. Up to that she +understood everything. Her admirable intelligence could not take her beyond +it: she needed a heart, or in default of that the thing which could give +the illusion of one for a time: love. She understood Christophe's criticism +of people and things: it amused her and seemed to her true enough: she +had thought much the same herself. But what she did not understand was +that such ideas might have an influence on practical life when it might +be dangerous or awkward to apply them. The attitude of revolt against +everybody and everything which Christophe had taken up led to nothing: he +could not imagine that he was going to reform the world.... And then?... It +was waste of time to knock one's head against a wall. A clever man judges +men, laughs at them in secret, despises them a little: but he does as they +do--only a little better: it is the only way of mastering them. Thought is +one world: action is another. What boots it for a man to be the victim of +his thoughts? Since men are so stupid as not to be able to bear the truth, +why force it on them? To accept their weakness, to seem to bow to it, and +to feel free to despise them in his heart, is there not a secret joy in +that? The joy of a clever slave? Certainly. But all the world is a slave: +there is no getting away from that: it is useless to protest against it: +better to be a slave deliberately of one's own free will and to avoid +ridiculous and futile conflict. Besides, the worst slavery of all is to be +the slave of one's own thoughts and to sacrifice everything to them. There +is no need to deceive one's self.--She saw clearly that if Christophe +went on, as he seemed determined to do, with his aggressive refusal to +compromise with the prejudices of German art and German mind, he would turn +everybody against him, even his patrons: he was courting inevitable ruin. +She did not understand why he so obstinately held out against himself, and +so took pleasure in digging his own ruin. + +To have understood him she would have had to be able to understand that +his aim was not success but his own faith. He believed in art: he believed +in _his_ art: he believed in himself, as realities not only superior to +interest, but also to his own life. When he was a little out of patience +with her remarks and told her so in his naïve arrogance, she just shrugged +her shoulders: she did not take him seriously. She thought he was using +big words such as she was accustomed to hearing from her brother when +he announced periodically his absurd and ridiculous resolutions, which +he never by any chance put into practice. And then when she saw that +Christophe really believed in what he said, she thought him mad and lost +interest in him. + +After that she took no trouble to appear to advantage, and she showed +herself as she was: much more German, and average German, than she seemed +to be at first, more perhaps than she thought.--The Jews are quite +erroneously reproached with not belonging to any nation and with forming +from one end of Europe to the other a homogeneous people impervious to the +influence of the different races with which they have pitched their tents. +In reality there is no race which more easily takes on the impress of the +country through which it passes: and if there are many characteristics in +common between a French Jew and a German Jew, there are many more different +characteristics derived from their new country, of which with incredible +rapidity they assimilate the habits of mind: more the habits than the mind, +indeed. But habit, which is a second nature to all men, is in most of them +all the nature that they have, and the result is that the majority of the +autochthonous citizens of any country have very little right to reproach +the Jews with the lack of a profound and reasonable national feeling of +which they themselves possess nothing at all. + +The women, always more sensible to external influences, more easily +adaptable to the conditions of life and to change with them--Jewish women +throughout Europe assume the physical and moral customs, often exaggerating +them, of the country in which they live,--without losing the shadow and the +strange fluid, solid, and haunting quality of their race.--This idea came +to Christophe. At the Mannheims' he met Judith's aunts, cousins, and +friends. Though there was little of the German in their eyes, ardent and +too close together, their noses going down to their lips, their strong +features, their red blood coursing under their coarse brown skins: though +almost all of them seemed hardly at all fashioned to be German--they +were all extraordinarily German: they had the same way of talking, of +dressing,--of overdressing.--Judith was much the best of them all: and +comparison with them made all that was exceptional in her intelligence, all +that she had made of herself, shine forth. But she had most of their faults +just as much as they. She was much more free than they morally--almost +absolutely free--but socially she was no more free: or at least her +practical sense usurped the place of her freedom of mind. She believed in +society, in class, in prejudice, because when all was told she found them +to her advantage. It was idle for her to laugh at the German spirit: she +followed it like any German. Her intelligence made her see the mediocrity +of some artist of reputation: but she respected him none the less because +of his reputation: and if she met him personally she would admire him: for +her vanity was flattered. She had no love for the works of Brahms and she +suspected him of being an artist of the second rank: but his fame impressed +her: and as she had received five or six letters from him the result was +that she thought him the greatest musician of the day. She had no doubt as +to Christophe's real worth, or as to the stupidity of Lieutenant Detlev von +Fleischer: but she was more flattered by the homage the lieutenant deigned +to pay to her millions than by Christophe's friendship: for a dull officer +is a man of another caste: it is more difficult for a German Jewess to +enter that caste than for any other woman. Although she was not deceived +by these feudal follies, and although she knew quite well that if she did +marry Lieutenant Detlev von Fleischer she would be doing him a great honor, +she set herself to the conquest: she stooped so low as to make eyes at +the fool and to flatter his vanity. The proud Jewess, who had a thousand +reasons for her pride--the clever, disdainful daughter of Mannheim the +banker lowered herself, and acted like any of the little middle-class +German women whom she despised. + + * * * * * + +That experience was short. Christophe lost his illusions about Judith +as quickly as he had found them. It is only just to say that Judith did +nothing to preserve them. As soon as a woman of that stamp has judged a +man she is done with him: he ceases to exist for her: she will not see +him again. And she no more hesitates to reveal her soul to him, with calm +impudence, that to appear naked before her dog, her cat, or any other +domestic animal. Christophe saw Judith's egoism and coldness, and the +mediocrity of her character. He had not had time to be absolutely caught. +But he had been enough caught to make him suffer and to bring him to a sort +of fever. He did not so much love Judith as what she might have been--what +she ought to have been. Her fine eyes exercised a melancholy fascination +over him: he could not forget them: although he knew now the drab soul that +slumbered in their depths he went on seeing them as he wished to see them, +as he had first seen them. It was one of those loveless hallucinations +of love which take up so much of the hearts of artists when they are not +entirely absorbed by their work. A passing face is enough to create it: +they see in it all the beauty that is in it, unknown to its indifferent +possessor. And they love it the more for its indifference. They love it as +a beautiful thing that must die without any man having known its worth or +that it even had life. + +Perhaps he was deceiving himself, and Judith Mannheim could not have been +anything more than she was. But for a moment Christophe had believed in +her: and her charm endured: he could not judge her impartially. All her +beauty seemed to him to be hers, to be herself. All that was vulgar in her +he cast back upon her twofold race, Jew and German, and perhaps he was more +indignant with the German than with the Jew, for it had made him suffer +more. As he did not yet know any other nation, the German spirit was for +him a sort of scapegoat: he put upon it all the sins of the world. That +Judith had deceived him was a reason the more for combating it: he could +not forgive it for having crushed the life out of such a soul. + +Such was his first encounter with Israel. He had hoped much from it. He +had hoped to find in that strong race living apart from the rest an ally +for his fight. He lost that hope. With the flexibility of his passionate +intuition, which made him leap from one extreme to another, he persuaded +himself that the Jewish race was much weaker than it was said to be, and +much more open--much too open--to outside influence. It had all its own +weaknesses augmented by those of the rest of the world picked up on its +way. It was not in them that he could find assistance in working the lever +of his art. Rather he was in danger of being swallowed with them in the +sands of the desert. + +Having seen the danger, and not feeling sure enough of himself to brave it, +he suddenly gave up going to the Mannheims'. He was invited several times +and begged to be excused without giving any reason. As up till then he had +shown an excessive eagerness to accept, such a sudden change was remarked: +it was attributed to his "originality": but the Mannheims had no doubt +that the fair Judith had something to do with it: Lothair and Franz joked +about it at dinner. Judith shrugged her shoulders and said it was a fine +conquest, and she asked her brother frigidly not to make such a fuss about +it. But she left no stone unturned in her effort to bring Christophe back. +She wrote to him for some musical information which no one else could +supply: and at the end of her letter she made a friendly allusion to the +rarity of his visits and the pleasure it would give them to see him. +Christophe replied, giving the desired information, said that he was +very busy, and did not go. They met sometimes at the theater. Christophe +obstinately looked away from the Mannheims' box: and he would pretend not +to see Judith, who held herself in readiness to give him her most charming +smile. She did not persist. As she did not count on him for anything she +was annoyed that the little artist should let her do all the labor of their +friendship, and pure waste at that. If he wanted to come, he would. If +not--oh, well, they could do without him.... + +They did without him: and his absence left no very great gap in the +Mannheims' evenings. But in spite of herself Judith was really annoyed +with Christophe. It seemed natural enough not to bother about him when +he was there: and she could allow him to show his displeasure at being +neglected: but that his displeasure should go so far as to break off their +relationship altogether seemed to her to show a stupid pride and a heart +more egoistic than in love.--Judith could not tolerate her own faults in +others. + +She followed the more attentively everything that Christophe did and wrote. +Without seeming to do so, she would lead her brother to the subject of +Christophe: she would make him tell her of his intercourse with him: and +she would punctuate the narrative with clever ironic comment, which never +let any ridiculous feature escape, and gradually destroyed Franz's +enthusiasm without his knowing it. + +At first all went well with the Review. Christophe had not yet perceived +the mediocrity of his colleagues: and, since he was one of them, they +hailed him as a genius. Mannheim, who had discovered him, went everywhere +repeating that Christophe was an admirable critic, though he had never +read anything he had written, that he had mistaken his vocation, and that +he, Mannheim, had revealed it to him. They advertised his articles in +mysterious terms which roused curiosity: and his first effort was in fact +like a stone falling into a duck-pond in the atony of the little town. It +was called: _Too much music_. + +"Too much music, too much drinking, too much eating," wrote Christophe. +"Eating, drinking, hearing, without hunger, thirst, or need, from sheer +habitual gormandizing. Living like Strasburg geese. These people are sick +from a diseased appetite. It matters little what you give them: _Tristram_ +or the _Trompeter von Säkkingen_, Beethoven or Mascagni, a fugue or a +two-step, Adam, Bach, Puccini, Mozart, or Marschner: they do not know what +they are eating: the great thing is to eat. They find no pleasure in it. +Look at them at a concert. Talk of German gaiety! These people do not know +what gaiety means: they are always gay! Their gaiety, like their sorrow, +drops like rain: their joy is dust: there is neither life nor force in it. +They would stay for hours smilingly and vaguely drinking in sounds, sounds, +sounds. They think of nothing: they feel nothing: they are sponges. True +joy, or true sorrow--strength--is not drawn out over hours like beer from +a cask. They take you by the throat and have you down: after they are gone +there is no desire left in a man to drink in anything: he is full!... + +"Too much music! You are slaying each other and it. If you choose to murder +each other that is your affair: I can't help it. But where music is +concerned,--hands off! I will not suffer you to debase the loveliness of +the world by heaping up in the same basket things holy and things shameful, +by giving, as you do at present, the prelude to _Parsifal_ between a +fantasia on the _Daughter of the Regiment_ and a saxophone quartette, or an +adagio of Beethoven between a cakewalk and the rubbish of Leoncavallo. You +boast of being a musical people. You pretend to love music. What sort of +music do you love? Good or bad? You applaud both equally. Well, then, +choose! What exactly do you want? You do not know yourselves. You do +not want to know: you are too fearful of taking sides and compromising +yourselves.... To the devil with your prudence!--You are above party, do +you say?--Above? You mean below...." + +And he quoted the lines of old Gottfried Keller, the rude citizen of +Zurich--one of the German writers who was most dear to him by reason of his +vigorous loyalty and his keen savor of the soil: + +"_Wer über den Parlein sich wähnt mit stolzen Mienen Der steht zumeist +vielmehr beträchtlich unter ihnen._" + +("He who proudly preens himself on being above parties is rather +immeasurably beneath them.") + +"Have courage and be true," he went on. "Have courage and be ugly. If you +like bad music, then say so frankly. Show yourselves, see yourselves as you +are. Kid your souls of the loathsome burden of all your compromise and +equivocation. Wash it in pure water. How long is it since you have seen. +yourselves in a mirror? I will show you yourselves. Composers, _virtuosi_, +conductors, singers, and you, dear public. You shall for once know +yourselves.... Be what you like: but, for any sake, be true! Be true even +though art and artists--and I myself--have to suffer for it! If art and +truth cannot live together, then let art disappear. Truth is life. Lies are +death." + +Naturally, this youthful, wild outburst, which was all of a piece, and in +very bad taste, produced an outcry. And yet, as everybody was attacked and +nobody in particular, its pertinency was not recognized. Every one is, or +believes himself to be, or says that he is the best friend of truth: there +was therefore no danger of the conclusions of the article being attacked. +Only people were shocked by its general tone: everybody agreed that it +was hardly proper, especially from an artist in a semi-official position. +A few musicians began to be uneasy and protested bitterly: they saw that +Christophe would not stop at that. Others thought themselves more clever +and congratulated Christophe on his courage: they were no less uneasy about +his next articles. + +Both tactics produced the same result. Christophe had plunged: nothing +could stop him: and as he had promised, everybody was passed in survey, +composers and interpreters alike. + +The first victims were the _Kapellmeisters_. Christophe did not confine +himself to general remarks on the art of conducting an orchestra. He +mentioned his colleagues of his own town and the neighboring towns by name: +or if he did not name them his allusions were so transparent that nobody +could be mistaken. Everybody recognized the apathetic conductor of the +Court, Alois von Werner, a cautious old man, laden with honors, who was +afraid of everything, dodged everything, was too timid to make a remark to +his musicians and meekly followed whatever they chose to do,--who never +risked anything on his programme that had not been consecrated by twenty +years of success, or, at least, guaranteed by the official stamp of some +academic dignity. Christophe ironically applauded his boldness: he +congratulated him on having discovered Gade, Dvorak, or Tschaikowsky: he +waxed enthusiastic over his unfailing correctness, his metronomic equality, +the always _fein-nuanciert_ (finely shaded) playing of his orchestra: +he proposed to orchestrate the _École de la Vélocité_ of Czerny for his +next concert, and implored him not to try himself so much, not to give +rein to his passions, to look after his precious health.--Or he cried +out indignantly upon the way in which he had conducted the _Eroica_ of +Beethoven: + +"A cannon! A cannon! Mow me down these people!... But have you then no idea +of the conflict, the fight between human stupidity and human ferocity,--and +the strength which tramples them underfoot with a glad shout of +laughter?--How could you know it? It is you against whom it fights! You +expend all the heroism that is in you in listening or in playing the +_Eroica_ of Beethoven without a yawn--(for it bores you.... Confess that it +bores you to death!)--or in risking a draught as you stand with bare head +and bowed back to let some Serene Highness pass." + +He could not be sarcastic enough about the pontiffs of the Conservatories +who interpreted the great men of the past as "classics." + +"Classical! That word expresses everything. Free passion, arranged and +expurgated for the use of schools! Life, that vast plain swept by the +winds,--inclosed within the four walls of a school playground! The fierce, +proud beat of a heart in anguish, reduced to the tic-tacs of a four-tune +pendulum, which goes its jolly way, hobbling and imperturbably leaning on +the crutch of time!... To enjoy the Ocean you need to put it in a bowl with +goldfish. You only understand life when you have killed it." + +If he was not kind to the "bird-stuffers" as he called them, he was even +less kind to the ringmen of the orchestra, the illustrious _Kapellmeisters_ +who toured the country to show off their flourishes and their dainty hands, +those who exercised their virtuosity at the expense of the masters, tried +hard to make the most familiar works unrecognizable, and turned somersaults +through the hoop of the _Symphony in C minor_. He made them appear as old +coquettes, _prima donnas_ of the orchestra, gipsies, and rope-dancers. + +The _virtuosi_ naturally provided him with splendid material. He declared +himself incompetent when he had to criticise their conjuring performances. +He said that such mechanical exercises belonged to the School of Arts and +Crafts, and that not musical criticism but charts registering the duration, +and number of the notes, and the energy expended, could decide the merit of +such labors. Sometimes he would set at naught some famous piano _virtuoso_ +who during a two hours' concert had surmounted the formidable difficulties, +with a smile on his lips and his hair hanging down into his eyes--of +executing a childish _andante_ of Mozart.--He did not ignore the pleasure +of overcoming difficulties. He had tasted it himself: it was one of the +joys of life to him. But only to see the most material aspect of it, +and to reduce all the heroism of art to that, seemed to him grotesque +and degrading. He could not forgive the "lions" or "panthers" of the +piano.--But he was not very indulgent either towards the town pedants, +famous in Germany, who, while they are rightly anxious not to alter the +text of the masters, carefully suppress every flight of thought, and, like +E. d'Albert and H. von Bülow, seem to be giving a lesson in diction when +they are rendering a passionate sonata. + +The singers had their turn. Christophe was full to the brim of things to +say about their barbarous heaviness and their provincial affectations. It +was not only because of his recent misadventures with the enraged lady, but +because of all the torture he had suffered during so many performances. It +was difficult to know which had suffered most, ears or eyes. And Christophe +had not enough standards of comparison to be able to have any idea of the +ugliness of the setting, the hideous costumes, the screaming colors. He was +only shocked by the vulgarity of the people, their gestures and attitudes, +their unnatural playing, the inability of the actors to take on other souls +than their own, and by the stupefying indifference with which they passed +from one rôle to another, provided they were written more or less in +the same register. Matrons of opulent flesh, hearty and buxom, appeared +alternately as Ysolde and Carmen. Amfortas played Figaro.--But what most +offended Christophe was the ugliness of the singing, especially in the +classical works in which the beauty of melody is essential. No one in +Germany could sing the perfect music of the eighteenth century: no one +would take the trouble. The clear, pure style of Gluck and Mozart which, +like that of Goethe, seems to be bathed in the light of Italy--the style +which begins to change and to become vibrant and dazzling with Weber--the +style ridiculed by the ponderous caricatures of the author of +_Crociato_--had been killed by the triumph of Wagner. The wild flight of +the Valkyries with their strident cries had passed over the Grecian sky. +The heavy clouds of Odin dimmed the light. No one now thought of singing +music: they sang poems. Ugliness and carelessness of detail, even false +notes were let pass under pretext that only the whole, only the thought +behind it mattered.... + +"Thought! Let us talk of that. As if you understood it!... But whether or +no you do understand it, I pray you respect the form that thought has +chosen for itself. Above all, let music be and remain music!" + +And the great concern of German artists with expression and profundity of +thought was, according to Christophe, a good joke. Expression? Thought? +Yes, they introduced them into everything--everything impartially. They +would have found thought in a skein of wool just as much--neither more nor +less--as in a statue of Michael Angelo. They played anything, anybody's +music with exactly the same energy. For most of them the great thing in +music--so he declared--was the volume of sound, just a musical noise. The +pleasure of singing so potent in Germany was in some sort a pleasure of +vocal gymnastics. It was just a matter of being inflated with air and +then letting it go vigorously, powerfully, for a long time together and +rhythmically.--And by way of compliment he accorded a certain great singer +a certificate of good health. He was not content with flaying the artists. +He strode over the footlights and trounced the public for coming, gaping, +to such performances. The public was staggered and did not know whether +it ought to laugh or be angry. They had every right to cry out upon his +injustice: they had taken care not to be mixed up in any artistic conflict: +they stood aside prudently from any burning question: and to avoid making +any mistake they applauded everything! And now Christophe declared that +it was a crime to applaud!... To applaud bad works?--That would have been +enough! But Christophe went further: he stormed at them for applauding +great works: + +"Humbugs!" he said. "You would have us believe that you have as much +enthusiasm as that?... Oh! Come! Spare yourselves the trouble! You only +prove exactly the opposite of what you are trying to prove. Applaud if you +like those works and passages which in some measure deserve applause. +Applaud those loud final movements which are written, as Mozart said, 'for +long ears.' Applaud as much as you like, then: your braying is anticipated: +it is part of the concert.--But after the _Missa Solemnis_ of Beethoven!... +Poor wretches!... It is the Last Judgment. You have just seen the maddening +_Gloria_ pass like a storm over the ocean. You have seen the waterspout of +an athletic and tremendous well, which stops, breaks, reaches up to the +clouds clinging by its two hands above the abyss, then plunging once more +into space in full swing. The squall shrieks and whirls along. And when +the hurricane is at its height there is a sudden modulation, a radiance of +sound which cleaves the darkness of the sky and falls upon the livid sea +like a patch of light. It is the end: the furious flight of the destroying +angel stops short, its wings transfixed by these flashes of lightning. +Around you all is buzzing and quivering. The eye gazes fixedly forward in +stupor. The heart beats, breathing stops, the limbs are paralyzed.... And +hardly has the last note sounded than already you are gay and merry. You +shout, you laugh, you criticise, you applaud.... But you have seen nothing, +heard nothing, felt nothing, understood nothing, nothing, nothing, +absolutely nothing! The sufferings of an artist are a show to you. You +think the tears of agony of a Beethoven are finely painted. You would cry +'Encore' to the Crucifixion. A great soul struggles all its life long in +sorrow to divert your idleness for an hour!..." + +So, without knowing it, he confirmed Goethe's great words: but he had not +yet attained his lofty serenity: + +"The people make a sport of the sublime. If they could see it as it is, +they would be unable to bear its aspect." + +If he had only stopped at that!--But, whirled along by his enthusiasm, he +swept past the public and plunged like a cannon ball into the sanctuary, +the tabernacle, the inviolable refuge of mediocrity: Criticism. He +bombarded his colleagues. One of them had taken upon himself to attack +the most gifted of living composers, the most advanced representative of +the new school, Hassler, the writer of programme symphonies, extravagant +in truth, but full of genius. Christophe who--as perhaps will be +remembered--had been presented to him when he was a child, had always had a +secret tenderness for him in his gratitude for the enthusiasm and emotion +that he had had then. To see a stupid critic, whose ignorance he knew, +instructing a man of that caliber, calling him to order, and reminding him +of set principles, infuriated him: + +"Order! Order!" he cried. "You do not know any order but that of the +police. Genius is not to be dragged along the beaten track. It creates +order, and makes its will a law." + +After this arrogant declaration he took the unlucky critic, considered all +the idiocies he had written for some time past, and administered +correction. + +All the critics felt the affront. Up to that time they had stood aside +from the conflict. They did not care to risk a rebuff: they knew +Christophe, they knew his efficiency, and they knew also that he was not +long-suffering. Certain of them had discreetly expressed their regret that +so gifted a composer should dabble in a profession not his own. Whatever +might be their opinion (when they had one), and however hurt they might be +by Christophe, they respected in him their own privilege of being able to +criticise everything without being criticised themselves. But when they saw +Christophe rudely break the tacit convention which bound them, they saw in +him an enemy of public order. With one consent it seemed revolting to them +that a very young man should take upon himself to show scant respect for +the national glories: and they began a furious campaign against him. They +did not write long articles or consecutive arguments--(they were unwilling +to venture upon such ground with an adversary better armed than themselves: +although a journalist has the special faculty of being able to discuss +without taking his adversary's arguments into consideration, and even +without having read them)--but long experience had taught them that, as the +reader of a paper always agrees with it, even to appear to argue was to +weaken its credit with him: it was necessary to affirm, or better still, +to deny--(negation is twice as powerful as affirmation: it is a direct +consequence of the law of gravity: it is much easier to drop a stone than +to throw it up).--They adopted, therefore, a system of little notes, +perfidious, ironic, injurious, which were repeated day by day, in an easily +accessible position, with unwearying assiduity. They held the insolent +Christophe up to ridicule, though they never mentioned him by name, but +always transparently alluded to him. They twisted his words to make them +look absurd: they told anecdotes about him, true for the most part, though +the rest were a tissue of lies, nicely calculated to set him at loggerheads +with the whole town, and, worse still, with the Court: even his physical +appearance, his features, his manner of dressing, were attacked and +caricatured in a way that by dint of repetition came to be like him. + + * * * * * + +It would have mattered little to Christophe's friends if their Review had +not also come in for blows in the battle. In truth, it served rather as an +advertisement: there was no desire to commit the Review to the quarrel: +rather the attempt was made to cut Christophe off from it: there was +astonishment that it should so compromise its good name, and they were +given to understand that if they did not take care steps would be taken, +however unpleasant it might be, to make the whole editorial staff +responsible. There were signs of attack, gentle enough, upon Adolf Mai and +Mannheim, which stirred up the wasps' nest. Mannheim only laughed at it: he +thought that it would infuriate his father, his uncles, cousins, and his +innumerable family, who took upon themselves to watch everything he did and +to be scandalized by it. But Adolf Mai took it very seriously and blamed +Christophe for compromising the Review. Christophe sent him packing. The +others who had not been attacked found it rather amusing that Mai, who was +apt to pontificate over them, should be their scapegoat. Waldhaus was +secretly delighted: he said that there was never a fight without a few +heads being broken. Naturally he took good care that it should not be his +own: he thought he was sheltered from onslaught by the position of his +family; and his relatives: and he saw no harm in the Jews, his allies, +being mauled a little. Ehrenfeld and Goldenring, who were so far untouched, +would not have been worried by attack: they could reply. But what did touch +them on the raw was that Christophe should go on persistently putting them +in the wrong with their friends, and especially their women friends. They +had laughed loudly at the first articles and thought them good fun: they +admired Christophe's vigorous window-smashing: they thought they had only +to give the word to check his combativeness, or at least to turn his attack +from men and women whom they might mention.--But no. Christophe would +listen to nothing: he paid no heed to any remark and went on like a madman. +If they let him go on there would be no living in the place. Already their +young women friends, furious and in tears, had come and made scenes at +the offices of the Review. They brought all their diplomacy to bear on +Christophe to persuade him at least to moderate certain of his criticisms: +Christophe changed nothing. They lost their tempers: Christophe lost his, +but he changed nothing. Waldhaus was amused by the unhappiness of his +friends, which in no wise touched him, and took Christophe's part to +annoy them. Perhaps also he was more capable than they of appreciating +Christophe's extravagance, who with head down hurled himself upon +everything without keeping any line of retreat, or preparing any refuge for +the future. As for Mannheim he was royally amused by the farce: it seemed +to him a good joke to have introduced this madman among these correct +people, and he rocked with laughter both at the blows which Christophe +dealt and at those which he received. Although under his sister's influence +he was beginning to think that Christophe was decidedly a little cracked, +he only liked him the more for it--(it was necessary for him to find those +who were in sympathy with him a little absurd).--And so he joined Waldhaus +in supporting Christophe against the others. + +As he was not wanting in practical sense, in spite of all his efforts to +pretend to the contrary, he thought very justly that it would be to his +friend's advantage to ally himself with the cause of the most advanced +musical party in the country. + +As in most German towns, there was in the town a _Wagner-Verein_, which +represented new ideas against the conservative element.--In truth, there +was no great risk in defending Wagner when his fame was acknowledged +everywhere and his works included in the repertory of every Opera House +in Germany. And yet his victory was rather won by force than by universal +accord, and at heart the majority were obstinately conservative, especially +in the small towns such as this which have been rather left outside the +great modern movements and are rather proud of their ancient fame. More +than anywhere else there reigned the distrust, so innate in the German +people, of anything new, the sort of laziness in feeling anything true or +powerful which has not been pondered and digested by several generations. +It was apparent in the reluctance with which--if not the works of Wagner +which are beyond discussion--every new work inspired by the Wagnerian +spirit was accepted. And so the _Wagner-Vereine_ would have had a useful +task to fulfil if they had set themselves to defend all the young and +original forces in art. Sometimes they did so, and Bruckner or Hugo Wolf +found in some of them their best allies. But too often the egoism of +the master weighed upon his disciples: and just as Bayreuth serves only +monstrously to glorify one man, the _offshoots_ of Bayreuth were little +churches in which Mass was eternally sung in honor of the one God. At +the most the faithful disciples were admitted to the side chapels, the +disciples who applied the hallowed doctrines to the letter, and, prostrate +in the dust, adored the only Divinity with His many faces: music, poetry, +drama, and metaphysics. + +The _Wagner-Verein_ of the town was in exactly this case.--However, they +went through the form of activity: they were always trying to enroll young +men of talent who looked as though they might be useful to it: and they had +long had their eyes on Christophe. They had discreetly made advances to +him, of which Christophe had not taken any notice, because he felt no need +of being associated with anybody: he could not understand the necessity +which drove his compatriots always to be banding themselves together in +groups, being unable to do anything alone: neither to sing, nor to walk, +nor to drink. He was averse to all _Vereinswesen_. But on the whole he was +more kindly disposed to the _Wagner-Verein_ than to any other _Verein_: at +least they did provide an excuse for fine concerts: and although he did +not share all the Wagnerian ideas on art, he was much nearer them than +to those of any other group in music. He could he thought find common +ground with a party which was as unjust as himself towards Brahms and +the "Brahmins." So he let himself be put up for it. Mannheim introduced +him: he knew everybody. Without being a musician he was a member of the +_Wagner-Verein_.--The managing committee had followed the campaign which +Christophe was conducting in the Review. His slaughter in the opposing camp +had seemed to them to give signs of a strong grip which it would be as well +to have in their service. Christophe had also let fly certain disrespectful +remarks about the sacred fetish: but they had preferred to close their eyes +to that: and perhaps his attacks, not yet very offensive, had not been +without their influence, unconsciously, in making them so eager to enroll +Christophe before he had time to deliver himself manfully. They came and +very amiably asked his permission to play some of his compositions at one +of the approaching concerts of the Association. Christophe was flattered, +and accepted: he went to the _Wagner-Verein_, and, urged by Mannheim, he +was made a member. + +At that time there were at the head of the _Wagner-Verein_ two men, of whom +one enjoyed a certain notoriety as a writer, and the other as a conductor. +Both had a Mohammedan belief in Wagner. The first, Josias Kling, had +compiled a Wagner Dictionary--_Wagner Lexikon_--which made it possible in a +moment to know the master's thoughts _de omni re scibili_: it had been his +life's work. He was capable of reciting whole chapters of it at table, as +the French provincials used to troll the songs of the Maid. He used also +to publish in the _Bayreuther Blätter_ articles on Wagner and the Aryan +Spirit. Of course, Wagner was to him the type of the pure Aryan, of whom +the German race had remained the last inviolable refuge against the +corrupting influences of Latin Semitism, especially the French. He declared +that the impure French spirit was finally destroyed, though he did not +desist from attacking it bitterly day by day as though the eternal enemy +were still a menace. He would only acknowledge one great man in France: +the Count of Gobineau. Kling was a little man, very little, and he used to +blush like a girl.--The other pillar of the _Wagner-Verein_, Erich Lauber, +had been manager of a chemical works until four years before: then he had +given up everything to become a conductor. He had succeeded by force of +will, and because he was very rich. He was a Bayreuth fanatic: it was said +that he had gone there on foot, from Munich, wearing pilgrim's sandals. It +was a strange thing that a man who had read much, traveled much, practised +divers professions, and in everything displayed an energetic personality, +should have become in music a sheep of Panurge: all his originality was +expended in his being a little more stupid than the others. He was not +sure enough of himself in music to trust to his own personal feelings, +and so he slavishly followed the interpretations of Wagner given by the +_Kapellmeisters_, and the licensees of Bayreuth. He desired to reproduce +even to the smallest detail the setting and the variegated costumes which +delighted the puerile and barbarous taste of the little Court of Wahnfried. +He was like the fanatical admirer of Michael Angelo who used to reproduce +in his copies even the cracks in the wall of the moldy patches which had +themselves been hallowed by their appearance in the hallowed pictures. + +Christophe was not likely to approve greatly of the two men. But they were +men of the world, pleasant, and both well-read: and Lauber's conversation +was always interesting on any other subject than music. He was a bit of a +crank: and Christophe did not dislike cranks: they were a change from the +horrible banality of reasonable people. He did not yet know that there is +nothing more devastating than an irrational man, and that originality is +even more rare among those who are called "originals" than among the rest. +For these "originals" are simply maniacs whose thoughts are reduced to +clockwork. + +Josias Kling and Lauber, being desirous of winning Christophe's support, +were at first very keenly interested in him. Kling wrote a eulogistic +article about him and Lauber followed all his directions when he conducted +his compositions at one of the concerts of the Society. Christophe was +touched by it all. Unfortunately all their attentions were spoiled by the +stupidity of those who paid them. He had not the facility of pretending +about people because they admired him. He was exacting. He demanded that no +one should admire him for the opposite of what he was: and he was always +prone to regard as enemies those who were his friends, by mistake. And +so he was not at all pleased with Kling for seeing in him a disciple of +Wagner, and trying to see connections between passages of his _Lieder_ +and passages of the _Tetralogy_, which had nothing in common but certain +notes of the scale. And he had no pleasure in hearing one of his +works sandwiched--together with a worthless imitation by a Wagnerian +student--between two enormous blocks of Wagnerian drama. + +It was not long before he was stifled in the little chapel. It was just +another Conservatoire, as narrow as the old Conservatoires, and more +intolerant because it was the latest comer in art. Christophe began to lose +his illusions about the absolute value of a form of art or of thought. +Hitherto he had always believed that great ideas bear their own light +within themselves. Now he saw that ideas may change, but that men remain +the same: and, in fine, nothing counted but men: ideas were what they were. +If they were born mediocre and servile, even genius became mediocre in its +passage through their souls, and the shout of freedom of the hero breaking +his bonds became the act of slavery of succeeding generations.--Christophe +could mot refrain from expressing his feelings. He let no opportunity +slip of jeering at fetishism in art. He declared that there was no need +of idols, or classics of any sort, and that he only had the right to call +himself the heir of the spirit of Wagner who was capable of trampling +Wagner underfoot and so walking on and keeping himself in close communion +with life. Kling's stupidity made Christophe aggressive. He set out all +the faults and absurdities he could see in Wagner. The Wagnerians at once +credited him with a grotesque jealousy of their God. Christophe for his +part had no doubt that these same people who exalted Wagner since he was +dead would have been the first to strangle him in his life: and he did +them an injustice. The Klings and the Laubers also had had their hour of +illumination: they had been advanced twenty years ago: and then like most +people they had stopped short at that. Man has so little force that he is +out of breath after the first ascent: very few are long-winded enough to go +on. + +Christophe's attitude quickly alienated him from his new friends. Their +sympathy was a bargain: he had to side with them if they were to side with +him: and it was quite evident that Christophe would not yield an inch: he +would not join them. They lost their enthusiasm for him. The eulogies which +he refused to accord to the gods and demi-gods who were approved by the +cult, were withheld from him. They showed less eagerness to welcome his +compositions: and some of the members began to protest against his name +being too often on the programmes. They laughed at him behind his back, and +criticism went on: Kling and Lauber by not protesting seemed to take part +in it. They would have avoided a breach with Christophe if possible: first +because the minds of the Germans of the Rhine like mixed solutions, +solutions which are not solutions, and have the privilege of prolonging +indefinitely an ambiguous situation: and secondly, because they hoped in +spite of everything to be able to make use of him, by wearing him down, if +not by persuasion. + +Christophe gave them no time for it. Whenever he thought he felt that at +heart any man disliked him, but would not admit it and tried to cover it up +so as to remain on good terms with him, he would never rest until he had +succeeded in proving to him that he was his enemy. One evening at the +_Wagner-Verein_ when he had come up against a wall of hypocritical +hostility, he could bear it no longer and sent in his resignation to Lauber +without wasting words. Lauber could not understand it: and Mannheim +hastened to Christophe to try and pacify him. At his first words Christophe +burst out: + +"No, no, no,--no! Don't talk to me about these people. I will not see them +again.... I cannot. I cannot.... I am disgusted, horribly, with men: I can +hardly bear to look at one." + +Mannheim laughed heartily. He was thinking much less of smoothing +Christophe down than of having the fun of it. + +"I know that they are not beautiful," he said; "but that is nothing new: +what new thing has happened?" + +"Nothing. I have had enough, that is all.... Yes, laugh, laugh at me: +everybody knows I am mad. Prudent people act in accordance with the laws of +logic and reason and sanity. I am not like that: I am a man who acts only +on his own impulse. When a certain quantity of electricity is accumulated +in me it has to expend itself, at all costs: and so much the worse for the +others if it touches them! And so much the worse for them! I am not made +for living in society. Henceforth I shall belong only to myself." + +"You think you can do without everybody else?" said Mannheim. "You cannot +play your music all by yourself. You need singers, an orchestra, a +conductor, an audience, a claque...." + +Christophe shouted. + +"No! no! no!" + +But the last word made him jump. + +"A claque! Are you not ashamed?" + +"I am not talking of a paid claque--(although, indeed, it is the only +means yet discovered of revealing the merit of a composition to the +audience).--But you must have a claque: the author's coterie is a claque, +properly drilled by him: every author has his claque: that is what friends +are for." + +"I don't want any friends!" + +"Then you will be hissed." + +"I want to be hissed!" + +Mannheim was in the seventh heaven. + +"You won't have even that pleasure for long. They won't play you." + +"So be it, then! Do you think I care about being a famous man?... Yes. I +was making for that with all my might.... Nonsense! Folly! Idiocy!... As if +the satisfaction of the vulgarest sort of pride could compensate for all +the sacrifices--weariness, suffering, infamy, insults, degradation, ignoble +concessions--which are the price of fame! Devil take me if I ever bother my +head about such things again! Never again! Publicity is a vulgar infamy. I +will be a private citizen and live for myself and those whom I love...." + +"Good," said Mannheim ironically. "You must choose a profession. Why +shouldn't you make shoes?" + +"Ah! if I were a cobbler like the incomparable Sachs!" cried Christophe. +"How happy my life would be! A cobbler all through the week,--and a +musician on Sunday, privately, intimately, for my own pleasure and that of +my friends! What a life that would be!... Am I mad, to waste my time and +trouble for the magnificent pleasure of being a prey to the judgment of +idiots? Is it not much better and finer to be loved and understood by a +few honest men than to be heard, criticised, and toadied by thousands of +fools?... The devil of pride and thirst for fame shall never again take me: +trust me for that!" + +"Certainly," said Mannheim. He thought: + +"In an hour he will say just the opposite." He remarked quietly: + +"Then I am to go and smooth things down with the _Wagner-Verein_?" + +Christophe waved his arms. + +"What is the good of my shouting myself hoarse with telling you 'No', for +the last hour?... I tell you that I will never set foot inside it again! I +loathe all these _Wagner-Vereine_, all these _Vereine_, all these flocks of +sheep who have to huddle together to be able to baa in unison. Go and tell +those sheep from me that I am a wolf, that I have teeth, and am not made +far the pasture!" + +"Good, good, I will tell them," said Mannheim, as he went. He was delighted +with his morning's entertainment. He thought: + +"He is mad, mad, mad as a hatter...." + +His sister, to whom he reported the interview, at once shrugged her +shoulders and said: + +"Mad? He would like us to think so!... He is stupid, and absurdly vain...." + + * * * * * + +Christophe went on with his fierce campaign in Waldhaus's Review. It was +not that it gave him pleasure: criticism disgusted him, and he was always +wishing it at the bottom of the sea. But he stuck to it because people were +trying to stop him: he did not wish to appear to have given in. + +Waldhaus was beginning to be uneasy. As long as he was out of reach he had +looked on at the affray with the calmness of an Olympian god. But for some +weeks past the other papers had seemed to be beginning to disregard his +inviolability: they had begun to attack his vanity as a writer with a +rare malevolence in which, had Waldhaus been more subtle, he might have +recognized the hand of a friend. As a matter of fact, the attacks were +cunningly instigated by Ehrenfeld and Goldenring: they could see no other +way of inducing him to stop Christophe's polemics. Their perception was +justified. Waldhaus at once declared that Christophe was beginning to weary +him: and he withdrew his support. All the staff of the Review then tried +hard to silence Christophe! But it were as easy to muzzle a dog who +is about to devour his prey! Everything they said to him only excited +him more. He called them poltroons and declared that he would say +everything--everything that he ought to say. If they wished to get rid of +him, they were free to do so! The whole town would know that they were as +cowardly as the rest: but he would not go of his own accord. + +They looked at each other in consternation, bitterly blaming Mannheim for +the trick he had played them in bringing such a madman among them. Mannheim +laughed and tried hard to curb Christophe himself: and he vowed that with +the next article Christophe would water his wine. They were incredulous: +but the event proved that Mannheim had not boasted vainly. Christophe's +next article, though not a model of courtesy, did not contain a single +offensive remark about anybody. Mannheim's method was very simple: they +were all amazed at not having thought of it before: Christophe never read +what he wrote in the Review, and he hardly read the proofs of his articles, +only very quickly and carelessly. Adolf Mai had more than once passed +caustic remarks on the subject: he said that a printer's error was a +disgrace to a Review: and Christophe, who did not regard criticism +altogether as an art, replied that those who were upbraided in it would +understand well enough. Mannheim turned this to account: he said that +Christophe was right and that correcting proofs was printers' work: and he +offered to take it over. Christophe was overwhelmed with gratitude: but +they told him that such an arrangement would be of service to them and a +saving of time for the Review. So Christophe left his proofs to Mannheim +and asked him to correct them carefully. Mannheim did: it was sport for +him. At first he only ventured to tone down certain phrases and to delete +here and there certain ungracious epithets. Emboldened by success, he +went further with his experiments: he began to alter sentences and their +meaning: and he was really skilful in it. The whole art of it consisted in +preserving the general appearance of the sentence and its characteristic +form while making it say exactly the opposite of what Christophe had meant. +Mannheim took far more trouble to disfigure Christophe's articles than he +would have done to write them himself: never had he worked so hard. But he +enjoyed the result: certain musicians whom Christophe had hitherto pursued +with his sarcasms were astounded to see him grow gradually gentle and at +last sing their praises. The staff of the Review were delighted. Mannheim +used to read aloud his lucubrations to them. They roared with laughter. +Ehrenfeld and Goldenring would say to Mannheim occasionally: + +"Be careful! You are going too far." + +"There's no danger," Mannheim would say. And he would go on with it. + +Christophe never noticed anything. He used to go to the office of the +Review, leave his copy, and not bother about it any more. Sometimes he +would take Mannheim aside and say: + +"This time I really have done for the swine. Just read...." + +Mannheim would read. + +"Well, what do you think of it?" + +"Terrible, my dear fellow, there's nothing left of them!" + +"What do you think they will say?" + +"Oh! there will be a fine row." + +But there never was a row. On the contrary, everybody beamed at Christophe: +people whom he detested would bow to him in the street. One day he came to +the office uneasy and scowling: and, throwing a visiting card on the table, +he asked: + +"What does this mean?" + +It was the card of a musician whom he slaughtered. + +"_A thousand thanks_." + +Mannheim replied with a laugh: + +"It is ironical." + +Christophe was set at rest. + +"Oh!" he said. "I was afraid my article had pleased him." + +"He is furious," said Ehrenfeld: "but he does not wish to seem so: he is +posing as the strong man, and is just laughing." + +"Laughing?... Swine!" said Christophe, furious once more. "I shall write +another article about him. He laughs best who laughs last." + +"No, no," said Waldhaus anxiously. "I don't think he is laughing at you. It +is humility: he is a good Christian. He is holding out the other cheek to +the smiter." + +"So much the better!" said Christophe. "Ah! Coward! He has asked for it: he +shall have his flogging." + +Waldhaus tried to intervene. But the others laughed. + +"Let him be...." said Mannheim. + +"After all ..." replied Waldhaus, suddenly reassured, "a little more or +less makes no matter!..." + +Christophe went away. His colleagues rocked and roared with laughter. When +they had had their fill of it Waldhaus said to Mannheim: + +"All the same, it was a narrow squeak.... Please be careful. We shall be +caught yet." + +"Bah!" said Mannheim. "We have plenty of time.... And besides, I am making +friends for him." + + + + +II + +ENGULFED + + +Christophe had got so far with his clumsy efforts towards the reform of +German art when there happened to pass through the town a troupe of French +actors. It would be more exact to say, a band; for, as usual, they were +a collection of poor devils, picked up goodness knows where, and young +unknown players too happy to learn their art, provided they were allowed to +act. They were all harnessed to the chariot of a famous and elderly actress +who was making tour of Germany, and passing through the little princely +town, gave their performances there. + +Waldhaus' review made a great fuss over them. Mannheim and his friends knew +or pretended to know about the literary and social life of Paris: they used +to repeat gossip picked up in the boulevard newspapers and more or less +understood; they represented the French spirit in Germany. That robbed +Christophe of any desire to know more about it. Mannheim used to overwhelm +him with praises of Paris. He had been there several times; certain members +of his family were there. He had relations in every country in Europe, and +they had everywhere assumed the nationality and aspect of the country: +this tribe of the seed of Abraham included an English baronet, a Belgian +senator, a French minister, a deputy in the _Reichstag_, and a Papal Count; +and all of them, although they were united and filled with respect for the +stock from which they sprang, were sincerely English, Belgian, French, +German, or Papal, for their pride never allowed of doubt that the country +of their adoption was the greatest of all. Mannheim was paradoxically the +only one of them who was pleased to prefer all the countries to which he +did not belong. He used often to talk of Paris enthusiastically, but as he +was always extravagant in his talk, and, by way of praising the Parisians, +used to represent them as a species of scatterbrains, lewd and rowdy, +who spent their time in love-making and revolutions without ever taking +themselves seriously, Christophe was not greatly attracted by the +"Byzantine and decadent republic beyond the Vosges." He used rather to +imagine Paris as it was presented in a naïve engraving which he had seen +as a frontispiece to a book that had recently appeared in a German art +publication; the Devil of Notre Dame appeared huddled up above the roofs +of the town with the legend: + +"_Eternal luxury like an insatiable Vampire devours its prey above the +great city._" + +Like a good German he despised the debauched Volcae and their literature, +of which he only knew lively buffooneries like _L'Aiglon, Madame Sans +Gêne_, and a few café songs. The snobbishness of the little town, where +those people who were most notoriously incapable of being interested in +art flocked noisily to take places at the box office, brought him to an +affectation of scornful indifference towards the great actress. He vowed +that he would not go one yard to hear her. It was the easier for him to +keep his promise as seats had reached an exorbitant price which he could +not afford. + +The repertory which the French actors had brought included a few classical +pieces; but for the most part it was composed of those idiotic pieces which +are expressly manufactured in Paris for exportation, for nothing is more +international than mediocrity. Christophe knew _La Tosca_, which was to be +the first production of the touring actors; he had seen it in translation +adorned with all those easy graces which the company of a little Rhenish +theater can give to a French play: and he laughed scornfully and declared +that he was very glad, when he saw his friends go off to the theater, not +to have to see it again. But next day he listened none the less eagerly, +without seeming to listen, to the enthusiastic tales of the delightful +evening they had had: he was angry at having lost the right to contradict +them by having refused to see what everybody was talking about. + +The second production announced was a French translation of _Hamlet_. +Christophe had never missed an opportunity of seeing a play of +Shakespeare's. Shakespeare was to him of the same order as Beethoven, an +inexhaustible spring of life. _Hamlet_ had been specially dear to him +during the period of stress and tumultuous doubts through which he had just +passed. In spite of his fear of seeing himself reflected in that magic +mirror he was fascinated by it: and he prowled about the theater notices, +though he did not admit that he was longing to book a seat. But he was so +obstinate that after what he had said to his friends he would not eat his +words: and he would have stayed at home that evening if chance had not +brought him in contact with Mannheim just as he was sadly going home. + +Mannheim took his arm and told him angrily, though he never ceased his +banter, that an old beast of a relation, his father's sister, had just come +down upon them with all her retinue and that they had all to stay at home +to welcome her. He had time to get out of it: but his father would brook no +trifling with questions of family etiquette and the respect due to elderly +relatives: and as he had to handle his father carefully because he wanted +presently to get money out of him, he had had to give in and not go to the +play. + +"You had tickets?" asked Christophe. + +"An excellent box: and I have to go and give it--(I am just going now)--to +that old pig, Grünebaum, papa's partner, so that he can swagger there with +the she Grünebaum and their turkey hen of a daughter. Jolly!... I want to +find something very disagreeable to say to them. They won't mind so long as +I give them the tickets--although they would much rather they were +banknotes." + +He stopped short with his month open and looked at Christophe: + +"Oh! but--but just the man I want!" He chuckled: + +"Christophe, are you going to the theater?" + +"No." + +"Good. You shall go. I ask it as a favor. Yon cannot refuse." + +Christophe did not understand. + +"But I have no seat." + +"Here you are!" said Mannheim triumphantly, thrusting the ticket into his +hand. + +"You are mad," said Christophe. "What about your father's orders?" + +Mannheim laughed: + +"He will be furious!" he said. + +He dried his eyes and went on: + +"I shall tap him to-morrow morning as soon as he is up before he knows +anything." + +"I cannot accept," said Christophe, "knowing that he would not like it." + +"It does not concern you: you know nothing about it." + +Christophe had unfolded the ticket: + +"And what would I do with a box for four?" + +"Whatever you like. You can sleep in it, dance if you like. Take some +women. You must know some? If need be we can lend you some." + +Christophe held out the ticket to Mannheim: + +"Certainly not. Take it back." + +"Not I," said Mannheim, stepping back a pace. "I can't force you to go if +it bores you, but I shan't take it back. You can throw it in the fire or +even take it virtuously to the Grünebaums. I don't care. Good-night!" + +He left Christophe in the middle of the street, ticket in hand, and went +away. + +Christophe was unhappy about it. He said to himself that he ought to take +it to the Grünebaums: but he was not keen about the idea. He went home +still pondering, and when later he looked at the clock he saw that he had +only just time enough to dress for the theater. It would be too silly to +waste the ticket. He asked his mother to go with him. But Louisa declared +that she would rather go to bed. He went. At heart he was filled with +childish glee at the thought of his evening. Only one thing worried him: +the thought of having to be alone in such a pleasure. He had no remorse +about Mannheim's father or the Grünebaums, whose box he was taking: but he +was remorseful about those whom he might have taken with him. He thought of +the joy it could give to other young people like himself: and it hurt him +not to be able to give it them. He cast about but could find nobody to whom +he could offer his ticket. Besides, it was late and he must hurry. + +As he entered the theater he passed by the closed window on which a poster +announced that there was not a single seat left in the office. Among the +people who were turning away from it disappointedly he noticed a girl who +could not make up her mind to leave and was enviously watching the people +going in. She was dressed very simply in black; she was not very tall; her +face was thin and she looked delicate; and at the moment he did not notice +whether she were pretty or plain. He passed her: then he stopped, turned, +and without stopping to think: + +"You can't get a seat, Fräulein?" he asked point-blank. + +She blushed and said with a foreign accent: + +"No, sir." + +"I have a box which I don't know what to do with. Will you make use of it +with me?" + +She blushed again and thanked him and said she could not accept. Christophe +was embarrassed by her refusal, begged her pardon and tried to insist, but +he could not persuade her, although it was obvious that she was dying to +accept. He was very perplexed. He made up his mind suddenly. + +"There is a way out of the difficulty," he said. "You take the ticket. I +don't want it. I have seen the play." (He was boasting). "It will give you +more pleasure than me. Take it, please." + +The girl was so touched by his proposal and the cordial manner in which it +was made that tears all but came to her eyes. She murmured gratefully that +she could not think of depriving him of it. + +"Then, come," he said, smiling. + +He looked so kind and honest that she was ashamed of having refused, and +she said in some confusion: + +"Thank you. I will come." + + * * * * * + +They went in. The Mannheims' box was wide, big, and faced the stage: it was +impossible not to be seen in it if they had wished. It is useless to say +that their entry passed unnoticed. Christophe made the girl sit at the +front, while he stayed a little behind so as not to embarrass her. She sat +stiffly upright, not daring to turn her head: she was horribly shy: she +would have given much not to have accepted. To give her time to recover her +composure and not knowing what to talk to her about, Christophe pretended +to look the other way. Whichever way he looked it was easily seen that his +presence with an unknown companion among the brilliant people of the boxes +was exciting much curiosity and comment. He darted furious glances at +those who were looking at him: he was angry that people should go on being +interested in him when he took no interest in them. It did not occur to him +that their indiscreet curiosity was more busied with his companion than +with himself and that there was more offense in it. By way of showing his +utter indifference to anything they might say or think he leaned towards +the girl and began to talk to her. She looked so scared by his talking and +so unhappy at having to reply, and it seemed to be so difficult for her to +wrench out a "Yes" or a "No" without ever daring to look at him, that he +took pity on her shyness, and drew back to a corner. Fortunately the play +began. + +Christophe had not seen the play bill and he hardly cared to know what part +the great actress was playing: he was one of those simple people who go +to the theater to see the play and not the actors. He had never wondered +whether the famous player would be Ophelia or the Queen; if he had wondered +about it he would have inclined towards the Queen, bearing in naiad the +ages of the two ladies. But it could never have occurred to him that she +would play Hamlet. When he saw Hamlet, and heard his mechanical dolly +squeak, it was some time before he could believe it; he wondered if he were +not dreaming. + +"But who? Who is it?" he asked half aloud. "It can't be...." + +And when he had to accept that it _was_ Hamlet, he rapped out an oath, +which fortunately his companion did not hear, because she was a foreigner, +though it was heard perfectly in the next box: for he was at once +indignantly bidden to be silent. He withdrew to the back of the box to +swear his fill. He could not recover his temper. If he had been just he +would have given homage to the elegance of the travesty and the _tour de +force_ of nature and art, which made it possible for a woman of sixty to +appear in a youth's costume and even to seem beautiful in it--at least to +kindly eyes. But he hated all _tours de force_, everything which violates +and falsifies Nature, He liked a woman to be a woman, and a man a man. (It +does not often happen nowadays.) The childish and absurd travesty of the +Leonora of Beethoven did not please him much. But this travesty of Hamlet +was beyond all dreams of the preposterous. To make of the robust Dane, +fat and pale, choleric, cunning, intellectual, subject to hallucinations, +a woman,--not even a woman: for a woman playing the man can only be +a monster,--to make of Hamlet a eunuch or an androgynous betwixt and +between,--the times must be flabby indeed, criticism must be idiotic, to +let such disgusting folly be tolerated for a single day and not hissed +off the boards! The actress's voice infuriated Christophe. She had that +singing, labored diction, that monotonous melopoeia which seems to have +been dear to the least poetic people in the world since the days of the +_Champmeslé_ and the _Hôtel de Bourgogne_. Christophe was so exasperated by +it that he wanted to go away. He turned his back on the scene, and he made +hideous faces against the wall of the box like a child put in the corner. +Fortunately his companion dared not look at him: for if she had seen him +she would have thought him mad. + +Suddenly Christophe stopped making faces. He stopped still and made no +sound. A lovely musical voice, a young woman's voice, grave and sweet, was +heard. Christophe pricked his ears. As she went on with her words he turned +again, keenly interested to see what bird could warble so. He saw Ophelia. +In truth she was nothing like the Ophelia of Shakespeare. She was a +beautiful girl, tall, big and fine like a young fresh statue--Electra or +Cassandra. She was brimming with life. In spite of her efforts to keep +within her part, the force of youth and joy that was in her shone forth +from her body, her movements, her gestures, her brown eyes that laughed in +spite of herself. Such is the power of physical beauty that Christophe who +a moment before had been merciless in judging the interpretation of Hamlet +never for a moment thought of regretting that Ophelia was hardly at all +like his image of her: and he sacrificed his image to the present vision of +her remorselessly. With the unconscious faithlessness of people of passion +he even found a profound truth in the youthful ardor brimming in the depths +of the chaste and unhappy virgin heart. But the magic of the voice, pure, +warm, and velvety, worked the spell: every word sounded like a lovely +chord: about every syllable there hovered like the scent of thyme or wild +mint the laughing accent of the Midi with its full rhythm. Strange was this +vision of an Ophelia from Arles! In it was something of that golden sun and +its wild northwest wind, its _mistral_. + +Christophe forgot his companion and came and sat by her side at the front +of the box: he never took his eyes off the beautiful actress whose name he +did not know. But the audience who had not come to see an unknown player +paid no attention to her, and only applauded when the female Hamlet spoke. +That made Christophe growl and call them: "Idiots!" in a low voice which +could be heard ten yards away. + +It was not until the curtain was lowered upon the first act that he +remembered the existence of his companion, and seeing that she was still +shy he thought with a smile of how he must have scared her with his +extravagances. He was not far wrong: the girl whom chance had thrown in his +company for a few hours was almost morbidly shy; she must have been in an +abnormal state of excitement to have accepted Christophe's invitation. She +had hardly accepted it than she had wished at any cost to get out of it, to +make some excuse and to escape. It had been much worse for her when she had +seen that she was an object of general curiosity, and her unhappiness had +been increased almost past endurance when she heard behind her back--(she +dared not turn round)--her companion's low growls and imprecations. She +expected anything now, and when he came and sat by her she was frozen with +terror: what eccentricity would he commit next? She would gladly have sunk +into the ground fathoms down. She drew back instinctively: she was afraid +of touching him. + +But all her fears vanished when the interval came and she heard him say +quite kindly: + +"I am an unpleasant companion, eh? I beg your pardon." + +Then she looked at him and saw his kind smile which had induced her to come +with him. + +He went on: + +"I cannot hide what I think.... But you know it is too much!... That woman, +that old woman!..." + +He made a face of disgust. + +She smiled and said in a low voice: + +"It is fine in spite of everything." + +He noticed her accent and asked: + +"You are a foreigner?" + +"Yes," said she. + +He looked at her modest gown. + +"A governess?" he said. + +"Yes." + +"What nationality?" + +She said: + +"I am French." + +He made a gesture of surprise: + +"French? I should not have thought it." + +"Why?" she asked timidly. + +"You are so ... serious!" said he. + +(She thought it was not altogether a compliment from him.) + +"There are serious people also in France," said she confusedly. He looked +at her honest little face, with its broad forehead, little straight nose, +delicate chin, and thin cheeks framed in her chestnut hair. It was not she +that he saw: he was thinking of the beautiful actress. He repeated: + +"It is strange that you should be French!... Are you really of the same +nationality as Ophelia? One would never think it" + +After a moment's silence he went on: + +"How beautiful she is!" without noticing that he seemed to be making a +comparison between the actress and his companion that was not at all +flattering to her. But she felt it: but she did not mind: for she was of +the same opinion. He tried to find out about the actress from her: but she +knew nothing: it was plain that she did not know much about the theater. + +"You must be glad to hear French?" he asked. He meant it in jest, but he +touched her. + +"Ah!" she said with an accent of sincerity which struck him, "it does me so +much good! I am stifled here." + +He looked at her more closely: she clasped her hands, and seemed to be +oppressed. But at once she thought of how her words might hurt him: + +"Forgive me," she said. "I don't know what I am saying." + +He laughed: + +"Don't beg pardon! You are quite right. You don't need to be French to be +stifled here. Ouf!" + +He threw back his shoulders and took a long breath. + +But she was ashamed of having been so free and relapsed into silence. +Besides she had just seen that the people in the boxes next to them were +listening to what they were saying: he noticed it too and was wrathful. +They broke off: and until the end of the interval he went out into the +corridor. The girl's words were ringing in his ears, but he was lost in +dreams: the image of Ophelia filled his thoughts. During the succeeding +acts she took hold of him completely, and when the beautiful actress came +to the mad scene and the melancholy songs of love and death, her voice gave +forth notes so moving that he was bowled over: he felt that he was going +to burst into tears. Angry with himself for what he took to be a sign +of weakness--(for he would not admit that a true artist can weep)--and +not wishing to make an object of himself, he left the box abruptly. The +corridors and the foyer were empty. In his agitation he went down the +stairs of the theater and went out without knowing it. He had to breathe +the cold night air, and to go striding through the dark, half-empty +streets. He came to himself by the edge of a canal, and leaned on the +parapet of the bank and watched the silent water whereon the reflections +of the street lamps danced in the darkness. His soul was like that: it was +dark and heaving: he could see nothing in it but great joy dancing on the +surface. The clocks rang the hour. It was impossible for him to go back to +the theater and hear the end of the play. To see the triumph of Fortinbras? +No, that did not tempt him. A fine triumph that! Who thinks of envying the +conqueror? Who would be he after being gorged with all the wild and absurd +savagery of life? The whole play is a formidable indictment of life. But +there is such a power of life in it that sadness becomes joy, and +bitterness intoxicates.... + +Christophe went home without a thought for the unknown girl, whose name +even he had not ascertained. + + * * * * * + +Next morning he went to see the actress at the little third-rate hotel in +which the impresario had quartered her with her comrades while the great +actress had put up at the best hotel in the town. He was conducted to a +very untidy room where the remains of breakfast were left on an open piano, +together with hairpins and torn and dirty sheets of music. In the next room +Ophelia was singing at the top of her voice, like a child, for the pleasure +of making a noise. She stopped for a moment when her visitor was announced +to ask merrily in a loud voice without ever caring whether she were heard +through the wall: + +"What does he want? What is his name? Christophe? Christophe what? +Christophe Krafft? What a name!" + +(She repeated it two or three times, rolling her _r_'s terribly.) + +"It is like a swear--" + +(She swore.) + +"Is he young or old? Pleasant? Very well. I'll come." + +She began to sing again: + +"_Nothing is sweeter than my love_...." while she rushed about her room +cursing a tortoise-shell pin which had got lost in all the rubbish. She +lost patience, began to grumble, and roared. Although he could not see her +Christophe followed all her movements on the other side of the wall in +imagination and laughed to himself. At last he heard steps approaching, the +door was flung open, and Ophelia appeared. + +She was half dressed, in a loose gown which she was holding about her +waist: her bare arms showed in her wide sleeves: her hair was carelessly +done, and locks of it fell down into her eyes and over her cheeks. Her +fine brown eyes smiled, her lips smiled, her cheeks smiled, and a charming +dimple in her chin smiled. In her beautiful grave melodious voice she asked +him to excuse her appearance. She knew that there was nothing to excuse and +that he could only be very grateful to her for it. She thought he was a +journalist come to interview her. Instead of being annoyed when he told her +that he had come to her entirely of his own accord and because he admired +her, she was delighted. She was a good girl, affectionate, delighted to +please, and making no effort to conceal her delight. Christophe's visit and +his enthusiasm made her very happy--(she was not yet spoiled by flattery). +She was so natural in all her movements and ways, even in her little +vanities and her naïve delight in giving pleasure, that he was not +embarrassed for a single moment. They became old friends at once. He could +jabber a few words of French: and she could jabber a few words of German: +after an hour they told each other all their secrets. She never thought +of sending him away. The splendid gay southern creature, intelligent and +warm-hearted, who would have been bored to tears with her stupid companions +and in a country whose language she did not know, a country without the +natural joy that was in herself, was glad to find some one to talk to. As +for Christophe it was an untold blessing for him to meet the free-hearted +girl of the Midi filled with the life of the people, in the midst of his +narrow and insincere fellow citizens. He did not yet know the workings of +such natures which, unlike the Germans, have no more in their minds and +hearts than they show, and often not even as much. But at the least she was +young, she was alive, she said frankly, rawly, what she thought: she judged +everything freely from a new and a fresh point of view: in her it was +possible to breathe a little of the northwest wind that sweeps away mists. +She was gifted. Uneducated and unthinking, she could at once feel with her +whole heart and be sincerely moved by things which were beautiful and good; +and then, a moment later, she would burst out laughing. She was a coquette +and made eyes; she did not mind showing her bare arms and neck under +her half open gown; she would have liked to turn Christophe's head, but +it was all purely instinctive. There was no thought of gaining her own +ends in her, and she much preferred to laugh, and talk blithely, to be +a good fellow, a good chum, without ceremony or awkwardness. She told +him about the underworld of the theater, her little sorrows, the silly +susceptibilities of her comrades, the bickerings of Jezebel--(so she called +the great actress)--who took good care not to let her shine. He confided +his sufferings at the hands of the Germans: she clapped her hands and +played chords to him. She was kind and would not speak ill of anybody; but +that did not keep her from doing so, and while she blamed herself for her +malice, when she laughed at anybody, she had a fund of mocking humor and +that realistic and witty gift of observation which belongs to the people of +the South; she could not resist it and drew cuttingly satirical portraits. +With her pale lips she laughed merrily to show her teeth, like those of a +puppy, and dark eyes shone in her pale face, which was a little discolored +by grease paint. + +They noticed suddenly that they had been talking for more than an hour. +Christophe proposed to come for Corinne--(that was her stage name)--in the +afternoon and show her over the town. She was delighted with the idea, and +they arranged to meet immediately after dinner. + +At the appointed hour, he turned up. Corinne was sitting in the little +drawing-room of the hotel, with a book in her hand, which she was reading +aloud. She greeted him with smiling eyes but did not stop reading until she +had finished her sentence. Then she signed to him to sit down on the sofa +by her side: + +"Sit there," she said, "and don't talk. I am going over my part. I shall +have finished in a quarter of an hour." + +She followed the script with her finger nail and read quickly and +carelessly like a little girl in a hurry. He offered to hear her her words. +She passed him the book and got up to repeat what she had learned. She +floundered and would repeat the end of one sentence four times before going +on to the next. She shook her head as she recited her part; her hair-pins +fell down and all over the room. When she could not recollect sometimes +some word she was as impatient as a naughty child; sometimes she +swore comically or she would use big words;--one word with which she +apostrophized herself was very big and very short. Christophe was +astonished by the mixture of talent and childishness in her. She would +produce moving tones of voice quite aptly, but in the middle of a speech +into which she seemed to be throwing her whole heart she would say a whole +string of words that had absolutely no meaning. She recited her lesson +like a parrot, without troubling about its meaning, and then she produced +burlesque nonsense. She did not worry about it. When she saw it she would +shout with laughter. At last she said: "Zut!", snatched the book from him, +flung it into a corner of the room, and said: + +"Holidays! The hour has struck!... Now let us go out." + +He was a little anxious about her part and asked: + +"You think you will know it?" + +She replied confidently: + +"Certainly. What is the prompter for?" She went into her room to put on her +hat. Christophe sat at the piano while he was waiting for her and struck a +few chords. From the next room she called: + +"Oh! What is that? Play some more! How pretty it is!" + +She ran in, pinning on her hat. He went on. When he had finished she +wanted him to play more. She went into ecstasies with all the little arch +exclamations habitual to Frenchwomen which they make about _Tristan_ and a +cup of chocolate equally. It made Christophe laugh; it was a change from +the tremendous affected, clumsy exclamations of the Germans; they were +both exaggerated in different directions; one made a mountain out of a +mole-hill, the other made a mole-hill out of a mountain; the French was not +less ridiculous than the German, but for the moment it seemed more pleasant +because he loved the lips from which it came. Corinne wanted to know what +he was playing, and when she learned that he had composed it she gave a +shout. He had told her during their conversation in the morning that he was +a composer, but she had hardly listened to him. She sat by him and insisted +on his playing everything that he had composed. Their walk was forgotten. +It was not mere politeness on her part; she adored music and had an +admirable instinct for it which supplied the deficiencies of her education. +At first he did not take her seriously and played his easiest melodies. But +when he had played a passage by which he set more store and saw that she +preferred it too, although he had not said anything about it, he was +joyfully surprised. With the naïve astonishment of the Germans when they +meet a Frenchman who is a good musician he said: + +"Odd. How good your taste is! I should never have thought it...." + +Corinne laughed in his face. + +He amused himself then by selecting compositions more and more difficult +to understand, to see how far she would go with him. But she did not seem +to be put out by his boldness, and after a particularly new melody which +Christophe himself had almost come to doubt because he had never succeeded +in having it accepted in Germany, he was greatly astonished when Corinne +begged him to play it again, and she got up and began to sing the notes +from memory almost without a mistake! He turned towards her and took her +hands warmly: + +"But you are a musician!" he cried. + +She began to laugh and explained that she had made her début as a singer in +provincial opera houses, but that an impresario of touring companies had +recognized her disposition towards the poetic theater and had enrolled her +in its services. He exclaimed: + +"What a pity!" + +"Why?" said she. "Poetry also is a sort of music." + +She made him explain to her the meaning of his _Lieder_; he told her the +German words, and she repeated them with easy mimicry, copying even the +movements of his lips and eyes as he pronounced the words. When she had +these to sing from memory, then she made grotesque mistakes, and when she +forgot, she invented words, guttural and barbarously sonorous, which made +them both laugh. She did not tire of making him play, nor he of playing +for her and hearing her pretty voice; she did not know the tricks of the +trade and sang a little from the throat like little girls, and there was a +curious fragile quality in her voice that was very touching. She told him +frankly what she thought. Although she could not explain why she liked +or disliked anything there was always some grain of sense hidden in her +judgment. The odd thing was that she found least pleasure in the most +classical passages which were most appreciated in Germany; she paid him a +few compliments out of politeness; but they obviously meant nothing. As she +had no musical culture she had not the pleasure which amateurs and even +artists find in what is _already heard_, a pleasure which often makes them +unconsciously reproduce, or, in a new composition, like forms or formulæ +which they have already used in old compositions. Nor did she have the +German taste for melodious sentimentality (or, at least, her sentimentality +was different; Christophe did not yet know its failings)--she did not go +into ecstasies over the soft insipid music preferred in Germany; she did +not single out the most melodious of his _Lieder_,--a melody which he +would have liked to destroy because his friends, only too glad to be able +to compliment him on something, were always talking about it. Corinne's +dramatic instinct made her prefer the melodies which frankly reproduced +a certain passion; he also set most store by them. And yet she did not +hesitate to show her lack of sympathy with certain rude harmonies which +seemed quite natural to Christophe; they gave her a sort of shock when she +came upon them; she would stop then and ask "if it was really so." When he +said "Yes," then she would rush at the difficulty; but she would make a +little grimace which did not escape Christophe. Sometimes even she would +prefer to skip the bar. Then he would play it again on the piano. + +"You don't like that?" he would ask. + +She would screw up her nose. + +"It is wrong," she would say. + +"Not at all," he would reply with a laugh. "It is quite right. Think of its +meaning. It is rhythmic, isn't it?" + +(He pointed to her heart.) + +But she would shake her head: + +"May be; but it is wrong here." (She pulled her ear.) + +And she would be a little shocked by the sudden outbursts of German +declamation. + +"Why should he talk so loud?" she would ask. "He is all alone. Aren't you +afraid of his neighbors overhearing him? It is as though--(Forgive me! You +won't be angry?)--he were hailing a boat." + +He was not angry; he laughed heartily, he recognized that there was some +truth in what she said. Her remarks amused him; nobody had ever said such +things before. They agreed that declamation in singing generally deforms +the natural word like a magnifying glass. Corinne asked Christophe to write +music for a piece in which she would speak to the accompaniment of the +orchestra, singing a few sentences every now and then. He was fired by the +idea in spite of the difficulties of the stage setting which, he thought, +Corinne's musical voice would easily overcome, and they made plans for the +future. It was not far short of five o'clock when they thought of going +out. Night fell early. They could not think of going for a walk. Corinne +had a rehearsal at the theater in the evening; nobody was allowed to be +present. She made him promise to come and fetch her during the next +afternoon to take the walk they had planned. + + * * * * * + +Next day they did almost the same again. He found Corinne in front of her +mirror, perched on a high stool, swinging her legs; she was trying on a +wig. Her dresser was there and a hair dresser of the town to whom she was +giving instructions about a curl which she wished to have higher up. As she +looked in the glass she saw Christophe smiling behind her back; she put out +her tongue at him. The hair dresser went away with the wig and she turned +gaily to Christophe: + +"Good-day, my friend!" she said. + +She held up her cheek to be kissed. He had not expected such intimacy, but +he took advantage of it all the same. She did not attach so much importance +to the favor; it was to her a greeting like any other. + +"Oh! I am happy!" said she. "It will do very well to-night." (She was +talking of her wig.) "I was so wretched! If you had come this morning you +would have found me absolutely miserable." + +He asked why. + +It was because the Parisian hair dresser had made a mistake in packing and +had sent a wig which was not suitable to the part. + +"Quite flat," she said, "and falling straight down. When I saw it I wept +like a Magdalen. Didn't I, Désirée?" + +"When I came in," said Désirée, "I was afraid for Madame. Madame was quite +white. Madame looked like death." + +Christophe laughed. Corinne saw him in her mirror: + +"Heartless wretch; it makes you laugh," she said indignantly. + +She began to laugh too. + +He asked her how the rehearsal had gone. Everything had gone off well. She +would have liked the other parts to be cut more and her own less. They +talked so much that they wasted part of the afternoon. She dressed slowly; +she amused herself by asking Christophe's opinion about her dresses. +Christophe praised her elegance and told her naïvely in his Franco-German +jargon, that he had never seen anybody so "luxurious." She looked at him +for a moment and then burst out laughing. + +"What have I said?" he asked. "Have I said anything wrong?" + +"Yes, yes," she cried, rocking with laughter. "You have indeed." + +At last they went out. Her striking costume and her exuberant chatter +attracted attention. She looked at everything with her mocking eyes and +made no effort to conceal her impressions. She chuckled at the dressmakers' +shops, and at the picture post-card shops in which sentimental scenes, +comic and obscene drawings, the town prostitutes, the imperial family, the +Emperor as a sea-dog holding the wheel of the _Germania_ and defying the +heavens, were all thrown together higgledy-piggledy. She giggled at a +dinner-service decoration with Wagner's cross-grained face, or at a hair +dresser's shop-window in which there was the wax head of a man. She made no +attempt to modify her hilarity over the patriotic monument representing the +old Emperor in a traveling coat and a peaked cap, together with Prussia, +the German States, and a nude Genius of War. She made remarks about +anything in the faces of the people or their way of speaking that struck +her as funny. Her victims were left in no doubt about it as she maliciously +picked out their absurdities. Her instinctive mimicry made her sometimes +imitate with her mouth and nose their broad grimaces and frowns, without +thinking; and she would blow out her cheeks as she repeated fragments +of sentences and words that struck her as grotesque in sound as she +caught them. He laughed heartily and was not at all embarrassed by her +impertinence, for he was no longer easily embarrassed. Fortunately he had +no great reputation to lose, or his walk would have ruined it for ever. + +They visited the cathedral. Corinne wanted to go to the top of the spire, +in spite of her high heels, and long dress which swept the stairs or was +caught in a corner of the staircase; she did not worry about it, but pulled +the stuff which split, and went on climbing, holding it up. She wanted very +much to ring the bells. From the top of the tower she declaimed Victor Hugo +(he did not understand it), and sang a popular French song. After that she +played the muezzin. Dusk was falling. They went down into the cathedral +where the dark shadows were creeping along the gigantic walls in which +the magic eyes of the windows were shining. Kneeling in one of the side +chapels, Christophe saw the girl who had shared his box at _Hamlet_. She +was so absorbed in her prayers that she did not see him: he saw that she +was looking sad and strained. He would have liked to speak to her, just to +say, "How do you do?" but Corinne dragged him off like a whirlwind. + +They parted soon afterwards. She had to get ready for the performance, +which began early, as usual in Germany. He had hardly reached home when +there was a ring at the door and a letter from Corinne was handed in: + +"Luck! Jezebel ill! No performance! No school! Come! Let us dine together! +Your friend, + +"CORINETTE. + +"P.S. Bring plenty of music!" + +It was some time before he understood. When he did understand he was as +happy as Corinne, and went to the hotel at once. He was afraid of finding +the whole company assembled at dinner; but he saw nobody. Corinne herself +was not there. At last he heard her laughing voice at the back of the +house: he went to look for her and found her in the kitchen. She had taken +it into her head to cook a dish in her own way, one of those southern +dishes which fills the whole neighborhood with its aroma and would awaken a +stone. She was on excellent terms with the large proprietress of the hotel, +and they were jabbering in a horrible jargon that was a mixture of German, +French, and negro, though there is no word to describe it in any language. +They were laughing loudly and making each other taste their cooking. +Christophe's appearance made them noisier than ever. They tried to push him +out; but he struggled and succeeded in tasting the famous dish. He made a +face. She said he was a barbarous Teuton and that it was no use putting +herself out for him. + +They went up to the little sitting-room when the table was laid; there were +only two places, for himself and Corinne. He could not help asking her +where her companions were. Corinne waved her hands carelessly: + +"I don't know." + +"Don't you sup together?" + +"Never! We see enough of each other at the theater!... And it would be +awful if we had to meet at meals!..." + +It was so different from German custom that he was surprised and charmed by +it. + +"I thought," he said, "you were a sociable people!" + +"Well," said she, "am I not sociable?" + +"Sociable means living in society. We have to see each other! Men, women, +children, we all belong to societies from birth to death. We are always +making societies: we eat, sing, think in societies. When the societies +sneeze, we sneeze too: we don't have a drink except with our societies." + +"That must be amusing," said she. "Why not out of the same glass?" + +"Brotherly, isn't it?" + +"That for fraternity! I like being 'brotherly' with people I like: not with +the others ... Pooh! That's not society: that is an ant heap." + +"Well, you can imagine how happy I am here, for I think as you do." + +"Come to us, then!" + +He asked nothing better. He questioned her about Paris and the French. She +told him much that was not perfectly accurate. Her southern propensity +for boasting was mixed with an instinctive desire to shine before him. +According to her, everybody in Paris was free: and as everybody in Paris +was intelligent, everybody made good use of their liberty, and no one +abused it. Everybody did what they liked: thought, believed, loved or did +not love, as they liked; nobody had anything to say about it. There nobody +meddled with other people's beliefs, or spied on their consciences or tried +to regulate their thoughts. There politicians never dabbled in literature +or the arts, and never gave orders, jobs, and money to their friends or +clients. There little cliques never disposed of reputation or success, +journalists were never bought; there men of letters never entered into +controversies with the church, that could lead to nothing. There criticism +never stifled unknown talent, or exhausted its praises upon recognized +talent. There success, success at all costs, did not justify the means, and +command the adoration of the public. There were only gentle manners, kindly +and sweet. There was never any bitterness, never any scandal. Everybody +helped everybody else. Every worthy newcomer was certain to find hands held +out to him and the way made smooth for him. Pure love, of beauty filled the +chivalrous and disinterested souls of the French, and they were only absurd +in their idealism, which, in spite of their acknowledged wit, made them +the dupes of other nations. Christophe listened open-mouthed. It was +certainly marvelous. Corinne marveled herself as she heard her words. +She had forgotten what she had told Christophe the day before about the +difficulties of her past life. He gave no more thought to it than she. + +And yet Corinne was not only concerned with making the Germans love her +country: she wanted to make herself loved, too. A whole evening without +flirtation would have seemed austere and rather absurd to her. She made +eyes at Christophe; but it was trouble wasted: he did not notice it. +Christophe did not know what it was to flirt. He loved or did not love. +When he did not love he was miles from any thought of love. He liked +Corinne enormously. He felt the attraction of her southern nature; it was +so new to him. And her sweetness and good humor, her quick and lively +intelligence: many more reasons than he needed for loving. But the spirit +blows where it listeth. It did not blow in that direction, and as for +playing at love, in love's absence, the idea had never occurred to him. + +Corinne was amused by his coldness. She sat by his side at the piano while +he played the music he had brought with him, and put her arm round his +neck, and to follow the music she leaned towards the keyboard, almost +pressing her cheek against his. He felt her hair touch his face, and quite +close to him saw the corner of her mocking eye, her pretty little mouth, +and the light down on her tip-tilted nose. She waited, smiling--she waited. +Christophe did not understand the invitation. Corinne was in his way: that +was all he thought of. Mechanically he broke free from her and moved his +chair. And when, a moment later, he turned to speak to Corinne, he saw that +she was choking with laughter: her cheeks were dimpled, her lips were +pressed together, and she seemed to be holding herself in. + +"What is the matter?" he said, in his astonishment. + +She looked at him and laughed aloud. + +He did not understand. + +"Why are you laughing?" he asked. "Did I say anything funny?" + +The more he insisted, the more she laughed. When she had almost finished +she had only to look at his crestfallen appearance to break out again. She +got up, ran to the sofa at the other end of the room, and buried her face +in the cushions to laugh her fill; her whole body shook with it. He began +to laugh too, came towards her, and slapped her on the back. When she had +done laughing she raised her head, dried the tears in her eyes, and held +out her hands to him. + +"What a good boy you are!" she said. + +"No worse than another." + +She went on, shaking occasionally with laughter, still holding his hands. + +"Frenchwomen are not serious?" she asked. (She pronounced it: +"_Françouése_.") + +"You are making fun of me," he said good-humoredly. + +She looked at him kindly, shook his hands vigorously, and said: + +"Friends?" + +"Friends!" said he, shaking her hand. + +"You will think of Corinette when she is gone? You won't be angry with the +Frenchwoman for not being serious?" + +"And Corinette won't be angry with the barbarous Teuton for being so +stupid?" + +"That is why she loves him ... You will come and see her in Paris?" + +"It is a promise ... And she--she will write to him?" + +"I swear it ... You say: 'I swear.'" + +"I swear." + +"No, not like that. You must hold up your hand." She recited the oath of +the Horatii. She made him promise to write a play for her, a melodrama, +which could be translated into French and played in Paris by her. She was +going away next day with her company. He promised to go and see her again +the day after at Frankfort, where they were giving a performance. + +They stayed talking for some time. She presented Christophe with a +photograph in which she was much décolletée, draped only in a garment +fastening below her shoulders. They parted gaily, and kissed like brother +and sister. And, indeed, once Corinne had seen that Christophe was fond of +her, but not at all in love, she began to be fond of him, too, without +love, as a good friend. + +Their sleep was not troubled by it. He could not see her off next day, +because he was occupied by a rehearsal. But on the day following he managed +to go to Frankfort as he had promised. It was a few hours' journey by +rail. Corinne hardly believed Christophe's promise. But he had taken it +seriously, and when the performance began he was there. When he knocked at +her dressing-room door during the interval, she gave a cry of glad surprise +and threw her arms round his neck with her usual exuberance. She was +sincerely grateful to him for having come. Unfortunately for Christophe, +she was much more sought after in the city of rich, intelligent Jews, who +could appreciate her actual beauty and her future success. Almost every +minute there was a knock at the door, and it opened to reveal men with +heavy faces and quick eyes, who said the conventional things with a thick +accent. Corinne naturally made eyes, and then she would go on talking to +Christophe in the same affected, provoking voice, and that irritated him. +And he found no pleasure in the calm lack of modesty with which she went on +dressing in his presence, and the paint and grease with which she larded +her arms, throat, and face filled him with profound disgust. He was on the +point of going away without seeing her again after the performance; but +when he said good-bye and begged to be excused from going to the supper +that was to be given to her after the play, she was so hurt by it and +so affectionate, too, that he could not hold out against her. She had a +time-table brought, so as to prove that he could and must stay an hour +with her. He only needed to be convinced, and he was at the supper. He was +even able to control his annoyance with the follies that were indulged in +and his irritation at Corinne's coquetries with all and sundry. It was +impossible to be angry with her. She was an honest girl, without any moral +principles, lazy, sensual, pleasure-loving, childishly coquettish; but at +the same time so loyal, so kind, and all her faults were so spontaneous and +so healthy that it was only possible to smile at them and even to love +them. Christophe, who was sitting opposite her, watched her animation, her +radiant eyes, her sticky lips, with their Italian smile--that smile in +which there is kindness, subtlety, and a sort of heavy greediness. He saw +her more clearly than he had yet done. Some of her features reminded him +of Ada: certain gestures, certain looks, certain sensual and rather coarse +tricks--the eternal feminine. But what he loved in her was her southern +nature, that generous nature which is not niggardly with its gifts, which +never troubles to fashion drawing-room beauties and literary cleverness, +but harmonious creatures who are made body and mind to grow in the air and +the sun. When he left she got up from the table to say good-bye to him away +from the others. They kissed and renewed their promises to write and meet +again. + +He took the last train home. At a station the train coming from the +opposite direction was waiting. In the carriage opposite his--a third-class +compartment--Christophe saw the young Frenchwoman who had been with him to +the performance of _Hamlet_. She saw Christophe and recognized him. They +were both astonished. They bowed and did not move, and dared not look +again. And yet he had seen at once that she was wearing a little traveling +toque and had an old valise by her side. It did not occur to him that she +was leaving the country. He thought she must be going away for a few days. +He did not know whether he ought to speak to her. He stopped, turned over +in his mind what to say, and was just about to lower the window of the +carriage to address a few words to her, when the signal was given. He gave +up the idea. A few seconds passed before the train moved. They looked +straight at each other. Each was alone, and their faces were pressed +against the windows and they looked into each other's eyes through the +night. They were separated by two windows. If they had reached out their +hands they could have touched each other. So near. So far. The carriages +shook heavily. She was still looking at him, shy no longer, now that they +were parting. They were so absorbed in looking at each other that they +never even thought of bowing for the last time. She was slowly borne away. +He saw her disappear, and the train which bore her plunged into the night. +Like two circling worlds, they had passed close to each other in infinite +space, and now they sped apart perhaps for eternity. + +When she had disappeared he felt the emptiness that her strange eyes had +left in him, and he did not understand why; but the emptiness was there. +Sleepy, with eyes half-closed, lying in a corner of the carriage, he felt +her eyes looking into his, and all other thoughts ceased, to let him feel +them more keenly. The image of Corinne fluttered outside his heart like an +insect breaking its wings against a window; but he did not let it in. + +He found it again when he got out of the train on his arrival, when the +keen night air and his walk through the streets of the sleeping town had +shaken off his drowsiness. He scowled at the thought of the pretty actress, +with a mixture of pleasure and irritation, according as he recalled her +affectionate ways or her vulgar coquetries. + +"Oh! these French people," he growled, laughing softly, while he was +undressing quietly, so as not to waken his mother, who was asleep in the +next room. + +A remark that he had heard the other evening in the box occurred to him: + +"There are others also." + +At his first encounter with France she laid before him the enigma of her +double nature. But, like all Germans, he did not trouble to solve it, and +as he thought of the girl in the train he said quietly: + +"She does not look like a Frenchwoman." + +As if a German could say what is French and what is not. + + * * * * * + +French or not, she filled his thoughts; for he woke in the middle of the +night with a pang: he had just remembered the valise on the seat by the +girl's side; and suddenly the idea that she had gone forever crossed his +mind. The idea must have come to him at the time, but he had not thought of +it. It filled him with a strange sadness. He shrugged his shoulders. + +"What does it matter to me?" he said. "It is not my affair." + +He went to sleep. + +But next day the first person he met when he went out was Mannheim, who +called him "Blücher," and asked him if he had made up his mind to conquer +all France. From the garrulous newsmonger he learned that the story of the +box had had a success exceeding all Mannheim's expectations. + +"Thanks to you! Thanks to you!" cried Mannheim. "You are a great man. I am +nothing compared with you." + +"What have I done?" said Christophe. + +"You are wonderful!" Mannheim replied. "I am jealous of you. To shut the +box in the Grünebaums' faces, and then to ask the French governess instead +of them--no, that takes the cake! I should never have thought of that!" + +"She was the Grünebaums' governess?" said Christophe in amazement. + +"Yes. Pretend you don't know, pretend to be innocent. You'd better!... My +father is beside himself. The Grünebaums are in a rage!... It was not for +long: they have sacked the girl." + +"What!" cried Christophe. "They have dismissed her? Dismissed her because +of me?" + +"Didn't you know?" said Mannheim. "Didn't she tell you?" + +Christophe was in despair. + +"You mustn't be angry, old man," said Mannheim. "It does not matter. +Besides, one had only to expect that the Grünebaums would find out..." + +"What?" cried Christophe. "Find out what?" + +"That she was your mistress, of course!" + +"But I do not even know her. I don't know who she is." + +Mannheim smiled, as if to say: + +"You take me for a fool." + +Christophe lost his temper and bade Mannheim do him the honor of believing +what he said. Mannheim said: + +"Then it is even more humorous." + +Christophe worried about it, and talked of going to the Grünebaums and +telling them the facts and justifying the girl. Mannheim dissuaded him. + +"My dear fellow," he said, "anything you may say will only convince them of +the contrary. Besides, it is too late. The girl has gone away." + +Christophe was utterly sick at heart and tried to trace the young +Frenchwoman. He wanted to write to her to beg her pardon. But nothing was +known of her. He applied to the Grünebaums, but they snubbed him. They did +not know themselves where she had gone, and they did not care. The idea +of the harm he had done in trying to do good tortured Christophe: he was +remorseful. But added to his remorse was a mysterious attraction, which +shone upon him from the eyes of the woman who was gone. Attraction and +remorse both seemed to be blotted out, engulfed in the flood of the day's +new thoughts. But they endured in the depths of his heart. Christophe did +not forget the woman whom he called his victim. He had sworn to meet her +again. He knew how small were the chances of his ever seeing her again: and +he was sure that he would see her again. + +As for Corinne, she never answered his letters. But three months later, +when he had given up expecting to hear from her, he received a telegram +of forty words of utter nonsense, in which she addressed him in little +familiar terms, and asked "if they were still fond of each other." Then, +after nearly a year's silence, there came a scrappy letter scrawled in her +enormous childish zigzag writing, in which she tried to play the lady,--a +few affectionate, droll words. And there she left it. She did not forget +him, but she had no time to think of him. + + * * * * * + +Still under the spell of Corinne and full of the ideas they had exchanged +about art, Christophe dreamed of writing the music for a play in which +Corinne should act and sing a few airs--a sort of poetic melodrama. That +form of art once so much in favor in Germany, passionately admired by +Mozart, and practised by Beethoven, Weber, Mendelssohn and Schumann, and +all the great classics, had fallen into discredit since the triumph of +Wagnerism, which claimed to have realized the definite formula of the +theater and music. The Wagnerian pedants, not content with proscribing +every new melodrama, busied themselves with dressing up the old melodramas +and operas. They carefully effaced every trace of spoken dialogue and wrote +for Mozart, Beethoven, or Weber, recitations in their own manner; they were +convinced that they were doing a service to the fame of the masters and +filling out their thoughts by the pious deposit of their dung upon +masterpieces. + +Christophe, who had been made more sensible of the heaviness, and often +the ugliness, of Wagnerian declamation by Corinne, had for some time been +debating whether it was not nonsense and an offense against nature to +harness and yoke together the spoken word and the word sung in the theater: +it was like harnessing a horse and a bird to a cart. Speech and singing +each had its rhythm. It was comprehensible that an artist should sacrifice +one of the two arts to the triumph of that which he preferred. But to try +to find a compromise between them was to sacrifice both: it was to want +speech no longer to be speech, and singing no longer to be singing; to want +singing to let its vast flood be confined between the banks of monotonous +canals, to want speech to cloak its lovely naked limbs with rich, heavy +stuffs which must paralyze its gestures and movements. Why not leave both +with their spontaneity and freedom of movement? Like a beautiful girl +walking tranquilly, lithely along a stream, dreaming as she goes: the gay +murmur of the water lulls her dreams, and unconsciously she brings her +steps and her thoughts in tune with the song of the stream. So being +both free, music and poesy would go side by side, dreaming, their dreams +mingling. Assuredly all music was not good for such a union, nor all +poetry. The opponents of melodrama had good ground for attack in the +coarseness of the attempts which had been made in that form, and of the +interpreters. Christophe had for long shared their dislike: the stupidity +of the actors who delivered these recitations spoken to an instrumental +accompaniment, without bothering about the accompaniment, without trying +to merge their voices in it, rather, on the contrary, trying to prevent +anything being heard but themselves, was calculated to revolt any musical +ear. But since he had tasted the beauty of Corinne's harmonious voice--that +liquid and pure voice which played upon music like a ray of light on water, +which wedded every turn of a melody, which was like the most fluid and most +free singing,--he had caught a glimpse of the beauty of a new art. + +Perhaps he was right, but he was still too inexperienced to venture +without peril upon a form which--if it is meant to be beautiful and really +artistic--is the most difficult of all. That art especially demands one +essential condition, the perfect harmony of the combined efforts of the +poet, the musicians, and the actors. Christophe had no tremors about it: he +hurled himself blindly at an unknown art of which the laws were only known +to himself. + +His first idea had been to clothe in music a fairy fantasy of Shakespeare +or an act of the second part of _Faust_. But the theaters showed little +disposition to make the experiment. It would be too costly and appeared +absurd. They were quite willing to admit Christophe's efficiency in music, +but that he should take upon himself to have ideas about poetry and the +theater made them smile. They did not take him seriously. The world of +music and the world of poesy were like two foreign and secretly hostile +states. Christophe had to accept the collaboration of a poet to be able to +set foot upon poetic territory, and he was not allowed to choose his own +poet. He would not have dared to choose himself. He did not trust his taste +in poetry. He had been told that he knew nothing about it; and, indeed, he +could not understand the poetry which was admired by those about him. With +his usual honesty and stubbornness, he had tried hard sometimes to feel the +beauty of some of these works, but he had always been bewildered and a +little ashamed of himself. No, decidedly he was not a poet. In truth, he +loved passionately certain old poets, and that consoled him a little. But +no doubt he did not love them as they should be loved. Had he not once +expressed, the ridiculous idea that those poets only are great who remain +great even when they are translated into prose, and even into the prose of +a foreign language, and that words have no value apart from the soul which +they express? His friends had laughed at him. Mannheim had called him a +goose. He did not try to defend himself. As every day he saw, through the +example of writers who talk of music, the absurdity of artists who attempt +to image any art other than their own, he resigned himself--though a little +incredulous at heart--to his incompetence in poetry, and he shut his eyes +and accepted the judgments of those whom he thought were better informed +than himself. So he let his friends of the Review impose one of their +number on him, a great man of a decadent coterie, Stephen von Hellmuth, who +brought him an _Iphigenia_. It was at the time when German poets (like +their colleagues in France) were recasting all the Greek tragedies. Stephen +von Hellmuth's work was one of those astounding Græco-German plays in which +Ibsen, Homer, and Oscar Wilde are compounded--and, of course, a few manuals +of archeology. Agamemnon was neurasthenic and Achilles impotent: they +lamented their condition at length, and naturally their outcries produced +no change. The energy of the drama was concentrated in the rôle of +Iphigenia--a nervous, hysterical, and pedantic Iphigenia, who lectured the +hero, declaimed furiously, laid bare for the audience her Nietzschian +pessimism and, glutted with death, cut her throat, shrieking with laughter. + +Nothing could be more contrary to Christophe's mind than such pretentious, +degenerate, Ostrogothic stuff, in Greek dress. It was hailed as a +masterpiece by everybody about him. He was cowardly and was overpersuaded. +In truth, he was bursting with music and thinking much more of his music +than of the text. The text was a new bed into which to let loose the flood +of his passions. He was as far as possible from the state of abnegation and +intelligent impersonality proper to musical translation of a poetic work. +He was thinking only of himself and not at all of the work. He never +thought of adapting himself to it. He was under an illusion: he saw in the +poem something absolutely different from what was actually in it--just as +when he was a child he used to compose in his mind a play entirely +different from that which was upon the stage. + +It was not until it came to rehearsal that he saw the real play. One day he +was listening to a scene, and he thought it so stupid that he fancied the +actors must be spoiling it, and went so far as to explain it to them in +the poet's presence; but also to explain it to the poet himself, who was +defending his interpretation. The author refused bluntly to hear him, and +said with some asperity that he thought he knew what he had meant to write. +Christophe would not give in, and maintained that Hellmuth knew nothing +about it. The general merriment told him that he was making himself +ridiculous. He said no more, agreeing that after all it was not he who had +written the poem. Then he saw the appalling emptiness of the play and was +overwhelmed by it: he wondered how he could ever have been persuaded to +try it. He called himself an idiot and tore his hair. He tried in vain to +reassure himself by saying: "You know nothing about it; it is not your +business. Keep to your music." He was so much ashamed of certain idiotic +things in it, of the pretentious pathos, the crying falsity of the words, +the gestures and attitudes, that sometimes, when he was conducting the +orchestra, he hardly had the strength to raise his baton. He wanted to go +and hide in the prompter's box. He was too frank and too little politic to +conceal what he thought. Every one noticed it: his friends, the actors, and +the author. Hellmuth said to him with a frigid smile: + +"Is it not fortunate enough to please you?" + +Christophe replied honestly: + +"Truth to tell, no. I don't understand it," + +"Then you did not read it when you set it to music?" + +"Yes," said Christophe naïvely, "but I made a mistake. I understood it +differently." + +"It is a pity you did not write what you understood yourself." + +"Oh! If only I could have done so!" said Christophe. + +The poet was vexed, and in his turn criticised the music. He complained +that it was in the way and prevented his words being heard. + +If the poet did not understand the musician, or the musician the poet, the +actors understood neither the one nor the other, and did not care. They +were only asking for sentences in their parts on which to bring in their +usual effects. They had no idea of adapting their declamation to the +formality of the piece and the musical rhythm. They went one way, the +music another. It was as though they were constantly singing out of tune. +Christophe ground his teeth and shouted the note at them until he was +hoarse. They let him shout and went on imperturbably, not even +understanding what he wanted them to do. + +Christophe would have flung the whole thing up if the rehearsals had not +been so far advanced, and he had not been bound to go on by fear of legal +proceedings. Mannheim, to whom he confided his discouragement, laughed at +him: + +"What is it?" he asked. "It is all going well. You don't understand each +other? What does that matter? Who has ever understood his work but the +author? It is a toss-up whether he understands it himself!" + +Christophe was worried about the stupidity of the poem, which, he said, +would ruin the music. Mannheim made no difficulty about admitting that +there was no common sense in the poem and that Hellmuth was "a muff," but +he would not worry about him: Hellmuth gave good dinners and had a pretty +wife. What more did criticism want? + +Christophe shrugged his shoulders and said that he had no time to listen to +nonsense. + +"It is not nonsense!" said Mannheim, laughing. "How serious people are! +They have no idea of what matters in life." + +And he advised Christophe not to bother so much about Hellmuth's business, +but to attend to his own. He wanted him to advertise a little. Christophe +refused indignantly. To a reporter who came and asked for a history of his +life, he replied furiously: + +"It is not your affair!" + +And when they asked for his photograph for a review, he stamped with rage +and shouted that he was not, thank God! an emperor, to have his face +passed from hand to hand. It was impossible to bring him into touch with +influential people. He never replied to invitations, and when he had been +forced by any chance to accept, he would forget to go or would go with such +a bad grace that he seemed to have set himself to be disagreeable to +everybody. + +But the climax came when he quarreled with his review, two days before the +performance. + + * * * * * + +The thing was bound to happen. Mannheim had gone on revising Christophe's +articles, and he no longer scrupled about deleting whole lines of criticism +and replacing them with compliments. + +One day, out visiting, Christophe met a certain virtuoso--a foppish pianist +whom he had slaughtered. The man came and thanked him with a smile that +showed all his white teeth. He replied brutally that there was no reason +for it. The other insisted and poured forth expressions of gratitude. +Christophe cut him short by saying, that if he was satisfied with the +article that was his affair, but that the article had certainly not been +written with a view to pleasing him. And he turned his back on him. The +virtuoso thought him a kindly boor and went away laughing. But Christophe +remembered having received a card of thanks from another of his victims, +and a suspicion flashed upon him. He went out, bought the last number of +the Review at a news-stand, turned to his article, and read... At first he +wondered if he were going mad. Then he understood, and, mad with rage, he +ran to the office of the _Dionysos_. + +Waldhaus and Mannheim were there, talking to an actress whom they knew. +They had no need to ask Christophe what brought him. Throwing a number of +the Review on the table, Christophe let fly at them without stopping to +take breath, with extraordinary violence, shouting, calling them rogues, +rascals, forgers, thumping on the floor with a chair. Mannheim began to +laugh. Christophe tried to kick him. Mannheim took refuge behind the table +and rolled with laughter. But Waldhaus took it very loftily. With dignity, +formally, he tried to make himself heard through the row, and said that he +would not allow any one to talk to him in such a tone, that Christophe +should hear from him, and he held out his card. Christophe flung it in his +face. + +"Mischief-maker!--I don't need your card to know what you are.... You are a +rascal and a forger!... And you think I would fight with you ... a +thrashing is all you deserve!..." + +His voice could be heard in the street. People stopped to listen. Mannheim +closed the windows. The actress tried to escape, but Christophe was +blocking the way. Waldhaus was pale and choking. Mannheim was stuttering +and stammering and trying to reply. Christophe did not let them speak. He +let loose upon them every expression he could think of, and never stopped +until he was out of breath and had come to an end of his insults. Waldhaus +and Mannheim only found their tongues after he had gone. Mannheim quickly +recovered himself: insults slipped from him like water from a duck's back. +But Waldhaus was still sore: his dignity had been outraged, and what made +the affront more mortifying was that there had been witnesses. He would +never forgive it. His colleagues joined chorus with him. Mannheim only of +the staff of the Review was not angry with Christophe. He had had his fill +of entertainment out of him: it did not seem to him a heavy price to pay +for his pound of flesh, to suffer a few violent words. It had been a good +joke. If he had been the butt of it he would have been the first to laugh. +And so he was quite ready to shake hands with Christophe as though nothing +had happened. But Christophe was more rancorous and rejected all advances. +Mannheim did not care. Christophe was a toy from which he had extracted all +the amusement possible. He was beginning to want a new puppet. From that +very day all was over between them. But that did not prevent Mannheim still +saying, whenever Christophe was mentioned in his presence, that they were +intimate friends. And perhaps he thought they were. + +Two days after the quarrel the first performance of _Iphigenia_ took place. +It was an utter failure. Waldhaus' review praised the poem and made no +mention of the music. The other papers and reviews made merry over it. They +laughed and hissed. The piece was withdrawn after the third performance, +but the jokes at its expense did not disappear so quickly. People were +only too glad of the opportunity of having a fling at Christophe, and for +several weeks the _Iphigenia_ remained an unfailing subject for joking. +They knew that Christophe had no weapon of defense, and they took advantage +of it. The only thing which held them back a little was his position at the +Court. Although his relation with the Grand Duke had become quite cold, for +the Prince had several times made remarks to which he had paid no attention +whatever, he still went to the Palace at intervals, and still enjoyed, in +the eye of the public, a sort of official protection, though it was more +visionary than real. He took upon himself to destroy even that last +support. + +He suffered from the criticisms. They were concerned not only with his +music, but also with his idea of a new form of art, which the writers did +not take the trouble to understand. It was very easy to travesty it and +make fun of it. Christophe was not yet wise enough to know that the best +reply to dishonest critics is to make none and to go on working. For some +months past he had fallen into the bad habit of not letting any unjust +attack go unanswered. He wrote an article in which he did not spare certain +of his adversaries. The two papers to which he took it returned it with +ironically polite excuses for being unable to publish it. Christophe stuck +to his guns. He remembered that the socialist paper in the town had made +advances to him. He knew one of the editors. They used to meet and talk +occasionally. Christophe was glad to find some one who would talk freely +about power, the army and oppression and archaic prejudices. But they could +not go far with each other, for the socialist always came back to Karl +Marx, about whom Christophe cared not a rap. Moreover, Christophe used to +find in his speeches about the free man--besides a materialism which was +not much to his taste--a pedantic severity and a despotism of thought, a +secret cult of force, an inverse militarism, all of which did not sound +very different from what he heard every day in German. + +However, he thought of this man and his paper when he saw all other doors +in journalism closed to him. He knew that his doing so would cause a +scandal. The paper was violent, malignant, and always being condemned. But +as Christophe never read it, he only thought of the boldness of its ideas, +of which he was not afraid, and not of the baseness of its tone, which +would have repelled him. Besides, he was so angry at seeing the other +papers in alliance to suppress him that perhaps he would have gone on even +if he had been warned. He wanted to show people that he was not so easily +got rid of. So he took his article to the socialist paper, which received +it with open arms. The next day the article appeared, and the paper +announced in large letters that it had engaged the support of the young and +talented maestro, Jean-Christophe Krafft, whose keen sympathy with the +demands of the working classes was well known. + +Christophe read neither the note nor the article, for he had gone out +before dawn for a walk in the country, it being Sunday. He was in fine +fettle. As he saw the sun rise he shouted, laughed, yodeled, leaped, and +danced. No more review, no more criticisms to do! It was spring and there +was once more the music of the heavens and the earth, the most beautiful +of all. No more dark concert rooms, stuffy and smelly, unpleasant people, +dull performers. Now the marvelous song of the murmuring forests was to be +heard, and over the fields like waves there passed the intoxicating scents +of life, breaking through the crust of the earth and issuing from the +grave. + +He went home with his head buzzing with light and music, and his mother +gave him a letter which had been brought from the Palace while he was away. +The letter was in an impersonal form, and told Herr Krafft that he was to +go to the Palace that morning. The morning was past, it was nearly one +o'clock. Christophe was not put about. + +"It is too late now," he said. "It will do to-morrow." + +But his mother said anxiously: + +"No, no. You cannot put off an appointment with His Highness like that: you +must go at once. Perhaps it is a matter of importance." + +Christophe shrugged his shoulders. + +"Important! As if those people could have anything important to say!... +He wants to tell me his ideas about music. That will be funny!... If only +he has not taken it into his head to rival Siegfried Meyer [Footnote: A +nickname given by German pamphleteers to H.M. (His Majesty) the Emperor.] +and wants to show me a _Hymn to Aegis_! I vow that I will not spare him. +I shall say: 'Stick to politics. You are master there. You will always +be right. But beware of art! In art you are seen without your plumes, +your helmet, your uniform, your money, your titles, your ancestors, your +policemen--and just think for a moment what will be left of you then!'" + +Poor Louisa took him quite seriously and raised her hands in horror. + +"You won't say that!... You are mad! Mad!" + +It amused him to make her uneasy by playing upon her credulity until he +became so extravagant that Louisa began to see that he was making fun of +her. + +"You are stupid, my boy!" + +He laughed and kissed her. He was in a wonderfully good humor. On his walk +he had found a beautiful musical theme, and he felt it frolicking in him +like a fish in water. He refused to go to the Palace until he had had +something to eat. He was as hungry as an ape. Louisa then supervised his +dressing, for he was beginning to tease her again, pretending that he +was quite all right as he was with his old clothes and dusty boots. But +he changed them all the same, and cleaned his boots, whistling like a +blackbird and imitating all the instruments in an orchestra. When he +had finished his mother inspected him and gravely tied his tie for him +again. For once in a way he was very patient, because he was pleased with +himself--which was not very usual. He went off saying that he was going to +elope with Princess Adelaide--the Grand Duke's daughter, quite a pretty +woman, who was married to a German princeling and had come to stay with her +parents for a few weeks. She had shown sympathy for Christophe when he was +a child, and he had a soft side for her. Louisa used to declare that he was +in love with her, and he would pretend to be so in fun. + +He did not hurry; he dawdled and looked into the shops, and stopped to +pat some dog that he knew as it lay on its side and yawned in the sun. +He jumped over the harmless railings which inclosed the Palace square--a +great empty square, surrounded with houses, with two little fountains, two +symmetrical bare flower-beds, divided, as by a parting, by a gravel path, +carefully raked and bordered by orange trees in tubs. In the middle was +the bronze statue of some unknown Grand Duke in the costume of Louis +Philippe, on a pediment adorned at the four corners by allegorical figures +representing the Virtues. On a seat one solitary man was dozing over his +paper. Behind the silly moat of the earthworks of the Palace two sleepy +cannon yawned upon the sleepy town. Christophe laughed at the whole thing. + +He entered the Palace without troubling to take on a more official manner. +At most he stopped humming, but his thoughts went dancing on inside him. He +threw his hat on the table in the hall and familiarly greeted the old +usher, whom he had known since he was a child. (The old man had been there +on the day when Christophe had first entered the Palace, on the evening +when he had seen Hassler.) But to-day the old man, who always used to reply +good-humoredly to Christophe's disrespectful sallies, now seemed a little +haughty. Christophe paid no heed to it. A little farther on, in the +ante-chamber, he met a clerk of the chancery, who was usually full of +conversation and very friendly. He was surprised to see him hurry past him +to avoid having to talk. However, he did not attach any significance to it, +and went on and asked to be shown in. + +He went in. They had just finished dinner. His Highness was in one of the +drawing-rooms. He was leaning against the mantelpiece, smoking, and talking +to his guests, among whom Christophe saw _his_ princess, who was also +smoking. She was lying back in an armchair and talking in a loud voice to +some officers who made a circle about her. The gathering was lively. They +were all very merry, and when Christophe entered he heard the Grand Duke's +thick laugh. But he stopped dead when he saw Christophe. He growled and +pounced on him. + +"Ah! There you are!" he said. "You have condescended to come at last? Do +you think you can go on making fun of me any longer? You're a blackguard, +sir!" + +Christophe was so staggered by this brutal attack that it was some time +before he could utter a word. He was thinking that he was only late, and +that that could not have provoked such violence. He murmured: + +"What have I done, Your Highness?" + +His Highness did not listen and went on angrily: + +"Be silent! I will not be insulted by a blackguard!" Christophe turned +pale, and gulped so as to try to speak, for he was choking. He made an +effort, and said: + +"Your Highness, you have no right--you have no right to insult me without +telling me what I have done." + +The Grand Duke turned to his secretary, who produced a paper from his +pocket and held it out to him. He was in such a state of exasperation as +could not be explained only by his anger: the fumes of good wine had their +share in it, too. He came and stood in front of Christophe, and like a +toreador with his cape, furiously waved the crumpled newspaper in his face +and shouted: + +"Your muck, sir!... You deserve to have your nose rubbed in it!" + +Christophe recognized the socialist paper. + +"I don't see what harm there is in it," he said. + +"What! What!" screamed the Grand Duke. "You are impudent!... This rascally +paper, which insults me from day to day, and spews out filthy insults upon +me!..." + +"Sire," said Christophe, "I have not read it." + +"You lie!" shouted the Grand Duke. + +"You shall not call me a liar," said Christophe. "I have not read it. I am +only concerned with reviews, and besides, I have the right to write in +whatever paper I like." + +"You have no right but to hold your tongue. I have been too kind to you. I +have heaped kindness upon you, you and yours, in spite of your misconduct +and your father's, which would have justified me in cutting you off. I +forbid you to go on writing in a paper which is hostile to me. And further: +I forbid you altogether to write anything in future without my authority. +I have had enough of your musical polemics. I will not allow any one who +enjoys my patronage to spend his time in attacking everything which is dear +to people of taste and feeling, to all true Germans. You would do better to +write better music, or if that is impossible, to practise your scales and +exercises. I don't want to have anything to do with a musical Bebel who +amuses himself by decrying all our national glories and upsetting the minds +of the people. We know what is good, thank God. We do not need to wait for +you to tell us. Go to your piano, sir, or leave us in peace!" + +Standing face to face with Christophe the fat man glared at him +insultingly. Christophe was livid, and tried to speak. His lips moved; he +stammered: + +"I am not your slave. I shall say what I like and write what I like ..." + +He choked. He was almost weeping with shame and rage. His legs were +trembling. He jerked his elbow and upset an ornament on a table by his +side. He felt that he was in a ridiculous position. He heard people +laughing. He looked down the room, and as through a mist saw the princess +watching the scene and exchanging ironically commiserating remarks with her +neighbors. He lost count of what exactly happened. The Grand Duke shouted. +Christophe shouted louder than he without knowing what he said. The +Prince's secretary and another official came towards him and tried to stop +him. He pushed them away, and while he talked he waved an ash-tray which he +had mechanically picked up from the table against which he was leaning. He +heard the secretary say: + +"Put it down! Put it down!" + +And he heard himself shouting inarticulately and knocking on the edge of +the table with the ash-tray. + +"Go!" roared the Grand Duke, beside himself with rage. "Go! Go! I'll have +you thrown out!" + +The officers had come up to the Prince and were trying to calm him. The +Grand Duke looked apoplectic. His eyes were starting from his head, he +shouted to them to throw the rascal out. Christophe saw red. He longed to +thrust his fist in the Grand Duke's face; but he was crushed under a weight +of conflicting feelings: shame, fury, a remnant of shyness, of German +loyalty, traditional respect, habits of humility in the Prince's presence. +He tried to speak; he could not. He tried to move; he could not. He could +not see or hear. He suffered them to push him along and left the room. + +He passed through the impassive servants who had come up to the door, and +had missed nothing of the quarrel. He had to go thirty yards to cross the +ante-chamber, and it seemed a lifetime. The corridor grew longer and longer +as he walked up it. He would never get out!... The light of day which +he saw shining downstairs through the glass door was his haven. He went +stumbling down the stairs. He forgot that he was bareheaded. The old usher +reminded him to take his hat. He had to gather all his forces to leave the +castle, cross the court, reach his home. His teeth were chattering when he +opened the door. His mother was terrified by his face and his trembling. He +avoided her and refused to answer her questions. He went up to his room, +shut himself in, and lay down. He was shaking so that he could not undress. +His breathing came in jerks and his whole body seemed shattered.... Oh! If +only he could see no more, feel no more, no longer have to bear with his +wretched body, no longer have to struggle against ignoble life, and fall, +fall, breathless, without thought, and no longer be anywhere!... With +frightful difficulty he tore off his clothes and left them on the ground, +and then flung himself into his bed and drew the coverings over him. There +was no sound in the room save that of the little iron bed rattling on the +tiled floor. + +Louisa listened at the door. She knocked in vain. She called softly. There +was no reply. She waited, anxiously listening through the silence. Then she +went away. Once or twice during the day she came and listened, and again +at night, before she went to bed. Day passed, and the night. The house was +still. Christophe was shaking with fever. Every now and then he wept, and +in the night he got up several times and shook his fist at the wall. About +two o'clock, in an access of madness, he got up from his bed, sweating and +half naked. He wanted to go and kill the Grand Duke, He was devoured by +hate and shame. His body and his heart writhed in the fire of it. Nothing +of all the storm in him could be heard outside; not a word, not a sound. +With clenched teeth he fought it down and forced it back into himself. + + * * * * * + +Next morning he came down as usual. He was a wreck. He said nothing and his +mother dared not question him. She knew, from the gossip of the +neighborhood. All day he stayed sitting by the fire, silent, feverish, and +with bent head, like a little old man. And when he was alone he wept in +silence. + +In the evening the editor of the socialist paper came to see him. Naturally +he had heard and wished to have details. Christophe was touched by his +coming, and interpreted it naïvely as a mark of sympathy and a desire for +forgiveness on the part of those who had compromised him. He made a point +of seeming to regret nothing and he let himself go and said everything that +was rankling in him. It was some solace for him to talk freely to a man +who shared his hatred of oppression. The other urged him on. He saw a good +chance for his journal in the event, and an opportunity for a scandalous +article, for which he expected Christophe to provide him with material if +he did not write it himself; for he thought that after such an explosion +the Court musician would put his very considerable political talents and +his no less considerable little tit-bits of secret information about the +Court at the service of "the cause." As he did not plume himself on his +subtlety he presented the thing rawly in the crudest light. Christophe +started. He declared that he would write nothing and said that any attack +on the Grand Duke that he might make would be interpreted as an act of +personal vengeance, and that he would be more reserved now that he was free +than when, not being free, he ran some risk in saying what he thought. The +journalist could not understand his scruples. He thought Christophe narrow +and clerical at heart, but he also decided that Christophe was afraid. He +said: + +"Oh, well! Leave it to us. I will write it myself. You need not bother +about it." + +Christophe begged him to say nothing, but he had no means of restraining +him. Besides, the journalist declared that the affair was not his concern +only: the insult touched the paper, which had the right to avenge itself. +There was nothing to be said to that. All that Christophe could do was to +ask him on his word of honor not to abuse certain of his confidences which +had been made to his friend and not to the journalist. The other made no +difficulty about that. Christophe was not reassured by it. He knew too well +how imprudent he had been. When he was left alone he turned over everything +that he had said, and shuddered. Without hesitating for a moment, he wrote +to the journalist imploring him once more not to repeat what he had +confided to him. (The poor wretch repeated it in part himself in the +letter.) + +Next day, as he opened the paper with feverish haste, the first thing he +read was his story at great length on the front page. Everything that he +had said on the evening before was immeasurably enlarged, having suffered +that peculiar deformation which everything has to suffer in its passage +through the mind of a journalist. The article attacked the Grand Duke and +the Court with low invective. Certain details which it gave were too +personal to Christophe, too obviously known only to him, for the article +not to be attributed to him in its entirety. + +Christophe was crushed by this fresh blow. As he read a cold sweat came out +on his face. When he had finished he was dumfounded. He wanted to rush to +the office of the paper, but his mother withheld him, not unreasonably +being fearful of his violence. He was afraid of it himself. He felt that if +he went there he would do something foolish; and he stayed--and did a very +foolish thing. He wrote an indignant letter to the journalist in which he +reproached him for his conduct in insulting terms, disclaimed the article, +and broke with the party. The disclaimer did not appear. + +Christophe wrote again to the paper, demanding that his letter should be +published. They sent him a copy of his first letter, written on the night +of the interview and confirming it. They asked if they were to publish +that, too. He felt that he was in their hands. Thereupon he unfortunately +met the indiscreet interviewer in the street. He could not help telling +him of his contempt for him. Next day the paper, without a spark of shame, +published an insulting paragraph about the servants of the Court, who even +when they are dismissed remain servants and are incapable of being free. A +few allusions to recent events left no room for doubt that Christophe was +meant. + + * * * * * + +When it became evident to everybody that Christophe had no single support, +there suddenly cropped up a host of enemies whose existence he had never +suspected. All those whom he had offended, directly or indirectly, either +by personal criticism or by attacking their ideas and taste, now took the +offensive and avenged themselves with interest. The general public whom +Christophe had tried to shake out of their apathy were quite pleased to see +the insolent young man, who had presumed to reform opinion and disturb the +rest of people of property, taken down a peg. Christophe was in the water. +Everybody did their best to duck him. + +They did not come down upon him all at once. One tried first, to spy out +the land. Christophe made no response, and he struck more lustily. Others +followed, and then the whole gang of them. Some joined in the sport +simply for fun, like puppies who think it funny to leave their mark in +inappropriate places. They were the flying squadron of incompetent +journalists, who, knowing nothing, try to hide their ignorance by belauding +the victors and belaboring the vanquished. Others brought the weight of +their principles and they shouted like deaf people. Nothing was left of +anything when they had passed. They were the critics--with the criticism +which kills. + +Fortunately for Christophe, he did not read the papers. A few devoted +friends took care to send him the most insulting. But he left them in a +heap on his desk and never thought of opening them. It was only towards +the end of it that his eyes were attracted by a great red mark round an +article. He read that his _Lieder_ were like the roaring of a wild beast; +that his symphonies seemed to have come from a madhouse; that his art was +hysterical, his harmony spasmodic, as a change from the dryness of his +heart and the emptiness of his thought. The critic, who was well known, +ended with these words: + +"Herr Krafft as a journalist has lately given astounding proof of his style +and taste, which roused irresistible merriment in musical circles. He was +then given the friendly advice rather to devote himself to composition. But +the latest products of his muse have shown that this advice, though +well-meant, was bad. Herr Krafft should certainly devote himself to +journalism." + +After reading the article, which prevented Christophe working the whole +morning, naturally he began to look for the other hostile papers, and +became utterly demoralized. But Louisa, who had a mania for moving +everything lying about, by way of "tidying up," had already burned them. He +was irritated at first and then comforted, and he held out the last of the +papers to her, and said that she had better do the same with that. + +Other rebuffs hurt him more. A quartette which he had sent in manuscript +to a well-known society at Frankfort was rejected unanimously and returned +without explanation. An overture which an orchestra at Cologne seemed +disposed to perform was returned after a month as unplayable. But the worst +of all was inflicted on him by an orchestral society in the town. The +_Kapellmeister_, H. Euphrat, its conductor, was quite a good musician, but +like many conductors, he had no curiosity of mind. He suffered (or rather +he carried to extremes) the laziness peculiar to his class, which consists +in going on and on investigating familiar works, while it shuns any really +new work like the plague. He was never tired of organizing Beethoven, +Mozart, or Schumann festivals: in conducting these works he had only to let +himself be carried along by the purring of the familiar rhythms. On the +other hand, contemporary music was intolerable to him. He dared not admit +it and pretended to be friendly towards young talent; in fact, whenever he +was brought a work built on the old lines--a sort of hotch-potch of works +that had been new fifty years before--he would receive it very well, and +would even produce it ostentatiously and force it upon the public. It +did not disturb either his effects or the way in which the public was +accustomed to be moved. On the other hand, he was filled with a mixture +of contempt and hatred for anything which threatened to disturb that +arrangement and put him to extra trouble. Contempt would predominate if the +innovator had no chance of emerging from obscurity. But if there were any +danger of his succeeding, then hatred would predominate--of course until +the moment when he had gained an established success. + +Christophe was not yet in that position: far from it. And so he was much +surprised when he was informed, by indirect overtures, that Herr H. Euphrat +would be very glad to produce one of his compositions. It was all the more +unexpected as he knew that the _Kapellmeister_ was an intimate friend of +Brahms and others whom he had maltreated in his criticisms. Being honest +himself, he credited his adversaries with the same generous feelings which +he would have had himself. He supposed that now that he was down they +wished to show him that they were above petty spite. He was touched by it. +He wrote effusively to Herr Euphrat and sent him a symphonic poem. The +conductor replied through his secretary coldly but politely, acknowledging +the receipt of his work, and adding that, in accordance with the rules of +the society, the symphony would be given out to the orchestra immediately +and put to the test of a general rehearsal before it could be accepted for +public hearing. A rule is a rule. Christophe had to bow to it, though it +was a pure formality which served to weed out the lucubrations of amateurs +which were sometimes a nuisance. + +A few weeks later Christophe was told that his composition was to be +rehearsed. On principle everything was done privately and even the author +was not permitted to be present at the rehearsal. But by a generally agreed +indulgence the author was always admitted; only he did not show himself. +Everybody knew it and everybody pretended not to know it. On the appointed +day one of his friends brought Christophe to the hall, where he sat at the +back of a box. He was surprised to see that at this private rehearsal the +hall--at least the ground floor seats--were almost all filled; a crowd of +dilettante idlers and critics moved about and chattered to each other. The +orchestra had to ignore their presence. + +They began with the Brahms _Rhapsody_ for alto, chorus of male voices, and +orchestra on a fragment of the _Harzreise im Winter_ of Goethe. Christophe, +who detested the majestic sentimentality of the work, thought that perhaps +the "Brahmins" had introduced it politely to avenge themselves by forcing +him to hear a composition of which he had written irreverently. The idea +made him laugh, and his good humour increased when after the _Rhapsody_ +there came two other productions by known musicians whom he had taken to +task; there seemed to be no doubt about their intentions. And while he +could not help making a face at it he thought that after all it was quite +fair tactics; and, failing the music, he appreciated the joke. It even +amused him to applaud ironically with the audience, which made manifest its +enthusiasm for Brahms and his like. + +At last it came to Christophe's symphony. He saw from the way the orchestra +and the people in the hall were looking at his box that they were aware of +his presence. He hid himself. He waited with the catch at his heart which +every musician feels at the moment when the conductor's wand is raised and +the waters of the music gather in silence before bursting their dam. He +had never yet heard his work played. How would the creatures of his dreams +live? How would their voices sound? He felt their roaring within him; and +he leaned over the abyss of sounds waiting fearfully for what should come +forth. + +What did come forth was a nameless thing, a shapeless hotch-potch. Instead +of the bold columns which were to support the front of the building the +chords came crumbling down like a building in ruins; there was nothing to +be seen but the dust of mortar. For a moment Christophe was not quite sure +whether they were really playing his work. He cast back for the train, the +rhythm of his thoughts; he could not recognize it; it went on babbling +and hiccoughing like a drunken man clinging close to the wall, and he was +overcome with shame, as though he had himself been seen in that condition. +It was of no avail to think that he had not written such stuff; when an +idiotic interpreter destroys a man's thoughts he has always a moment of +doubt when he asks himself in consternation if he is himself responsible +for it. The audience never asks such a question; the audience believes in +the interpreter, in the singers, in the orchestra whom they are accustomed +to hear as they believe in their newspaper; they cannot make a mistake; if +they say absurd things, it is the absurdity of the author. This audience +was the less inclined to doubt because it liked to believe. Christophe +tried to persuade himself that the _Kapellmeister_ was aware of the hash +and would stop the orchestra and begin again. The instruments were not +playing together. The horn had missed his beat and had come in a bar too +late; he went on for a few minutes, and then stopped quietly to clean his +instrument. Certain passages for the oboe had absolutely disappeared. +It was impossible for the most skilled ear to pick up the thread of +the musical idea, or even to imagine that there was one. Fantastic +instrumentations, humoristic sallies became grotesque through the +coarseness of the execution. It was lamentably stupid, the work of an +idiot, of a joker who knew nothing of music. Christophe tore his hair. He +tried to interrupt, but the friend who was with him held him back, assuring +him that the _Herr Kapellmeister_ must surely see the faults of the +execution and would put everything right--that Christophe must not show +himself and that if he made any remark it would have a very bad effect. He +made Christophe sit at the very back of the box. Christophe obeyed, but he +beat his head with his fists; and every fresh monstrosity drew from him a +groan of indignation and misery. + +"The wretches! The wretches!..." + +He groaned, and squeezed his hands tight to keep himself from crying out. + +Now mingled with the wrong notes there came up to him the muttering of the +audience, who were beginning to be restless. At first it was only a tremor; +but soon Christophe was left without a doubt; they were laughing. The +musicians of the orchestra had given the signal; some of them did not +conceal their hilarity. The audience, certain then that the music was +laughable, rocked with laughter. This merriment became general; it +increased at the return of a very rhythmical motif which the double-basses +accentuated in a burlesque fashion. Only the _Kapellmeister_ went on +through the uproar imperturbably beating time. + +At last they reached the end (the best things come to an end). It was the +turn of the audience. They exploded with delight, an explosion which lasted +for several minutes. Some hissed; others applauded ironically; the wittiest +of all shouted "Encore!" A bass voice coming from a stage box began to +imitate the grotesque motif. Other jokers followed suit and imitated it +also. Some one shouted "Author!" It was long since these witty folk had +been so highly entertained. + +When the tumult was calmed down a little the _Kapellmeister_, standing +quite impassive with his face turned towards the audience though he +was pretending not to see it--(the audience was still supposed to be +non-existent)--made a sign to the audience that he was about to speak. +There was a cry of "Ssh," and silence. He waited a moment longer; +then--(his voice was curt, cold, and cutting): + +"Gentlemen," he said, "I should certainly not have let _that_ he played +through to the end if I had not wished to make an example of the gentleman +who has dared to write offensively of the great Brahms." + +That was all; and jumping down from his stand he went out amid cheers from +the delighted audience. They tried to recall him; the applause went on for +a few minutes longer. But he did not return. The orchestra went away. The +audience decided to go too. The concert was over. + +It had been a good day. + +Christophe had gone already. Hardly had he seen the wretched conductor +leave his desk when he had rushed from the box; he plunged down the stairs +from the first floor to meet him and slap his face. His friend who had +brought him followed and tried to hold him back, but Christophe brushed him +aside and almost threw him downstairs;--(he had reason to believe that the +fellow was concerned in the trick which had been played him). Fortunately +for H. Euphrat and himself the door leading to the stage was shut; and his +furious knocking could not make them open it. However the audience was +beginning to leave the hall. Christophe could not stay there. He fled. + +He was in an indescribable condition. He walked blindly, waving his arms, +rolling his eyes, talking aloud like a madman; he suppressed his cries +of indignation and rage. The street was almost empty. The concert hall +had been built the year before in a new neighborhood a little way out of +the town; and Christophe instinctively fled towards the country across +the empty fields in which were a few lonely shanties and scaffoldings +surrounded by fences. His thoughts were murderous; he could have killed the +man who had put such an affront upon him. Alas! and when he had killed him +would there he any change in the animosity of those people whose insulting +laughter was still ringing in his ears? They were too many; he could do +nothing against them; they were all agreed--they who were divided about so +many things--to insult and crush him. It was past understanding; there was +hatred in them. What had he done to them all? There were beautiful things +in him, things to do good and make the heart big; he had tried to say them, +to make others enjoy them; he thought they would be happy like himself. +Even if they did not like them they should he grateful to him for his +intentions; they could, if need be, show him kindly where he had been +wrong; but that they should take such a malignant joy in insulting and +odiously travestying his ideas, in trampling them underfoot, and killing +him by ridicule, how was it possible? In his excitement he exaggerated +their hatred; he thought it much more serious than such mediocre people +could ever be. He sobbed: "What have I done to them?" He choked, he thought +that all was lost, just as he did when he was a child coming into contact +for the first time with human wickedness. + +And when he looked about him he suddenly saw that he had reached the edge +of the mill-race, at the very spot where a few years before his father had +been drowned. And at once he thought of drowning himself too. He was just +at the point of making the plunge. + +But as he leaned over the steep bank, fascinated by the calm clean aspect +of the water, a tiny bird in a tree by his side began to sing--to sing +madly. He held his breath to listen. The water murmured. The ripening corn +moaned as it waved under the soft caressing wind; the poplars shivered. +Behind the hedge on the road, out of sight, bees in hives in a garden +filled the air with their scented music. From the other side of the stream +a cow was chewing the cud and gazing with soft eyes. A little fair-haired +girl was sitting on a wall, with a light basket on her shoulders, like a +little angel with wings, and she was dreaming, and swinging her bare legs +and humming aimlessly. Far away in a meadow a white dog was leaping and +running in wide circles. Christophe leaned against a tree and listened and +watched the earth in Spring; he was caught up by the peace and joy of these +creatures; he could forget, he could forget. Suddenly he clasped the tree +with his arms and leaned his cheek against it. He threw himself on the +ground; he buried his face in the grass; he laughed nervously, happily. +All the beauty, the grace, the charm of life wrapped him round, imbued his +soul, and he sucked them up like a sponge. He thought: + +"Why are you so beautiful, and they--men--so ugly?" + +No matter! He loved it, he loved it, he felt that he would always love it, +and that nothing could ever take it from him. He held the earth to his +breast. He held life to his breast: + +"I love you! You are mine. They cannot take you from me. Let them do what +they will! Let them make me suffer!... Suffering also is life!" + +Christophe began bravely to work again. He refused to have anything more +to do with "men of letters"--well named--makers of phrases, the sterile +babblers, journalists, critics, the exploiters and traffickers of art. As +for musicians he would waste no more time in battling with their prejudices +and jealousy. They did not want him? Very well! He did not want them. +He had his work to do; he would do it. The Court had given him back his +liberty; he was grateful for it. He was grateful to the people for their +hostility; he could work in peace. + +Louisa approved with all her heart. She had no ambition; she was not a +Krafft; she was like neither his father nor his grandfather. She did not +want honors or reputation for her son. She would have liked him to be rich +and famous; but if those advantages could only be bought at the price of so +much unpleasantness she much preferred not to bother about them. She had +been more upset by Christophe's grief over his rupture with the Palace than +by the event itself; and she was heartily glad that he had quarreled with +the review and newspaper people. She had a peasant's distrust of blackened +paper; it was only a waste of time and made enemies. She had sometimes +heard his young friends of the Review talking to Christophe; she had been +horrified by their malevolence; they tore everything to pieces and said +horrible things about everybody; and the worse things they said the better +pleased they were. She did not like them. No doubt they were very clever +and very learned, but they were not kind, and she was very glad that +Christophe saw no more of them. She was full of common sense: what good +were they to him? + +"They may say, write, and think what they like of me," said Christophe. +"They cannot prevent my being myself. What do their ideas or their art +matter to me? I deny them!" + + * * * * * + +It is all very fine to deny the world. But the world is not so easily +denied by a young man's boasting. Christophe was sincere, but he was under +illusion; he did not know himself. He was not a monk; he had not the +temperament for renouncing the world, and besides he was not old enough to +do so. At first he did not suffer much, he was plunged in composition; and +while his work lasted he did not feel the want of anything. But when he +came to the period of depression which follows the completion of a work and +lasts until a new work takes possession of the mind, he looked about him +and was horrified by his loneliness. He asked himself why he wrote. While +a man is writing he never asks himself that question; he must write, there +is no arguing about it. And then he finds himself with the work that he has +begotten: the great instinct which caused it to spring forth is silent; he +does not understand why it was born: he hardly recognizes it, it is almost +a stranger to him; he longs to forget it. And that is impossible as long as +it is not published or played, or living its own life in the world. Till +then it is like a new-born child attached to its mother, a living thing +bound fast to his living flesh; it must be amputated at all costs or it +will not live. The more Christophe composed the more he suffered under +the weight of these creatures who had sprung forth from himself and could +neither live nor die. He was haunted by them. Who could deliver him from +them? Some obscure impulse would stir in these children of his thoughts; +they longed desperately to break away from him to expand into other souls +like the quick and fruitful seed which the wind scatters over the universe. +Must he remain imprisoned in his sterility? He raged against it. + +Since every outlet--theaters, concerts--was closed to him, and nothing +would induce him to approach those managers who had once failed him, there +was nothing left but for him to publish his writings, but he could not +flatter himself that it would be easier to find a publisher to produce his +work than an orchestra to play it. The two or three clumsy attempts that he +had made were enough; rather than expose himself to another rebuff, or to +bargain with one of these music merchants and put up with his patronizing +airs, he preferred to publish it at his own expense. It was an act of +madness; he had some small savings out of his Court salary and the proceeds +of a few concerts, but the source from which the money had come was dried +up and it would be a long time before he could find another; and he should +have been prudent enough to be careful with his scanty funds which had to +help him over the difficult period upon which he was entering. Not only did +he not do so; but, as his savings were not enough to cover the expenses of +publication, he did not shrink from getting into debt. Louisa dared not say +anything; she found him absolutely unreasonable, and did not understand how +anybody could spend money for the sake of seeing his name on a book; but +since it was a way of making him be patient and of keeping him with her, +she was only too happy for him to have that satisfaction. + +Instead of offering the public compositions of a familiar and undisturbing +kind, in which it could feel at home, Christophe chose from among his +manuscripts a suite very individual in character, which he valued highly. +They were piano pieces mixed with _Lieder_, some very short and popular in +style, others very elaborate and almost dramatic. The whole formed a series +of impressions, joyous or mild, linked together naturally and written +alternately for the piano and the voice, alone or accompanied. "For," said +Christophe, "when I dream, I do not always formulate what I feel. I suffer, +I am happy, and have no words to say; but then comes a moment when I must +say what I am feeling, and I sing without thinking of what I am doing; +sometimes I sing only vague words, a few disconnected phrases, sometimes +whole poems; then I begin to dream again. And so the day goes by; and I +have tried to give the impression of a day. Why these gathered impressions +composed only of songs or preludes? There is nothing more false or less +harmonious. One must try to give the free play of the soul." He had called +his suite: _A Day_. The different parts of the composition bore sub-titles, +shortly indicating the succession of his inward dreams. Christophe had +written mysterious dedications, initials, dates, which only he could +understand, as they reminded Mm of poetic moments or beloved faces: the gay +Corinne, the languishing Sabine, and the little unknown Frenchwoman. + +Besides this work he selected thirty of his _Lieder_--those which +pleased him most, and consequently pleased the public least. He avoided +choosing the most "melodious" of his melodies, but he did choose the +most characteristic. (The public always has a horror of anything +"characteristic." Characterless things are more likely to please them.) + +These _Lieder_ were written to poems of old Silesian poets of the +seventeenth century that Christophe had read by chance in a popular +collection, and whose loyalty he had loved. Two especially were dear to +him, dear as brothers, two creatures full of genius and both had died at +thirty: the charming Paul Fleming, the traveler to the Caucasus and to +Ispahan, who preserved his soul pure, loving and serene in the midst of +the savagery of war, the sorrows of life, and the corruption of his time, +and Johann Christian Günther, the unbalanced genius who wore himself out +in debauchery and despair, casting his life to the four winds. He had +translated Günther's cries of provocation and vengeful irony against the +hostile God who overwhelms His creatures, his furious curses like those of +a Titan overthrown hurling the thunder back against the heavens. He had +selected Fleming's love songs to Anemone and Basilene, soft and sweet as +flowers, and the rondo of the stars, the _Tanzlied_ (dancing song) of +hearts glad and limpid--and the calm heroic sonnet To Himself (_An Sich_), +which Christophe used to recite as a prayer every morning. + +The smiling optimism of the pious Paul Gerhardt also had its charm for +Christophe. It was a rest for him on recovering from his own sorrows. He +loved that innocent vision of nature as God, the fresh meadows, where +the storks walk gravely among the tulips and white narcissus, by little +brooks singing on the sands, the transparent air wherein there pass the +wide-winged, swallows and flying doves, the gaiety of a sunbeam piercing +the rain, and the luminous sky smiling through the clouds, and the serene +majesty of the evening, the sweet peace of the forests, the cattle, the +bowers and the fields. He had had the impertinence to set to music several +of those mystic canticles which are still sung in Protestant communities. +And he had avoided preserving the choral character. Far from it: he had +a horror of it; he had given them a free and vivacious character. Old +Gerhardt would have shuddered at the devilish pride which was breathed +forth now in certain lines of his _Song of the Christian Traveler_, or +the pagan delight which made this peaceful stream of his _Song of Summer_ +bubble over like a torrent. + +The collection was published without any regard for common sense, of +course. The publisher whom Christophe paid for printing and storing his +_Lieder_ had no other claim to his choice than that of being his neighbor. +He was not equipped for such important work; the printing went on for +months; there were mistakes and expensive corrections. Christophe knew +nothing about it and the whole thing cost more by a third than it need have +done; the expenses far exceeded anything he had anticipated. Then when it +was done, Christophe found an enormous edition on his hands and did not +know what to do with it. The publisher had no customers; he took no steps +to circulate the work. And his apathy was quite in accord with Christophe's +attitude. When he asked him, to satisfy his conscience, to write him a +short advertisement of it, Christophe replied that "he did not want any +advertisement; if his music was good it would speak for itself." The +publisher religiously respected his wishes; he put the edition away in his +warehouse. It was well kept; for in six months not a copy was sold. + + * * * * * + +While he was waiting for the public to make up its mind Christophe had to +find some way of repairing the hole he had made in his means; and he could +not be nice about it, for he had to live and pay his debts. Not only were +his debts larger than he had imagined but he saw that the moneys on which +he had counted were less than he had thought. Had he lost money without +knowing it or--what was infinitely more probable--had he reckoned up +wrongly? (He had never been able to add correctly.) It did not matter much +why the money was missing; it was missing without a doubt. Louisa had to +give her all to help her son. He was bitterly remorseful and tried to pay +her back as soon as possible and at all costs. He tried to get lessons, +though it was painful to him to ask and to put up with refusals. He was out +of favor altogether; he found it very difficult to obtain pupils again. And +so when it was suggested that he should teach at a school he was only too +glad. + +It was a semi-religious institution. The director, an astute gentleman, had +seen, though he was no musician, how useful Christophe might be, and how +cheaply in his present position. He was pleasant and paid very little. When +Christophe ventured to make a timid remark the director told him with a +kindly smile that as he no longer held an official position he could not +very well expect more. + +It was a sad task! It was not so much a matter of teaching the pupils music +as of making their parents and themselves believe that they had learned it. +The chief thing was to make them able to sing at the ceremonies to which +the public were admitted. It did not matter how it was done, Christophe +was in despair; he had not even the consolation of telling himself as he +fulfilled his task that he was doing useful work; his conscience reproached +him with it as hypocrisy. He tried to give the children more solid +instruction and to make them acquainted with and love serious music; but +they did not care for it a bit. Christophe could not succeed in making them +listen to it; he had no authority over them; in truth he was not made for +teaching children. He took no interest in their floundering; he tried to +explain to them all at once the theory of music. When he had to give a +piano lesson he would set his pupil a symphony of Beethoven which he would +play as a duet with her. Naturally that could not succeed; he would explode +angrily, drive the pupil from the piano and go on playing alone for a long +time. He was just the same with his private pupils outside the school. He +had not an ounce of patience; for instance he would tell a young lady who +prided herself on her aristocratic appearance and position, that she played +like a kitchen maid; or he would even write to her mother and say that he +gave it up, that it would kill him if he went on long bothering about a +girl so devoid of talent. All of which did not improve his position. His +few pupils left him; he could not keep any of them more than a few months. +His mother argued with him; he would argue with himself. Louisa made him +promise that at least he would not break with the school he had joined; +for if he lost that position he did not know what he should do for a +living. And so he restrained himself in spite of his disgust; he was most +exemplarily punctual. But how could he conceal his thoughts when a donkey +of a pupil blundered for the tenth time in some passages, or when he had to +coach his class for the next concert in some foolish chorus!--(For he was +not even allowed to choose his programme: his taste was not trusted)--He +was not exactly zealous about it all. And yet he went stubbornly on, +silent, frowning, only betraying his secret wrath by occasionally thumping +on his desk and making his pupils jump in their seats. But sometimes the +pill was too bitter; he could not bear it any longer. In the middle of the +chorus he would interrupt the singers: + +"Oh! Stop! Stop! I'll play you some Wagner instead." + +They asked nothing better. They played cards behind his back. There was +always someone who reported the matter to the director; and Christophe +would be reminded that he was not there to make his pupils like music +but to make them sing. He received his scoldings with a shudder; but he +accepted them; he did not want to lose his work. Who would have thought a +few years before, when his career looked so assured and brilliant (when he +had done nothing), that he would be reduced to such humiliation just as he +was beginning to be worth something? + +Among the hurts to his vanity that he came by in his work at the school, +one of the most painful was having to call on his colleagues. He paid two +calls at random; and they bored him so that he had not the heart to go on. +The two privileged persons were not at all pleased about it, but the others +were personally affronted. They all regarded Christophe as their inferior +in position and intelligence; and they assumed a patronizing manner towards +him. Sometimes he was overwhelmed by it, for they seemed to be so sure of +themselves and the opinion they had of him that he began to share it; he +felt stupid with them; what could he have found to say to them? They were +full of their profession and saw nothing beyond it. They were not men. If +only they had been books! But they were only notes to books, philological +commentaries. + +Christophe avoided meeting them. But sometimes he was forced to do so. The +director was at home once a month in the afternoon; and he insisted on +all his people being there. Christophe, who had cut the first afternoon, +without excuse, in the vain hope that his absence would not be noticed, was +ever afterwards the object of sour attention. Next time he was lectured by +his mother and decided to go; he was as solemn about it as though he were +going to a funeral. + +He found himself at a gathering of the teachers of the school and other +institutions of the town, and their wives and daughters. They were all +huddled together in a room too small for them, and grouped hierarchically. +They paid no attention to him. The group nearest him was talking of +pedagogy and cooking. All the wives of the teachers had culinary recipes +which they set out with pedantic exuberance and insistence. The men were no +less interested in these matters and hardly less competent. They were as +proud of the domestic talents of their wives as they of their husbands' +learning. Christophe stood by a window leaning against the wall, not +knowing how to look, now trying to smile stupidly, now gloomy with a fixed +stare and unmoved features, and he was bored to death. A little away from +him, sitting in the recess of the window, was a young woman to whom nobody +was talking and she was as bored as he. They both looked at the room and +not at each other. It was only after some time that they noticed each +other just as they both turned away to yawn, both being at the limit of +endurance. Just at that moment their eyes met. They exchanged a look of +friendly understanding. He moved towards her. She said in a low voice: + +"Are you amused?" + +He turned his back on the room, and, looking out of the window, put out his +tongue. She burst out laughing, and suddenly waking up she signed to him +to sit down by her side. They introduced themselves; she was the wife of +Professor Reinhart, who lectured on natural history at the school, and was +newly come to the town, where they knew nobody. She was not beautiful; she +had a large nose, ugly teeth, and she lacked freshness; but she had keen, +clever eyes and a kindly smile. She chattered like a magpie; he answered +her solemnly; she had an amusing frankness and a droll wit; they laughingly +exchanged impressions out loud without bothering about the people round +them. Their neighbors, who had not deigned to notice their existence when +it would have been charitable to help them out of their loneliness, now +threw angry looks at them; it was in bad taste to be so much amused. But +they did not care what the others might think of them; they were taking +their revenge in their chatter. + +In the end Frau Reinhart introduced her husband to Christophe. He was +extremely ugly; he had a pale, greasy, pockmarked, rather sinister face, +but he looked very kind. He spoke low down in his throat and pronounced his +words sententiously, stammeringly, pausing between each syllable. + +They had been married a few months only and these two plain people were +in love with each other; they had an affectionate way of looking at each +other, talking to each other, taking each other's hands in the presence of +everybody--which was comic and touching. If one wanted anything the other +would want it too. And so they invited Christophe to go and sup with them +after the reception. Christophe began jokingly to beg to be excused; he +said that the best thing to do that evening would be to go to bed; he was +quite worn out with boredom, as tired as though he had walked ten miles. +But Frau Reinhart said that he could not be left in that condition; it +would be dangerous to spend the night with such gloomy thoughts. Christophe +let them drag him off. In his loneliness he was glad to have met these good +people, who were not very distinguished in their manners but were simple +and _gemütlich_. + + * * * * * + +The Reinharts' little house was _gemütlich_ like themselves. It was a +rather chattering _Gemüt_, a _Gemüt_ with inscriptions. The furniture, the +utensils, the china all talked, and went on repeating their joy in seeing +their "charming guest," asked after his health, and gave him pleasant and +virtuous advice. On the sofas--which was very hard--was a little cushion +which murmured amiably: + +"Only a quarter of an hour!" (_Nur ein Viertelstündchen_.) + +The cup of coffee which was handed to Christophe insisted on his taking +more: + +"Just a drop!" (_Noch ein Schlückchen_.) + +The plates seasoned the cooking with morality and otherwise the cooking was +quite excellent. One plate said: + +"Think of everything: otherwise no good will come to you!" + +Another: + +"Affection and gratitude please everybody. Ingratitude pleases nobody." + +Although Christophe did not smoke, the ash-tray on the mantelpiece insisted +on introducing itself to him: + +"A little resting place for burning cigars." (_Ruheplätzchen für brennende +Cigarren._) + +He wanted to wash his hands. The soap on the washstand said: + +"For our charming guest." (_Für unseren lieben Gast._) + +And the sententious towel, like a person who has nothing to say, but thinks +he must say something all the same, gave him this reflection, full of good +sense but not very apposite, that "to enjoy the morning you must rise +early." + +"_Morgenstund hat Gold im Mund._" + +At length Christophe dared not even turn in his chair for fear of hearing +himself addressed by other voices coming from every part of the room. He +wanted to say: + +"Be silent, you little monsters! We don't understand each other." + +And he burst out laughing crazily and then tried to explain to his host +and hostess that he was thinking of the gathering at the school. He would +not have hurt them for the world, And he was not very sensible of the +ridiculous. Very soon he grew accustomed to the loquacious cordiality of +these people and their belongings. He could have tolerated anything in +them! They were so kind! They were not tiresome either; if they had no +taste they were not lacking in intelligence. + +They were a little lost in the place to which they had come. The +intolerable susceptibilities of the little provincial town did not allow +people to enter it as though it were a mill, without having properly asked +for the honor of becoming part of it. The Reinharts had not sufficiently +attended to the provincial code which regulated the duties of new arrivals +in the town towards those who had settled in it before them. Reinhart would +have submitted to it mechanically. But his wife, to whom such drudgery was +oppressive--she disliked being put out--postponed her duties from day to +day. She had selected those calls which bored her least, to be paid first, +or she had put the others off indefinitely. The distinguished persons who +were comprised in the last category choked with indignation at such a +want of respect. Angelica Reinhart--(her husband called her Lili)--was a +little free in her manners; she could not take on the official tone. She +would address her superiors in the hierarchy familiarly and make than go +red in the face with indignation; and if need be she was not afraid of +contradicting them. She had a quick tongue and always had to say whatever +was in her head; sometimes she made extraordinarily foolish remarks at +which people laughed behind her back; and also she could be malicious +whole-heartedly, and that made her mortal enemies. She would bite her +tongue as she was saying rash things and wish she had not said them, but it +was too late. Her husband, the gentlest and most respectful of men, would +chide her timidly about it. She would kiss him and say that she was a fool +and that he was right. But the next moment she would break out again; and +she would always say things at the least suitable moment; she would have +burst if she had not said them. She was exactly the sort of woman to get on +with Christophe. + +Among the many ridiculous things which she ought not to have said, and +consequently was always saying, was her trick of perpetually comparing the +way things were done in Germany and the way they were done in France. She +was a German--(nobody more so)--but she had been brought up in Alsace among +French Alsatians, and she had felt the attraction of Latin civilization +which so many Germans in the annexed countries, even those who seem the +least likely to feel it, cannot resist. Perhaps, to tell the truth, the +attraction had become stronger out of a spirit of contradiction since +Angelica had married a North German and lived with him in purely German +society. + +She opened up her usual subject of discussion on her first evening with +Christophe. She loved the pleasant freedom of conversation in France, +Christophe echoed her. France to him was Corinne; bright blue eyes, smiling +lips, frank free manners, a musical voice; he loved to know more about it. + +Lili Reinhart clapped her hands on finding herself so thoroughly agreeing +with Christophe. + +"It is a pity," she said, "that my little French friend has gone, but she +could not stand it; she has gone." + +The image of Corinne was at once blotted out. As a match going out suddenly +makes the gentle glimmer of the stars shine out from the dark sky, another +image and other eyes appeared. + +"Who?" asked Christophe with a start, "the little governess?" + +"What?" said Frau Reinhart, "you knew her too?" + +He described her; the two portraits were identical. + +"You knew her?" repeated Christophe. "Oh! Tell me everything you know about +her!..." + +Frau Reinhart began by declaring that they were bosom friends and had no +secrets from each other. But when she had to go into detail her knowledge +was reduced to very little. They had met out calling. Frau Reinhart had +made advances to the girl; and with her usual cordiality had invited her to +come and see her. The girl had come two or three times and they had talked. +But the curious Lili had not so easily succeeded in finding out anything +about the life of the little Frenchwoman; the girl was very reserved; she +had had to worm her story out of her, bit by bit. Frau Reinhart knew that +she was called Antoinette Jeannin; she had no fortune, and no friends, +except a younger brother who lived in Paris and to whom she was devoted. +She used always to talk of him; he was the only subject about which she +could talk freely; and Lili Reinhart had gained her confidence by showing +sympathy and pity for the boy living alone in Paris without relations, +without friends, at a boarding school. It was partly to pay for his +education that Antoinette had accepted a post abroad. But the two children +could not live without each other; they wanted to be with each other every +day, and the least delay in the delivery of their letters used to make them +quite ill with anxiety. Antoinette was always worrying about her brother, +the poor child could not always manage to hide his sadness and loneliness +from her; every one of his complaints used to sound through Antoinette's +heart and seemed like to break it; the thought that he was suffering used +to torture her and she used often to imagine that he was ill and would not +say so. Frau Reinhart in her kindness had often had to rebuke her for her +groundless fears, and she used to succeed in restoring her confidence for +a moment. She had not been able to find out anything about Antoinette's +family or position or her inner self. The girl was wildly shy and used +to draw into herself at the first question. The little she said showed +that she was cultured and intelligent; she seemed to have a precocious +knowledge of life; she seemed to be at once naïve and undeceived, pious and +disillusioned. She had not been happy in the town in a tactless and unkind +family. She used not to complain, but it was easy to see that she used to +suffer--Frau Reinhart did not exactly know why she had gone. It had been +said that she had behaved badly. Angelica did not believe it; she was ready +to swear that it was all a disgusting calumny, worthy of the foolish rotten +town. But there had been stories; it did not matter what, did it? + +"No," said Christophe, bowing his head. + +"And so she has gone." + +"And what did she say--anything to you when she went?" + +"Ah!" said Lili Reinhart, "I had no chance. I had gone to Cologne for a few +days just then! When I came back--_Zu spät_" (too late).--She stopped to +scold her maid, who had brought her lemon too late for her tea. + +And she added sententiously with the solemnity which the true German brings +naturally to the performance of the familiar duties of daily life: + +"Too late, as one so often is in life!" + +(It was not clear whether she meant the lemon or her interrupted story.) + +She went on: + +"When I returned I found a line from her thanking me for all I had done +and telling me that she was going; she was returning to Paris; she gave no +address." + +"And she did not write again?" + +"Not again." + +Once more Christophe saw her sad face disappear into the night; once more +he saw her eyes for a moment just as he had seen them for the last time +looking at him through the carriage window. + +The enigma of France was once more set before him more insistently than +ever. Christophe never tired of asking Frau Reinhart about the country +which she pretended to know so well. And Frau Reinhart who had never been +there was not reluctant to tell him about it. Reinhart, a good patriot, +full of prejudices against France, which he knew better than his wife, +sometimes used to qualify her remarks when her enthusiasm went too far; but +she would repeat her assertions only the more vigorously, and Christophe, +knowing nothing at all about it, backed her up confidently. + +What was more precious even than Lili Reinhart's memories were her books. +She had a small library of French books: school books, a few novels, a few +volumes bought at random. Christophe, greedy of knowledge and ignorant of +France, thought them a treasure when Reinhart went and got them for him and +put them at his disposal. + +He began with volumes of select passages, old school books, which had been +used by Lili Reinhart or her husband in their school days. Reinhart had +assured him that he must begin with them if he wished to find his way about +French literature, which was absolutely unknown to him. Christophe was full +of respect for those who knew more than himself, and obeyed religiously: +and that very evening he began to read. He tried first of all to take stock +of the riches in his possession. + +He made the acquaintance of certain French writers, namely: Thédore-Henri +Barrau, François Pétis de la Croix, Frédéric Baudry, Émile Delérot, +Charles-Auguste-Désiré Filon, Samuel Descombaz, and Prosper Baur. He read +the poetry of Abbé Joseph Reyre, Pierre Lachambaudie, the Duc de Nivernois, +André van Hasselt, Andrieux, Madame Colet, Constance-Marie Princesse de +Salm-Dyck, Henrietta Hollard, Gabriel-Jean-Baptiste-Ernest-Wilfrid Legouvé, +Hippolyte Violeau, Jean Reboul, Jean Racine, Jean de Béranger, Frédéric +Béchard, Gustave Nadaud, Édouard Plouvier, Eugène Manuel, Hugo, Millevoye, +Chênedollé, James Lacour Delâtre, Félix Chavannes, Francis-Édouard-Joachim, +known as François Coppée, and Louis Belmontet. Christophe was lost, +drowned, submerged under such a deluge of poetry and turned to prose. He +found Gustave de Molinari, Fléchier, Ferdinand-Édouard Buisson, Mérimée, +Malte-Brun, Voltaire, Lamé-Fleury, Dumas père, J.J. Bousseau, Mézières, +Mirabeau, de Mazade, Claretie, Cortambert, Frédéric II, and M. de Vogüé. +The most often quoted of French historians was Maximilien Samson-Frédéric +Schoell. In the French anthology Christophe found the Proclamation of +the new German Empire; and he read a description of the Germans by +Frédéric-Constant de Rougemont, in which he learned that "_the German was +born to live in the region of the soul. He has not the light noisy gaiety +of the Frenchman. His is a great soul; his affections are tender and +profound. He is indefatigable in toil, and persevering in enterprise. There +is no more moral or long-lived people. Germany has an extraordinary number +of writers. She has the genius of art. While the inhabitants of other +countries pride themselves on being French, English, Spanish, the German on +the other hand embraces all humanity in his love. And though its position +is the very center of Europe the German nation seems to be at once the +heart and the higher reason of humanity_." + +Christophe closed the book. He was astonished and tired. He thought: + +"The French are good fellows; but they are not strong." + +He took another volume. It was on a higher plane; it was meant for high +schools. Musset occupied three pages, and Victor Duray thirty, Lamartine +seven pages and Thiers almost forty. The whole of the _Cid_ was +included--or almost the whole:---(ten monologues of Don Diègue and Rodrigue +had been suppressed because they were too long.)--Lanfrey exalted Prussia +against Napoleon I and so he had not been cut down; he alone occupied more +space than all the great classics of the eighteenth century. Copious +narrations of the French defeats of 1870 had been extracted from _La +Debâcle_ of Zola. Neither Montaigne, nor La Rochefoucauld, nor La Bruyère, +nor Diderot, nor Stendhal, nor Balzac, nor Flaubert appeared. On the other +hand, Pascal, who did not appear in the other book, found a place in this +as a curiosity; and Christophe learned by the way that the convulsionary +"_was one of the fathers of Port-Royal, a girls' school, near Paris_..." +[Footnote: The anthologies of French literature which Jean-Christophe +borrowed from his friends the Reinharts were: + +I. _Selected French passages for the use of secondary schools_, by Hubert +H. Wingerath, Ph.D., director of the real-school of Saint John at +Strasburg. Part II: Middle forms.--7th Edition, 1902, Dumont-Schauberg. + +II. L. Herrig and G.F. Burguy: _Literary France_, arranged by F. Tendering, +director of the real-gymnasium of the Johanneum, Hamburg.--1904, +Brunswick.] + +Christophe was on the point of throwing the book away; his head was +swimming; he could not see. He said to himself: "I shall never get through +with it." He could not formulate any opinion. He turned over the leaves +idly for hours without knowing what he was reading. He did not read French +easily, and when he had labored to make out a passage, it was almost always +something meaningless and highfalutin. + +And yet from the chaos there darted flashes of light, like rapier thrusts, +words that looked and stabbed, heroic laughter. Gradually an impression +emerged from his first reading, perhaps through the biased scheme of the +selections. Voluntarily or involuntarily the German editors had selected +those pieces of French which could seem to establish by the testimony of +the French themselves the failings of the French and the superiority of the +Germans. But they had no notion that what they most exposed to the eyes of +an independent mind like Christophe's was the surprising liberty of these +Frenchmen who criticised everything in their own country and praised +their adversaries. Michelet praised Frederick II, Lanfrey the English of +Trafalgar, Charras the Prussia of 1813. No enemy of Napoleon had ever dared +to speak of him so harshly. Nothing was too greatly respected to escape +their disparagement. Even under the great King the previous poets had had +their freedom of speech. Molière spared nothing, La Fontaine laughed at +everything. Even Boileau gibed at the nobles. Voltaire derided war, flogged +religion, scoffed at his country. Moralists, satirists, pamphleteers, comic +writers, they all vied one with another in gay or somber audacity. Want +of respect was universal. The honest German editors were sometimes scared +by it, they had to throw a rope to their consciences by trying to excuse +Pascal, who lumped together cooks, porters, soldiers, and camp followers; +they protested in a note that Pascal would not have written thus if he had +been acquainted with the noble armies of modern times. They did not fail +to remind the reader how happily Lessing had corrected the Fables of La +Fontaine by following, for instance, the advice of the Genevese Rousseau +and changing the piece of cheese of Master Crow to a piece of poisoned meat +of which the vile fox dies. + +"_May you never gain anything but poison. You cursed flatterers!_" + +They blinked at naked truth; but Christophe was pleased with it; he loved +this light. Here and there he was even a little shocked; he was not used to +such unbridled independence which looks like anarchy to the eyes even of +the freest of Germans, who in spite of everything is accustomed to order +and discipline. And he was led astray by the way of the French; he took +certain things too seriously; and other things which were implacable +denials seemed to him to be amusing paradoxes. No matter! Surprised or +shocked he was drawn on little by little. He gave up trying to classify his +impressions; he passed from one feeling to another; he lived. The gaiety +of the French stories--Chamfort, Ségur, Dumas père, Mérimée all lumped +together--delighted him; and every now and then in gusts there would creep +forth from the printed page the wild intoxicating scent of the Revolutions. + +It was nearly dawn when Louisa, who slept in the next room, woke up and saw +the light through the chinks of Christophe's door. She knocked on the wall +and asked if he were ill. A chair creaked on the floor: the door opened and +Christophe appeared, pale, in his nightgown, with a candle and a book in +his hand, making strange, solemn, and grotesque gestures. Louisa was in +terror and got up in her bed, thinking that he was mad. He began to laugh, +and, waving his candle, he declaimed a scene from Molière. In the middle of +a sentence he gurgled with laughter; he sat at the foot of his mother's bed +to take breath; the candle shook in his hand. Louisa was reassured, and +scolded him forcibly: + +"What is the matter with you? What is it? Go to bed.... My poor boy, are +you going out of your senses?" + +But he began again: + +"You must listen to this!" + +And he sat by her bedside and read the play, going back to the beginning +again. He seemed to see Corinne; he heard her mocking tones, cutting and +sonorous. Louisa protested: + +"Go away! Go away! You will catch cold. How tiresome you are. Let me go to +sleep!" + +He went on relentlessly. He raised his voice, waved his arms, choked with +laughter; and he asked his mother if she did not think it wonderful. Louisa +turned her back on him, buried herself in the bedclothes, stopped her ears, +and said: + +"Do leave me alone!..." + +But she laughed inwardly at hearing his laugh. At last she gave up +protesting. And when Christophe had finished the act, and asked her, +without eliciting any reply, if she did not think what he had read +interesting, he bent over her and saw that she was asleep. Then he smiled, +gently kissed her hair, and stole back to his own room. + + * * * * * + +He borrowed more and more books from the Reinharts' library. There were all +sorts of books in it. Christophe devoured them all. He wanted so much to +love the country of Corinne and the unknown young woman. He had so much +enthusiasm to get rid of that he found a use for it in his reading. Even +in second-rate works there were sentences and pages which had the effect +on him of a gust of fresh air. He exaggerated the effect, especially when +he was talking to Frau Reinhart, who always went a little better than he. +Although she was as ignorant as a fish, she delighted to contrast French +and German culture and to decry the German to the advantage of the French, +just to annoy her husband and to avenge herself for the boredom she had to +suffer in the little town. + +Reinhart was really amused. Notwithstanding his learning, he had stopped +short at the ideas he had learned at school. To him the French were a +clever people, skilled in practical things, amiable, talkative, but +frivolous, susceptible, and boastful, incapable of being serious, +or sincere, or of feeling strongly--a people without music, without +philosophy, without poetry (except for _l'Art Poétique_, Béranger and +François Coppée)--a people of pathos, much gesticulation, exaggerated +speech, and pornography. There were not words strong enough for the +denunciation---of Latin Immorality; and for want of a better he always came +back to _frivolity_, which for him, as for the majority of his compatriots, +had a particularly unpleasant meaning. And he would end with the +usual couplet in praise of the noble German people,--the moral people +("_By that_," Herder has said, "_it is distinguished from all other +nations_.")--the faithful people (_treues Volk ... Treu_ meaning +everything: sincere, faithful, loyal and upright)--_the People par +excellence_, as Fichte says--German Force, the symbol of justice and +truth--German thought--the German _Gemüt_--the German language, the only +original language, the only language that, like the race itself, has +preserved its purity--German women, German wine, German song ... "_Germany, +Germany above everything in the world_!" + +Christophe would protest. Frau Reinhart would cry out. They would all +shout. They did not get on the less for it. They knew quite well that they +were all three good Germans. + +Christophe used often to go and talk, dine and walk with his new friends. +Lili Reinhart made much of him, and used to cook dainty suppers for him. +She was delighted to have the excuse for satisfying her own greediness. She +paid him all sorts of sentimental and culinary attentions. For Christophe's +birthday she made a cake, on which were twenty candles and in the middle +a little wax figure in Greek costume which was supposed to represent +Iphigenia holding a bouquet. Christophe, who was profoundly German in spite +of himself, was touched by these rather blunt and not very refined marks of +true affection. + +The excellent Reinharts found other more subtle ways of showing their real +friendship. On his wife's instigation Reinhart, who could hardly read a +note of music, had bought twenty copies of Christophe's _Lieder_--(the +first to leave the publisher's shop)--he had sent them to different parts +of Germany to university acquaintances. He had also sent a certain number +to the libraries of Leipzig and Berlin, with which he had dealings through +his classbooks. For the moment at least their touching enterprise, of +which Christophe knew nothing, bore no fruit. The _Lieder_ which had been +scattered broadcast seemed to miss fire; nobody talked of them; and the +Reinharts, who were hurt by this indifference, were glad they had not told +Christophe about what they had done, for it would have given him more pain +than consolation. But in truth nothing is lost, as so often appears in +life; no effort is in vain. For years nothing happens. Then one day it +appears that your idea has made its way. It was impossible to be sure +that Christophe's _Lieder_ had not reached the hearts of a few good people +buried in the country, who were too timid or too tired to tell him so. + +One person wrote to him. Two or three months after the Reinharts had sent +them, a letter came for Christophe. It was warm, ceremonious, enthusiastic, +old-fashioned in form, and came from a little town in Thuringia, and was +signed "_Universitäts Musikdirektor Professor Dr. Peter Schulz_." + +It was a great joy for Christophe, and even greater for the Reinharts, when +at their house he opened the letter, which he had left lying in his pocket +for two days. They read it together. Reinhart made signs to his wife which +Christophe did not notice. He looked radiant, until suddenly Reinhart saw +his face grow gloomy, and he stopped dead in the middle of his reading. + +"Well, why do you stop?" he asked. + +(They used the familiar _du_.) + +Christophe flung the letter on the table angrily. + +"No. It is too much!" he said. + +"What is?" + +"Read!" + +He turned away and went and sulked in a corner. + +Reinhart and his wife read the letter, and could find in it only fervent +admiration. + +"I don't see," he said in astonishment. + +"You don't see? You don't see?..." cried Christophe, taking the letter and +thrusting it in his face. "Can't you read? Don't you see that he is a +'_Brahmin_'"? + +And then Reinhart noticed that in one sentence the _Universitäts +Musikdirektor_ compared Christophe's _Lieder_ with those of Brahms. +Christophe moaned: + +"A friend! I have found a friend at last!... And I have hardly found him +when I have lost him!..." + +The comparison revolted him. If they had let him, he would have replied +with a stupid letter, or perhaps, upon reflection, he would have thought +himself very prudent and generous in not replying at all. Fortunately, the +Reinharts were amused by his ill-humor, and kept him from committing any +further absurdity. They succeeded in making him write a letter of thanks. +But the letter, written reluctantly, was cold and constrained. The +enthusiasm of Peter Schulz was not shaken by it. He sent two or three +more letters, brimming, over with affection. Christophe was not a good +correspondent, and although he was a little reconciled to his unknown +friend by the sincerity and real sympathy which he could feel behind his +words, he let the correspondence drop. Schulz wrote no more. Christophe +never thought about him. + + * * * * * + +He now saw the Reinharts every day and frequently several times a day. They +spent almost all the evenings together. After spending the day alone in +concentration he had a physical need of talking, of saying everything that +was in his mind, even if he were not understood, and of laughing with or +without reason, of expanding and stretching himself. + +He played for them. Having no other means of showing his gratitude, he +would sit at the piano and play for hours together. Frau Reinhart was no +musician, and she had difficulty in keeping herself from yawning; but she +sympathized with Christophe, and pretended to be interested in everything +he played. Reinhart was not much more of a musician than his wife, but was +sometimes touched quite materially by certain pieces of music, certain +passages, certain bars, and then he would be violently moved sometimes +even to tears, and that seemed silly to him. The rest of the time he felt +nothing; it was just music to him. That was the general rule. He was never +moved except by the least good passages of a composition--absolutely +insignificant passages. Both of them persuaded themselves that they +understood Christophe, and Christophe tried to pretend that it was so. +Every now and then he would be seized by a wicked desire to make fun of +them. He would lay traps for them and play things without any meaning, +inapt _potpourris_; and he would let them think that he had composed them. +Then, when they had admired it, he would tell them what it was. Then they +would grow wary, and when Christophe played them a piece with an air of +mystery, they would imagine that he was trying to catch them again, and +they would criticise it. Christophe would let them go on and back them up, +and argue that such music was worthless, and then he would break out: + +"Rascals! You are right!... It is my own!" He would be as happy as a boy at +having taken them in. Frau Reinhart would be cross and come and give him +a little slap; but he would laugh so good-humoredly that they would laugh +with him. They did not pretend to be infallible. And as they had no leg to +stand on, Lili Reinhart would criticise everything and her husband would +praise everything, and so they were certain that one or other of them would +always be in agreement with Christophe. + +For the rest, it was not so much the musician that attracted them in +Christophe as the crack-brained boy, with his affectionate ways and true +reality of life. The ill that they had heard spoken of him had rather +disposed them in his favor. Like him, they were rather oppressed by the +atmosphere of the little town; like him, they were frank, they judged for +themselves, and they regarded him as a great baby, not very clever in the +ways of life, and the victim of his own frankness. + +Christophe was not under many illusions concerning his new friends, and +it made him sad to think that they did not understand the depths of his +character, and that they would never understand it. But he was so much +deprived of friendship and he stood in such sore need of it, that he was +infinitely grateful to them for wanting to like him a little. He had +learned wisdom in his experiences of the last year; he no longer thought +he had the right to be overwise. Two years earlier he would not have been +so patient. He remembered with amusement and remorse his severe judgment +of the honest and tiresome Eulers! Alas! How wisdom had grown in him! He +sighed a little. A secret voice whispered: "Yes, but for how long?" + +That made him smile and consoled him a little. What would he not have given +to have a friend, one friend who would understand him and share his soul! +But although he was still young he had enough experience of the world to +know that his desire was one of those which are most difficult to realize +in life, and that he could not hope to be happier than the majority of the +true artists who had gone before him. He had learned the histories of some +of them. Certain books, borrowed from the Reinharts, had told him about +the terrible trials through which the German musicians of the seventeenth +century had passed, and the calmness and resolution with which one of +these great souls--the greatest of all, the heroic Schutz--had striven, +as unshakably he went on his way in the midst of wars and burning towns, +and provinces ravaged by the plague, with his country invaded, trampled +underfoot by the hordes of all Europe, and--worst of all--broken, worn out, +degraded by misfortune, making no fight, indifferent to everything, longing +only for rest. He thought: "With such as example, what right has any man +to complain? They had no audience, they had no future; they wrote for +themselves and God. What they wrote one day would perhaps be destroyed by +the next. And yet they went on writing and they were not sad. Nothing made +them lose their intrepidity, their joviality. They were satisfied with +their song; they asked nothing of life but to live, to earn their daily +bread, to express their ideas, and to find a few honest men, simple, true, +not artists, who no doubt did not understand them, but had confidence in +them and won their confidence in return. How dared he have demanded more +than they? There is a minimum of happiness which it is permitted to demand. +But no man has the right to more; it rests with a man's self to gain the +surplus of happiness, not with others." + +Such thoughts brought him new serenity, and he loved his good friends the +Reinharts the more for them. He had no idea that even this affection was to +be denied him. + + * * * * * + +He reckoned without the malevolence of small towns. They are tenacious +in their spite--all the more tenacious because their spite is aimless. A +healthy hatred which knows what it wants is appeased when it has achieved +its end. But men who are mischievous from boredom never lay down their +arms, for they are always bored. Christophe was a natural prey for their +want of occupation. He was beaten without a doubt; but he was bold enough +not to seem crushed. He did not bother anybody, but then he did not bother +about anybody. He asked nothing. They were impotent against him. He was +happy with his new friends and indifferent to anything that was said or +thought of him. That was intolerable.--Frau Reinhart roused even more +irritation. Her open friendship with Christophe in the face of the whole +town seemed, like his attitude, to be a defiance of public opinion. But the +good Lili Reinhart defied nothing and nobody. She had no thought to provoke +others; she did what she thought fit without asking anybody else's advice. +That was the worst provocation. + +All their doings were watched. They had no idea of it. He was extravagant, +she scatter-brained, and both even wanting in prudence when they went out +together, or even at home in the evening, when they leaned over the balcony +talking and laughing. They drifted innocently into a familiarity of speech +and manner which could easily supply food for calumny. + +One morning Christophe received an anonymous letter. He was accused in +basely insulting terms of being Frau Reinhart's lover. His arms fell by his +sides. He had never had the least thought of love or even of flirtation +with her. He was too honest. He had a Puritanical horror of adultery. The +very idea of such a dirty sharing gave him a physical and moral feeling of +nausea. To take the wife of a friend would have been a crime in his eyes, +and Lili Reinhart would have been the last person in the world with whom he +could have been tempted to commit such an offense. The poor woman was not +beautiful, and he would not have had even the excuse of passion. + +He went to his friends ashamed and embarrassed. They also were embarrassed. +Each of them had received a similar letter, but they had not dared to tell +each other, and all three of them were on their guard and watched each +other and dared not move or speak, and they just talked nonsense. If Lili +Reinhart's natural carelessness took the ascendant for a moment, or if +she began to laugh and talk wildly, suddenly a look from her husband or +Christophe would stop her dead; the letter would cross her mind; she would +stop in the middle of a familiar gesture and grow uneasy. Christophe and +Reinhart were in the same plight. And each of them was thinking: "Do the +others know?" + +However, they said nothing to each other and tried to go on as though +nothing had happened. + +But the anonymous letters went on, growing more and mores insulting and +dirty. They were plunged into a condition of depression and intolerable +shame. They hid themselves when they received the letters, and had not the +strength to burn them unopened. They opened them with trembling hands, and +as they unfolded the letters their hearts would sink; and when they read +what they feared to read, with some new variation on the same theme--the +injurious and ignoble inventions of a mind bent on causing a hurt--they +wept in silence. They racked their brains to discover who the wretch might +be who so persistently persecuted them.. + +One day Frau Reinhart, at the end of her letter, confessed the persecution +of which she was the victim to her husband, and with tears in his eyes he +confessed that he was suffering in the same way. Should they mention it +to Christophe? They dared not. But they had to warn him to make him be +cautious.--At the first words that Frau Reinhart said to him, with a blush, +she saw to her horror that Christophe had also received letters. Such utter +malignance appalled them. Frau Reinhart had no doubt that the whole town +was in the secret. Instead of helping each other, they only undermined +each other's fortitude. They did not know what to do. Christophe talked of +breaking somebody's head. But whose? And besides, that would be to justify +the calumny!... Inform the police of the letters?--That would make their +insinuations public...--Pretend to ignore them? It was no longer possible. +Their friendly relations were now disturbed. It was useless for Reinhart to +have absolute faith in the honesty of his wife and Christophe. He suspected +them in spite of himself. He felt that his suspicions were shameful and +absurd, and tried hard not to pay any heed to them, and to leave Christophe +and his wife alone together. But he suffered, and his wife saw that he was +suffering. + +It was even worse for her. She had never thought of flirting with +Christophe, any more than he had thought of it with her. The calumnious +letters brought her imperceptibly to the ridiculous idea that after +all Christophe was perhaps in love with her; and although he was never +anywhere near showing any such feeling for her, she thought she must defend +herself, not by referring directly to it, but by clumsy precautions, which +Christophe did not understand at first, though, when he did understand, he +was beside himself. It was so stupid that it made him laugh and cry at the +same time! He in love with the honest little woman, kind enough as she was, +but plain and common!... And to think that she should believe it!... And +that he could not deny it, and tell her and her husband: + +"Come! There is no danger! Be calm!..." But no; he could not offend these +good people. And besides, he was beginning to think that if she held out +against being loved by him it was because she was secretly on the point of +loving him. The anonymous letters had had the fine result of having given +him so foolish and fantastic an idea. + +The situation had become at once so painful and so silly that it was +impossible for this to go on. Besides, Lili Reinhart, who, in spite of her +brave words, had no strength of character, lost her head in the face of the +dumb hostility of the little town. They made shamefaced excuses for not +meeting: + +"Frau Reinhart was unwell.... Reinhart was busy.... They were going away +for a few days...." + +Clumsy lies which were always unmasked by chance, which seemed to take a +malicious pleasure in doing so. + +Christophe was more frank, and said: + +"Let us part, my friends. We are not strong enough." + +The Reinharts wept.--But they were happier when the breach was made. + +The town had its triumph. This time Christophe was quite alone. It had +robbed him of his last breath of air:--the affection, however humble, +without which no heart can live. + + + + +III + +DELIVERANCE + + +He had no one. All his friends had disappeared. His dear Gottfried, who had +come to his aid in times of difficulty, and whom now he so sorely needed, +had gone some months before. This time forever. One evening in the summer +of the last year a letter in large handwriting, bearing the address of a +distant village, had informed Louisa that her brother had died upon one of +his vagabond journeys which the little peddler had insisted on making, in +spite of his ill health. He was buried there in the cemetery of the place. +The last manly and serene friendship which could have supported Christophe +had been swallowed up. He was left alone with his old mother, who cared +nothing for his ideas--could only love him and not understand him. About +him was the immense plain of Germany, the green ocean. At every attempt to +climb out of it he only slipped back deeper than ever. The hostile town +watched him drown.... + +And as he was struggling a light flashed upon him in the middle of the +night, the image of Hassler, the great musician whom he had loved so much +when he was a child. His fame shone over all Germany now. He remembered +the promises that Hassler had made him then. And he clung to this piece of +wreckage in desperation. Hassler could save him! Hassler must save him! +What was he asking? Not help, nor money, nor material assistance of any +kind. Nothing but understanding. Hassler had been persecuted like him. +Hassler was a free man. He would understand a free man, whom German +mediocrity was pursuing with its spite and trying to crush. They were +fighting the same battle. + +He carried the idea into execution as soon as it occurred to him. He told +his mother that he would be away for a week, and that very evening he took +the train for the great town in the north of Germany where Hassler was +_Kapellmeister_, He could not wait. It was a last effort to breathe. + + * * * * * + +Hassler was famous. His enemies had not disarmed, but his friends cried +that he was the greatest musician, present, past and future. He was +surrounded by partisans and detractors who were equally absurd. As he was +not of a very firm character, he had been embittered by the last, and +mollified by the first. He devoted his energy to writing things to annoy +his critics and make them cry out. He was like an urchin playing pranks. +These pranks were often in the most detestable taste. Not only did he +devote his prodigious talent to musical eccentricities which made the +hair of the pontiffs stand on end, but he showed a perverse predilection +for queer themes, bizarre subjects, and often for equivocal and scabrous +situations; in a word, for everything which could offend ordinary good +sense and decency. He was quite happy when the people howled, and the +people did not fail him. Even the Emperor, who dabbled in art, as every +one knows, with the insolent presumption of upstarts and princes, regarded +Hassler's fame as a public scandal, and let no opportunity slip of showing +his contemptuous indifference to his impudent works. Hassler was enraged +and delighted by such august opposition, which had almost become a +consecration for the advanced paths in German art, and went on smashing +windows. At every new folly his friends went into ecstasies and cried that +he was a genius. + +Hassler's coterie was chiefly composed of writers, painters, and decadent +critics who certainly had the merit of representing the party of revolt +against the reaction--always a menace in North Germany--of the pietistic +spirit and State morality; but in the struggle the independence had been +carried to a pitch of absurdity of which they were unconscious. For, if +many of them were not lacking in a rude sort of talent, they had little +intelligence and less taste. They could not rise above the fastidious +atmosphere which they had created, and like all cliques, they had ended by +losing all sense of real life. They legislated for themselves and hundreds +of fools who read their reviews and gulped down everything they were +pleased to promulgate. Their adulation had been fatal to Hassler, for it +had made him too pleased with himself. He accepted without examination +every musical idea that came into his head, and he had a private +conviction, however he might fall below his own level, he was still +superior to that of all other musicians. And though that idea was only too +true in the majority of cases, it did not follow that it was a very fit +state of mind for the creation of great works. At heart Hassler had a +supreme contempt for everybody, friends and enemies alike; and this bitter +jeering contempt was extended to himself and life in general. He was +all the more driven back into his ironic skepticism because he had once +believed in a number of generous and simple things. As he had not been +strong enough to ward off the slow destruction of the passing of the days, +nor hypocritical enough to pretend to believe in the faith he had lost, he +was forever gibing at the memory of it. He was of a Southern German nature, +soft and indolent, not made to resist excess of fortune or misfortune, of +heat or cold, needing a moderate temperature to preserve its balance. He +had drifted insensibly into a lazy enjoyment of life. He loved good food, +heavy drinking, idle lounging, and sensuous thoughts. His whole art smacked +of these things, although he was too gifted for the flashes of his genius +not still to shine forth from his lax music which drifted with the fashion. +No one was more conscious than himself of his decay. In truth, he was +the only one to be conscious of it--at rare moments which, naturally, he +avoided. Besides, he was misanthropic, absorbed by his fearful moods, his +egoistic preoccupations, his concern about his health--he was indifferent +to everything which had formerly excited his enthusiasm or hatred. + + * * * * * + +Such was the man to whom Christophe came for assistance, With what joy and +hope he arrived, one cold, wet morning, in the town wherein then lived +the man who symbolized for him the spirit of independence in his art! He +expected words of friendship and encouragement from him--words that he +needed to help him to go on with the ungrateful, inevitable battle which +every true artist has to wage against the world until he breathes his last, +without even for one day laying down his arms; for, as Schiller has said, +"_the only relation with the public of which a man never repents--is war_." + +Christophe was so impatient that he just left his bag at the first hotel he +came to near the station, and then ran to the theater to find out Hassler's +address. Hassler lived some way from the center of the town, in one of the +suburbs. Christophe took an electric train, and hungrily ate a roll. His +heart thumped as he approached his goal. + +The district in which Hassler had chosen his house was almost entirely +built in that strange new architecture into which young Germany has thrown +an erudite and deliberate barbarism struggling laboriously to have genius. +In the middle of the commonplace town, with its straight, characterless +streets, there suddenly appeared Egyptian hypogea, Norwegian chalets, +cloisters, bastions, exhibition pavilions, pot-bellied houses, fakirs, +buried in the ground, with expressionless faces, with only one enormous +eye; dungeon gates, ponderous gates, iron hoops, golden cryptograms on +the panes of grated windows, belching monsters over the front door, blue +porcelain tiles plastered on in most unexpected places; variegated mosaics +representing Adam and Eve; roofs covered with tiles of jarring colors; +houses like citadels with castellated walls, deformed animals on the roofs, +no windows on one side, and then suddenly, close to each other, gaping +holes, square, red, angular, triangular, like wounds; great stretches of +empty wall from which suddenly there would spring a massive balcony with +one window--a balcony supported by Nibelungesque Caryatides, balconies from +which there peered through the stone balustrade two pointed heads of old +men, bearded and long-haired, mermen of Boecklin. On the front of one of +these prisons--a Pharaohesque mansion, low and one-storied, with two naked +giants at the gate--the architect had written: + + Let the artist show his universe, + Which never was and yet will ever be. + + _Seine Welt zeige der Künstler, + Die niemals war noch jemals sein wird._ + +Christophe was absorbed by the idea of seeing Hassler, and looked with the +eyes of amazement and under no attempt to understand. He reached the house +he sought, one of the simplest--in a Carolingian style. Inside was rich +luxury, commonplace enough. On the staircase was the heavy atmosphere of +hot air. There was a small lift which Christophe did not use, as he wanted +to gain time to prepare himself for his call by going up the four flights +of stairs slowly, with his legs giving and his heart thumping with his +excitement. During that short ascent his former interview with Hassler, his +childish enthusiasm, the image of his grandfather were as clearly in his +mind as though it had all been yesterday. + +It was nearly eleven when he rang the bell. He was received by a sharp +maid, with a _serva padrona_ manner, who looked at him impertinently and +began to say that "Herr Hassler could not see him, as Herr Hassler was +tired." Then the naïve disappointment expressed in Christophe's face amused +her; for after making an unabashed scrutiny of him from head to foot, she +softened suddenly and introduced him to Hassler's study, and said she would +go and see if Herr Hassler would receive him. Thereupon she gave him a +little wink and closed the door. + +On the walls were a few impressionist paintings and some gallant French +engravings of the eighteenth century: for Hassler pretended to some +knowledge of all the arts, and Manet and Watteau were joined together in +his taste in accordance with the prescription of his coterie. The same +mixture of styles appeared in the furniture, and a very fine Louis XV +bureau was surrounded by new art armchairs and an oriental divan with a +mountain of multi-colored cushions. The doors were ornamented with mirrors, +and Japanese bric-a-brac covered the shelves and the mantelpiece, on which +stood a bust of Hassler. In a bowl on a round table was a profusion of +photographs of singers, female admirers and friends, with witty remarks and +enthusiastic interjections. The bureau was incredibly untidy. The piano was +open. The shelves were dusty, and half-smoked cigars were lying about +everywhere. + +In the next room Christophe heard a cross voice grumbling, It was answered +by the shrill tones of the little maid. It was dear that Hassler was not +very pleased at having to appear. It was clear, also, that the young woman +had decided that Hassler should appear; and she answered him with extreme +familiarity and her shrill voice penetrated the walls. Christophe was +rather upset at hearing some of the remarks she made to her master. But +Hassler did not seem to mind. On the contrary, it rather seemed as though +her impertinence amused him; and while he went on growling, he chaffed the +girl and took a delight in exciting her. At last Christophe heard a door +open, and, still growling and chaffing, Hassler came shuffling. + +He entered. Christophe's heart sank. He recognized him. Would to God he had +not! It was Hassler, and yet it was not he. He still had his great smooth +brow, his face as unwrinkled as that of a babe; but he was bald, stout, +yellowish, sleepy-looking; his lower lip drooped a little, his mouth looked +bored and sulky. He hunched his shoulders, buried his hands in the pockets +of his open waistcoat; old shoes flopped on his feet; his shirt was bagged +above his trousers, which he had not finished buttoning. He looked at +Christophe with his sleepy eyes, in which there was no light as the young +man murmured his name. He bowed automatically, said nothing, nodded towards +a chair, and with a sigh, sank down on the divan and piled the cushions +about himself. Christophe repeated: + +"I have already had the honor.... You were kind enough.... My name is +Christophe Krafft...." + +Hassler lay back on the divan, with his legs crossed, his lands clasped +together on his right knee, which he held up to his chin as he replied: + +"I don't remember." + +Christophe's throat went dry, and he tried to remind him of their former +meeting. Under any circumstances it would have been difficult for him to +talk of memories so intimate; now it was torture for him. He bungled his +sentences, could not find words, said absurd things which made him blush. +Hassler let him flounder on and never ceased to look at him with his vague, +indifferent eyes. When Christophe had reached the end of his story, Hassler +went on rocking his knee in silence for a moment, as though he were waiting +for Christophe to go on. Then he said: + +"Yes.... That does not make us young again...." and stretched his legs. + +After a yawn he added: + +"... I beg pardon.... Did not sleep.... Supper at the theater last +night...." and yawned again. + +Christophe hoped that Hassler would make some reference to what he had +just told him, but Hassler, whom the story had not interested at all, said +nothing about it, and he did not ask Christophe anything about his life. +When he had done yawning he asked: + +"Have you been in Berlin long?" + +"I arrived this morning," said Christophe. + +"Ah!" said Hassler, without any surprise. "What hotel?" + +He did not seem to listen to the reply, but got up lazily and pressed an +electric bell. + +"Allow me," he said. + +The little maid appeared with her impertinent manner. + +"Kitty," said he, "are you trying to make me go without breakfast this +morning?" + +"You don't think I am going to bring it here while you have some one with +you?" + +"Why not?" he said, with a wink and a nod in Christophe's direction. "He +feeds my mind: I must feed my body." + +"Aren't you ashamed to have some one watching you eat--like an animal in a +menagerie?" + +Instead of being angry, Hassler began to laugh and corrected her: + +"Like a domestic animal," he went on. "But do bring it. I'll eat my shame +with it." + +Christophe saw that Hassler was making no attempt to find out what he +was doing, and tried to lead the conversation back. He spoke of the +difficulties of provincial life, of the mediocrity of the people, the +narrow-mindedness, and of his own isolation. He tried to interest him in +his moral distress. But Hassler was sunk deep in the divan, with his head +lying back on a cushion and his eyes half closed, and let him go on talking +without even seeming to listen; or he would raise his eyelids for a moment +and pronounce a few coldly ironical words, some ponderous jest at the +expense of provincial people, which cut short Christophe's attempts to talk +more intimately. Kitty returned with the breakfast tray: coffee, butter, +ham, etc. She put it down crossly on the desk in the middle of the untidy +papers. Christophe waited until she had gone before he went on with his +sad story which he had such difficulty in continuing. Hassler drew the +tray towards himself. He poured himself out some coffee and sipped at it. +Then in a familiar and cordial though rather contemptuous way he stopped +Christophe in the middle of a sentence to ask if he would take a cup. + +Christophe refused. He tried to pick up the thread of his sentence, but he +was more and more nonplussed, and did not know what he was saying. He was +distracted by the sight of Hassler with his plate under his chin, like a +child, gorging pieces of bread and butter and slices of ham which he held +in his fingers. However, he did succeed in saying that he composed, that he +had had an overture in the _Judith_ of Hebbel performed. Hassler listened +absently. + +"_Was_?" (What?) he asked. + +Christophe repeated the title. + +"_Ach! So, so!_" (Ah! Good, good!) said Hassler, dipping his bread and his +fingers into his cup. That was all. + +Christophe was discouraged and was on the point of getting up and going, +but he thought of his long journey in vain, and summoning up all his +courage he murmured a proposal that he should play some of his works to +Hassler. At the first mention of it Hassler stopped him. + +"No, no. I don't know anything about it," he said, with his chaffing and +rather insulting irony. "Besides, I haven't the time." + +Tears came to Christophe's eyes. But he had vowed not to leave until he had +Hassler's opinion about his work. He said, with a mixture of confusion and +anger: + +"I beg your pardon, but you promised once to hear me. I came to see you for +that from the other end of Germany. You shall hear me." + +Hassler, who was not used to such ways, looked at the awkward young man, +who was furious, blushing, and near tears. That amused him, and wearily +shrugging his shoulders, he pointed to the piano, and said with an air of +comic resignation: + +"Well, then!... There you are!" + +On that he lay back on his divan, like a man who is going to sleep, +smoothed out his cushions, put them under his outstretched arms, half +closed his eyes, opened them for a moment to take stock of the size of the +roll of music which Christophe had brought from one of his pockets, gave a +little sigh, and lay back to listen listlessly. + +Christophe was intimidated and mortified, but he began to play. It was not +long before Hassler opened his eyes and ears with the professional interest +of the artist who is struck in spite of himself by a beautiful thing. At +first he said nothing and lay still, but his eyes became less dim and his +sulky lips moved. Then he suddenly woke up, growling his surprise and +approbation. He only gave inarticulate interjections, but the form of them +left no doubt as to his feelings, and they gave Christophe an inexpressible +pleasure. Hassler forgot to count the number of pages that had been played +and were left to be played. When Christophe had finished a piece, he said: + +"Go on!... Go on!..." + +He was beginning to use human language. + +"That's good! Good!" he exclaimed to himself. "Famous!... Awfully famous! +(_Schrecklich famos!_) But, damme!" He growled in astonishment. "What is +it?" + +He had risen on his seat, was stretching for wind, making a trumpet with +his hand, talking to himself, laughing with pleasure, or at certain odd +harmonies, just putting out his tongue as though to moisten his lips. An +unexpected modulation had such an effect on him that he got up suddenly +with an exclamation, and came and sat at the piano by Christophe's side. He +did not seem to notice that Christophe was there. He was only concerned +with the music, and when the piece was finished he took the book and began +to read the page again, then the following pages, and went on ejaculating +his admiration and surprise as though he had been alone in the room. + +"The devil!" he said. "Where did the little beast find that?..." + +He pushed Christophe away with his shoulders and himself played certain +passages. He had a charming touch on the piano, very soft, caressing and +light. Christophe noticed his fine long, well-tended hands, which were a +little morbidly aristocratic and out of keeping with the rest. Hassler +stopped at certain chords and repeated them, winking, and clicking with his +tongue. He hummed with his lips, imitating the sounds of the instruments, +and went on interspersing the music with his apostrophes in which pleasure +and annoyance were mingled. He could not help having a secret initiative, +an unavowed jealousy, and at the same time he greedily enjoyed it all. + +Although he went on talking to himself as though Christophe did not exist, +Christophe, blushing with pleasure, could not help taking Hassler's +exclamations to himself, and he explained what he had tried to do. At first +Hassler seemed not to pay any attention to what the young man was saying, +and went on thinking out loud; then something that Christophe said struck +him and he was silent, with his eyes still fixed on the music, which he +turned over as he listened without seeming to hear. Christophe grew more +and more excited, and at last he plumped into confidence, and talked with +naïve enthusiasm about his projects and his life. + +Hassler was silent, and as he listened he slipped hack into his irony. He +had let Christophe take the book from his hands; with his elbow on the +rack of the piano and his hand on his forehead, he looked at Christophe, +who was explaining; his work with youthful ardor and eagerness. And he +smiled bitterly as he thought of his own beginning, his own hopes, and of +Christophe's hopes, and all the disappointments that lay in wait for him. + +Christophe spoke with his eyes cast down, fearful of losing the thread of +what he had to say. Hassler's silence encouraged him. He felt that Hassler +was watching him and not missing a word that he said, and he thought he had +broken the ice between them, and he was glad at heart. When he had finished +he shyly raised his head--confidently, too--and looked at Hassler. All the +joy welling in him was frozen on the instant, like too early birds, when he +saw the gloomy, mocking eyes that looked into his without kindness. He was +silent. + +After an icy moment, Hassler spoke dully. He had changed once more; he +affected a sort of harshness towards the young man. He teased him cruelly +about his plans, his hopes of success, as though he were trying to chaff +himself, now that he had recovered himself. He set himself coldly to +destroy his faith in life, his faith in art, his faith in himself. Bitterly +he gave himself as an example, speaking of his actual works in an insulting +fashion. + +"Hog-waste!" he said. "That is what these swine want. Do you think there +are ten people in the world who love music? Is there a single one?" + +"There is myself!" said Christophe emphatically. Hassler looked at him, +shrugged his shoulders, and said wearily: + +"You will be like the rest. You will do as the rest have done. You will +think of success, of amusing yourself, like the rest.... And you will be +right...." + +Christophe tried to protest, but Hassler cut him short; he took the music +and began bitterly to criticise the works which he had first been praising, +Not only did he harshly pick out the real carelessness, the mistakes in +writing, the faults of taste or of expression which had escaped the young +man, but he made absurd criticisms, criticisms which might have been made +by the most narrow and antiquated of musicians, from which he himself, +Hassler, had had to suffer all his life. He asked what was the sense of it +all. He did not even criticise: he denied; it was as though he were trying +desperately to efface the impression that the music had made on him in +spite of himself. + +Christophe was horrified and made no attempt to reply. How could he reply +to absurdities which he blushed to hear on the lips of a man whom he +esteemed and loved? Besides, Hassler did not listen to him. He stopped at +that, stopped dead, with the book in his hands, shut; no expression in his +eyes and his lips drawn down in bitterness. At last he said, as though he +had once more forgotten Christophe's presence: + +"Ah! the worst misery of all is that there is not a single man who can +understand you!" + +Christophe was racked with emotion. He turned suddenly, laid his hand on +Hassler's, and with love in his heart he repeated: + +"There is myself!" + +But Hassler did not move his hand, and if something stirred in his heart +for a moment at that boyish cry, no light shone in his dull eyes, as they +looked at Christophe. Irony and evasion were in the ascendant. He made a +ceremonious and comic little bow in acknowledgment. + +"Honored!" he said. + +He was thinking: + +"Do you, though? Do you think I have lost my life for you?" + +He got up, threw the book on the piano, and went with his long spindle legs +and sat on the divan again. Christophe had divined his thoughts and had +felt the savage insult in them, and he tried proudly to reply that a man +does not need to be understood by everybody; certain souls are worth a +whole people; they think for it, and what they have thought the people have +to think.--But Hassler did not listen to him. He had fallen back into his +apathy, caused by the weakening of the life slumbering in him. Christophe, +too sane to understand the sudden change, felt that he had lost. But he +could not resign himself to losing after seeming to be so near victory. He +made desperate efforts to excite Hassler's attention once more. He took +up his music book and tried to explain the reason, for the irregularities +which Hassler had remarked. Hassler lay back on the sofa and preserved a +gloomy silence. He neither agreed nor contradicted; he was only waiting for +him to finish. + +Christophe saw that there was nothing more to be done. He stopped short in +the middle of a sentence. He rolled up his music and got up. Hassler got +up, too. Christophe was shy and ashamed, and murmured excuses. Hassler +bowed slightly, with a certain haughty and bored distinction, coldly held +out his hand politely, and accompanied him to the door without a word of +suggestion that he should stay or come again. + + * * * * * + +Christophe found himself in the street once more, absolutely crushed. He +walked at random; he did not know where he was going. He walked down +several streets mechanically, and then found himself at a station of the +train by which he had come. He went back by it without thinking of what he +was doing. He sank down on the seat with his arms and legs limp. It was +impossible to think or to collect his ideas; he thought of nothing, he did +not try to think. He was afraid to envisage himself. He was utterly empty. +It seemed to him that there was emptiness everywhere about him in that +town. He could not breathe in it. The mists, the massive houses stifled +him. He had only one idea, to fly, to fly as quickly as possible,--as if by +escaping from the town he would leave in it the bitter disillusion which he +had found in it. + +He returned to his hotel. It was half-past twelve. It was two hours since +he had entered it,--with what a light shining in his heart! Now it was +dead. + +He took no lunch. He did not go up to his room. To the astonishment of the +people of the hotel, he asked for his bill, paid as though he had spent the +night there, and said that he was going. In vain did they explain to him +that there was no hurry, that the train he wanted to go by did not leave +for hours, and that he had much better wait in the hotel. He insisted on +going to the station at once. He was like a child. He wanted to go by the +first train, no matter which, and not to stay another hour in the place. +After the long journey and all the expense he had incurred,--although he +had taken his holiday not only to see Hassler, but the museums, and to hear +concerts and to make certain acquaintances--he had only one idea in his +head: To go.... + +He went back to the station. As he had been told, his train did not leave +for three hours. And also the train was not express--(for Christophe had to +go by the cheapest class)--stopped on the way. Christophe would have done +better to go by the next train, which went two hours later and caught +up the first. But that meant spending two more hours in the place, and +Christophe could not bear it. He would not even leave the station while he +was waiting.--A gloomy period of waiting in those vast and empty halls, +dark and noisy, where strange shadows were going in and out, always busy, +always hurrying; strange shadows who meant nothing to him, all unknown +to him, not one friendly face. The misty day died down. The electric +lamps, enveloped in fog, flushed the night and made it darker than ever. +Christophe grew more and more depressed as time went on, waiting in agony +for the time to go. Ten times an hour he went to look at the train +indicators to make sure that he had not made a mistake. As he was reading +them once more from end to end to pass the time, the name of a place caught +his eye. He thought he knew it. It was only after a moment that he +remembered that it was where old Schulz lived, who had written him such +kind and enthusiastic letters. In his wretchedness the idea came to him of +going to see his unknown friend. The town was not on the direct line on +his way home, but a few hours away, by a little local line. It meant a +whole night's journey, with two or three changes and interminable waits. +Christophe never thought about it. He decided suddenly to go. He had an +instinctive need of clinging to sympathy of some sort. He gave himself no +time to think, and telegraphed to Schulz to say that he would arrive next +morning. Hardly had he sent the telegram than he regretted it. He laughed +bitterly at his eternal illusions. Why go to meet a new sorrow?--But it was +done now. It was too late to change his mind. + +These thoughts filled his last hour of waiting--his train at last was +ready. He was the first to get into it, and he was so childish that he only +began to breathe again when the train shook, and through the carriage +window he could see the outlines of the town fading into the gray sky under +the heavy downpour of the night. He thought he must have died if he had +spent the night in it. + +At the very hour--about six in the evening--a letter from Hassler came for +Christophe at his hotel. Christophe's visit stirred many things in him. +The whole afternoon he had been thinking of it bitterly, and not without +sympathy for the poor boy who had come to him with such eager affection +to be received so coldly. He was sorry for that reception and a little +angry with himself. In truth, it had been only one of those fits of sulky +whimsies to which he was subject. He thought to make it good by sending +Christophe a ticket for the opera and a few words appointing a meeting +after the performance--Christophe never knew anything about it. When he did +not see him, Hassler thought: + +"He is angry. So much the worse for him!" + +He shrugged his shoulders and did not wait long for him. + +Next day Christophe was far away--so far that all eternity would not have +been enough to bring them together. And, they were both separated forever. + + * * * * * + +Peter Schulz was seventy-five. He had always had delicate health, and age +had not spared him. He was fairly tail, but stooping, and his head hung +down to his chest. He had a weak throat and difficulty in breathing. +Asthma, catarrh, bronchitis were always upon him, and the marks of the +struggles he had to make--many a night sitting up in his bed, bending +forward, dripping with sweat in the effort to force a breath of air +into his stifling lungs--were in the sorrowful lines on his long, thin, +clean-shaven face. His nose was long and a little swollen at the top. Deep +lines came from under his eyes and crossed his cheeks, that were hollow +from his toothlessness. Age and infirmity had not been the only sculptors +of that poor wreck of a man: the sorrows of life also had had their share +in its making.--And in spite of all he was not sad. There was kindness and +serenity in his large mouth. But in his eyes especially there was that +which gave a touching softness to the old face. They were light gray, +limpid, and transparent. They looked straight, calmly and frankly. They hid +nothing of the soul. Its depths could be read in them. + +His life had been uneventful. He had been alone for years. His wife was +dead. She was not very good, or very intelligent, and she was not at all +beautiful. But he preserved a tender memory of her. It was twenty-five +years since he had lost her, and he had never once failed a night to have a +little imaginary conversation, sad and tender, with her before he went to +sleep. He shared all his doings with her.--He had had no children. That was +the great sorrow of his life. He had transferred his need of affection to +his pupils, to whom he was attached as a father to his sons. He had found +very little return. An old heart can feel very near to a young heart and +almost of the same age; knowing how brief are the years that lie between +them. But the young man never has any idea of that. To him an old man is a +man of another age, and besides, he is absorbed by his immediate anxieties +and instinctively turns away from the melancholy end of all his efforts. +Old Schulz had sometimes found gratitude in his pupils who were touched +by the keen and lively interest he took in everything good or ill that +happened to them. They used to come and see him from time to time. They +used to write and thank him when they left the university. Some of them +used to go on writing occasionally during the years following. And then old +Schulz would hear nothing more of them except in the papers which kept him +informed of their advancement, and he would be as glad of their success +as though it was his own. He was never hurt by their silence. He found a +thousand excuses for it. He never doubted their affection and used to +ascribe even to the most selfish the feelings that he had for them. + +But his books were his greatest refuge. They neither forgot nor deceived +him. The souls which he cherished in them had risen above the flood of +time. They were inscrutable, fixed for eternity in the love they inspired +and seemed to feel, and gave forth once more to those who loved them. He +was Professor of Æsthetics and the History of Music, and he was like an old +wood quivering with the songs of birds. Some of these songs sounded very +far away. They came from the depths of the ages. But they were not the +least sweet and mysterious of all.--Others were familiar and intimate to +him, dear companions; their every phrase reminded him of the joys and +sorrows of his past life, conscious or unconscious:--(for under every day +lit by the light of the sun there are unfolded other days lit by a light +unknown)--And there were some songs that he had never yet heard, songs +which said the things that he had been long awaiting and needing; and his +heart opened to receive them like the earth to receive rain. And so old +Schulz listened, in the silence of his solitary life, to the forest filled +with birds, and, like the monk of the legend, who slept in the ecstasy of +the song of the magic bird, the years passed over him and the evening of +life was come, but still he had the heart of a boy of twenty. + +He was not only rich in music. He loved the poets--old and new. He had a +predilection for those of his own country, especially for Goethe; but he +also loved those of other countries. He was a learned man and could read +several languages. In mind he was a contemporary of Herder and the great +_Weltbürger_--the "citizens of the world" of the end of the eighteenth +century. He had lived through the years of bitter struggle which preceded +and followed seventy, and was immersed in their vast idea. And although +he adored Germany, he was not "vainglorious" about it. He thought, with +Herder, that "_among all vainglorious men, he who is vainglorious of his +nationality is the completest fool_," and, with Schiller, that "_it is a +poor ideal only to write for one nation_." And he was timid of mind, but +his heart was large, and ready to welcome lovingly everything beautiful in +the world. Perhaps he was too indulgent with mediocrity; but his instinct +never doubted as to what was the best; and if he was not strong enough +to condemn the sham artists admired by public opinion, he was always +strong enough to defend the artists of originality and power whom public +opinion disregarded. His kindness often led him astray. He was fearful of +committing any injustice, and when he did not like what others liked, he +never doubted but that it must be he who was mistaken, and he would manage +to love it. It was so sweet to him to love! Love and admiration were even +more necessary to his moral being than air to his miserable lungs. And so +how grateful he was to those who gave him a new opportunity of showing +them!--Christophe could have no idea of what his _Lieder_ had been to him. +He himself had not felt them nearly so keenly when he had written them. His +songs were to him only a few sparks thrown out from his inner fire. He had +cast them forth and would cast forth others. But to old Schulz they were a +whole world suddenly revealed to him--a whole world to be loved. His life +had been lit up by them. + + * * * * * + +A year before he had had to resign his position at the university. His +health, growing more and more precarious, prevented his lecturing. He was +ill and in bed when Wolf's Library had sent him as usual a parcel of the +latest music they had received, and in it were Christophe's _Lieder_. He +was alone. He was without relatives. The few that he had had were long +since dead. He was delivered into the hands of an old servant, who profited +by his weakness to make him do whatever she liked. A few friends hardly +younger than himself used to come and see him from time to time, but they +were not in very good health either, and when the weather was bad they too +stayed indoors and missed their visits. It was winter then and the streets +were covered with melting snow. Schulz had not seen anybody all day. It was +dark in the room. A yellow fog was drawn over the windows like a screen, +making it impossible to see out. The heat of the stove was thick and +oppressive. From the church hard by an old peal of bells of the seventeenth +century chimed every quarter of an hour, haltingly and horribly out of +tune, scraps of monotonous chants, which seemed grim in their heartiness to +Schulz when he was far from gay himself. He was coughing, propped up by a +heap of pillows. He was trying to read Montaigne, whom he loved; but now +he did not find as much pleasure in reading him as usual. He let the book +fall, and was breathing with difficulty and dreaming. The parcel of music +was on the bed. He had not the courage to open it. He was sad at heart. At +last he sighed, and when he had very carefully untied the string, he put +on his spectacles and began to read the pieces of music. His thoughts were +elsewhere, always returning to memories which he was trying to thrust +aside. + +The book he was holding was Christophe's. His eyes fell on an old canticle +the words of which Christophe had taken from a simple, pious poet of the +seventeenth century, and had modernized them. The _Christliches Wanderlied_ +(The Christian Wanderer's Song) of Paul Gerhardt. + + _Hoff! O du arme Seele, + Hoff! und sei unverzagt. + + Enwarte nur der Zeit, + So wirst du schon erblicken + Die Sonne der schönsten Freud._ + + Hope, oh! thou wretched soul, + Hope, hope and be valiant! + + * * * * * + + Only wait then, wait, + And surely thou shalt see + The sun of lovely Joy. + +Old Schulz knew the ingenuous words, but never had they so spoken to him, +never so nearly.... It was not the tranquil piety, soothing and lulling the +soul by its monotony. It was a soul like his own. It was his own soul, but +younger and stronger, suffering, striving to hope, striving to see, and +seeing, Joy. His hands trembled, great tears trickled down his cheeks. He +read on: + + _Auf! Auf! gieb deinem Schmerze + Und Sorgen gute Nacht! + Lass fahren was das Herze + Betrübt und traurig macht!_ + + Up! Up! and give thy sorrow + And all thy cares good-night; + And all that grieves and saddens + Thy heart be put to flight. + +Christophe brought to these thoughts a boyish and valiant ardor, and the +heroic laughter in it showed forth in the last naïve and confident verses: + + _Bist du doch nicht Regente, + Der alles führen, soll, + Gott sitzt im Regimente, + Und führet alles wohl._ + + Not thou thyself art ruler + Whom all things must obey, + But God is Lord decreeing-- + All follows in His way. + +And when there came the superbly defiant stanzas which in his youthful +barbarian insolence he had calmly plucked from their original position in +the poem to form the conclusion of his _Lied_: + + _Und obgleich alle Teufel + Hier wollten wiederstehn, + So wird doch ohne Zweifel, + Gott nicht zurücke gehn. + + Was er ihm vorgenommen, + Und was er haben will, + Das muss doch endlich Rommen + Zu seinem Zweck und Ziel._ + + And even though all Devils + Came and opposed his will, + There were no cause for doubting, + God will be steadfast still: + + What He has undertaken, + All His divine decree-- + Exactly as He ordered + At last shall all things be. + +... then there were transports of delight, the intoxication of war, the +triumph of a Roman _Imperator_. + +The old man trembled all over. Breathlessly he followed the impetuous music +like a child dragged along by a companion. His heart beat. Tears trickled +down. He stammered: + +"Oh! My God!... Oh! My God!..." + +He began to sob and he laughed; he was happy. He choked. He was attacked by +a terrible fit of coughing. Salome, the old servant, ran to him, and she +thought the old man was going to die. He went on crying, and coughing, and +saying over and over again: + +"Oh! My God!... My God!..." + +And in the short moments of respite between the fits of coughing he laughed +a little hysterically. + +Salome thought he was going mad. When at last she understood the cause of +his agitation, she scolded him sharply: + +"How can anybody get into such a state over a piece of foolery!... Give it +me! I shall take it away. You shan't see it again." + +But the old man held firm, in the midst of his coughing, and he cried to +Salome to leave him alone. As she insisted, he grew angry, swore, and +choked himself with his oaths. Never had she known him to be angry and to +stand out against her. She was aghast and surrendered her prize. But she +did not mince her words with him. She told him he was an old fool and said +that hitherto she had thought she had to do with a gentleman, but that now +she saw her mistake; that he said things which would make a plowman blush, +that his eyes were starting from his head, and if they had been pistols +would have killed her.... She would have gone on for a long time in that +strain if he had not got up furiously on his pillow and shouted at her: + +"Go!" in so peremptory a voice that she went, slamming the door and +declaring that he might call her as much as he liked, only she would not +put herself out and would leave him alone to kick the bucket. + +Then silence descended upon the darkening room. Once more the bells pealed +placidly and grotesquely through the calm evening. A little ashamed of his +anger, old Schulz was lying on his back, motionless, waiting, breathless, +for the tumult in his heart to die down. He was clasping the precious +_Lieder_ to his breast and laughing like a child. + + * * * * * + +He spent the following days of solitude in a sort of ecstasy. He thought no +more of his illness, of the winter, of the gray light, or of his +loneliness. Everything was bright and filled with love about him. So near +to death, he felt himself living again in the young soul of an unknown +friend. + +He tried to imagine Christophe. He did not see him as anything like what +he was. He saw him rather as an idealized version of himself, as he would +have liked to be: fair, slim, with blue eyes, and a gentle, quiet voice, +soft, timid and tender. He idealized everything about him: his pupils, +his neighbors, his friends, his old servant. His gentle, affectionate +disposition and his want of the critical faculty--in part voluntary, so as +to avoid any disturbing thought--surrounded him with serene, pure images +like himself. It was the kindly lying which he needed if he were to live. +He was not altogether deceived by it, and often in his bed at night he +would sigh as he thought of a thousand little things which had happened +during the day to contradict his idealism. He knew quite well that old +Salome used to laugh at him behind his back with her gossips, and that +she used to rob him regularly every week. He knew that his pupils were +obsequious with him while they had need of him, and that after they had +received all the services they could expect from him they deserted him. +He knew that his former colleagues at the university had forgotten him +altogether since he had retired, and that his successor attacked him in his +articles, not by name, but by some treacherous allusion, and by quoting +some worthless thing that he had said or by pointing out his mistakes--(a +procedure very common in the world of criticism). He knew that his told +friend Kunz had lied to him that very afternoon, and that he would never +see again the books which his other friend, Pottpetschmidt, had borrowed +for a few days,--which was hard for a man who, like himself, was as +attached to his books as to living people. Many other sad things, old or +new, would come to him. He tried not to think of them, but they were there +all the same. He was conscious of them. Sometimes the memory of them would +pierce him like some rending sorrow. + +"Oh! My God! My God!..." + +He would groan in the silence of the night.--And then fee would discard +such hurtful thoughts; he would deny them; he would try to be confident, +and optimistic, and to believe in human truth; and he would believe. +How often had his illusions been brutally destroyed!--But always others +springing into life, always, always.... He could not do without them. + +The unknown Christophe became a fire of warmth to his life. The first cold, +ungracious letter which he received from him would have hurt him--(perhaps +it did so)--but he would not admit it, and it gave him a childish joy. He +was so modest and asked so little of men that the little he received from +them was enough to feed his need of loving and being grateful to them. To +see Christophe was a happiness which he had never dared to hope for, for +he was too old now to journey to the banks of the Rhine, and as for asking +Christophe to come to him, the idea had never even occurred to him. + +Christophe's telegram reached him in the evening, just as he was sitting +down to dinner. He did not understand at first. He thought he did not know +the signature. He thought there was some mistake, that the telegram was not +for him. He read it three times. In his excitement his spectacles would not +stay on his nose. The lamp gave a very bad light, and the letters danced +before his eyes. When he did understand he was so overwhelmed that he +forgot to eat. In vain did Salome shout at him. He could not swallow a +morsel. He threw his napkin on the table, unfolded,--a thing he never did. +He got up, hobbled to get his hat and stick, and went out. Old Schulz's +first thought on receiving such good news was to go and share it with +others, and to tell his friends of Christophe's coming. + +He had two friends who were music mad like himself, and he had succeeded in +making them share his enthusiasm for Christophe. Judge Samuel Kunz and the +dentist, Oscar Pottpetschmidt, who was an excellent singer. The three old +friends had often talked about Christophe, and they had played all his +music that they could find. Pottpetschmidt sang, Schulz accompanied, and +Kunz listened. They would go into ecstasies for hours together. How often +had they said while they were playing: + +"Ah! If only Krafft were here!" + +Schulz laughed to himself in the street for the joy he had and was going to +give. Night was falling, and Kunz lived in a little village half an hour +away from the town. But the sky was clear; it was a soft April evening. +The nightingales were singing. Old Schulz's heart was overflowing with +happiness. He breathed without difficulty, he walked like a boy. He strode +along gleefully, without heeding the stones against which he kicked in the +darkness. He turned blithely into the side of the road when carts came +along, and exchanged a merry greeting with the drivers, who looked at him +in astonishment when the lamps showed the old man climbing up the bank of +the road. + +Night was fully come when he reached Kunz's house, a little way out of the +village in a little garden. He drummed on the door and shouted at the top +of his voice. A window was opened and Kunz appeared in alarm. He peered +through the door and asked: + +"Who is there? What is it?" + +Schulz was out of breath, but he called gladly: + +"Krafft--Krafft is coming to-morrow...." Kunz did not understand; but he +recognized the voice: + +"Schulz!... What! At this hour? What is it?" Schulz repeated: + +"To-morrow, he is coming to-morrow morning!...' + +"What?" asked Kunz, still mystified. + +"Krafft!" cried Schulz. + +Kunz pondered the word for a moment; then a loud exclamation showed that he +had understood. + +"I am coming down!" he shouted. + +The window was closed. He appeared on the steps with a lamp in his hand and +came down into the garden. He was a little stout old man, with a large gray +head, a red beard, red hair on his face and hands. He took little steps and +he was smoking a porcelain pipe. This good natured, rather sleepy little +man had never worried much about anything. For all that, the news brought +by Schulz excited him; he waved his short arms and his lamp and asked: + +"What? Is it him? Is he really coming?" + +"To-morrow morning!" said Schulz, triumphantly waving the telegram. + +The two old friends went and sat on a seat in the arbor. Schulz took the +lamp. Kunz carefully unfolded the telegram and read it slowly in a whisper. +Schulz read it again aloud over his shoulder. Kunz went on looking at the +paper, the marks on the telegram, the time when it had been sent, the time +when it had arrived, the number of words. Then he gave the precious paper +back to Schulz, who was laughing happily, looked at him and wagged his head +and said: + +"Ah! well ... Ah! well!..." + +After a moment's thought and after drawing in and expelling a cloud of +tobacco smoke he put his hand on Schulz's knee and said: + +"We must tell Pottpetschmidt." + +"I was going to him," said Schulz. + +"I will go with you," said Kunz. + +He went in and put down his lamp and came back immediately. The two old men +went on arm in arm. Pottpetschmidt lived at the other end of the village. +Schulz and Kunz exchanged a few absent words, but they were both pondering +the news. Suddenly Kunz stopped and whacked on the ground with his stick: + +"Oh! Lord!" he said.... "He is away!" + +He had remembered that Pottpetschmidt had had to go away that afternoon for +an operation at a neighboring town where he had to spend the night and stay +a day or two. Schulz was distressed. Kunz was equally put out. They were +proud of Pottpetschmidt; they would have liked to show him off. They stood +in the middle of the road and could not make up their minds what to do. + +"What shall we do? What shall we do?" asked Kunz. + +"Krafft absolutely must hear Pottpetschmidt," said Schulz. + +He thought for a moment and said: + +"We must sent him a telegram." + +They went to the post office and together they composed a long and excited +telegram of which it was very difficult to understand a word, Then they +went back. Schulz reckoned: + +"He could be here to-morrow morning if he took the first train." + +But Kunz pointed out that it was too late and that the telegram would not +be sent until the morning. Schulz nodded, and they said: + +"How unfortunate!" + +They parted at Kunz's door; for in spite of his friendship for Schulz it +did not go so far as to make him commit the imprudence of accompanying +Schulz outside the village, and even to the end of the road by which he +would have had to come back alone in the dark. It was arranged that Kunz +should dine on the morrow with Schulz. Schulz looked anxiously at the sky: + +"If only it is fine to-morrow!" + +And his heart was a little lighter when Kunz, who was supposed to have a +wonderful knowledge of meteorology, looked gravely at the sky--(for he was +no less anxious than Schulz that Christophe should see their little +countryside in all its beauty)--and said: + +"It will be fine to-morrow." + + * * * * * + +Schulz went along the road to the town and came to it not without having +stumbled more than once in the ruts and the heaps of stones by the wayside. +Before he went home he called in at the confectioner's to order a certain +tart which was the envy of the town. Then he went home, but just as he was +going in he turned back to go to the station to find out the exact time +at which the train arrived. At last he did go home and called Salome and +discussed at length the dinner for the morrow. Then only he went to bed +worn out; but he was as excited as a child on Christmas Eve, and all night +he turned about and about and never slept a wink. About one o'clock in the +morning he thought of getting up to go and tell Salome to cook a stewed +carp for dinner; for she was marvelously successful with that dish. He did +not tell her; and it was as well, no doubt. But he did get up to arrange +all sorts of things in the room he meant to give Christophe; he took +a thousand precautions so that Salome should not hear him, for he was +afraid of being scolded. All night long he was afraid of missing the train +although Christophe could not arrive before eight o'clock. He was up very +early. He first looked at the sky; Kunz had not made a mistake; it was +glorious weather. On tiptoe Schulz went down to the cellar; he had not been +there for a long time, fearing the cold and the steep stairs; he selected +his best wines, knocked his head hard against the ceiling as he came up +again, and thought he was going to choke when he reached the top of the +stairs with his full basket. Then he went to the garden with his shears; +ruthlessly he cut his finest roses and the first branches of lilac in +flower. Then he went up to his room again, shaved feverishly, and cut +himself more than once. He dressed carefully and set out for the station. +It was seven o'clock. Salome had not succeeded in making him take so much +as a drop of milk, for he declared that Christophe would not have had +breakfast when he arrived and that they would have breakfast together when +they came from the station. + +He was at the station three-quarters of an hour too soon. He waited and +waited for Christophe and finally missed him. Instead of waiting patiently +at the gate he went on to the platform and lost his head in the crowd of +people coming and going. In spite of the exact information of the telegram +he had imagined, God knows why, that Christophe would arrive by a different +train from that which brought him; and besides it had never occurred to +him that Christophe would get out of a fourth-class carriage. He stayed +on for more than half an hour waiting at the station, when Christophe, +who had long since arrived, had gone straight to his house. As a crowning +misfortune Salome had just gone out to do her shopping; Christophe found +the door shut. The woman next door whom Salome had told to say, in case +any one should ring, that she would soon be back, gave the message without +any addition to it. Christophe, who had not come to see Salome and did +not even know who she was, thought it a very bad joke; he asked if _Herr +Universitäts Musikdirektor_ Schulz was not at home. He was told "Yes," but +the woman could not tell him where he was. Christophe was furious and went +away. + +When old Schulz came back with a face an ell long and learned from Salome, +who had just come in too, what had happened he was in despair; he almost +wept. He stormed at his servant for her stupidity in going out while he was +away and not having even given instructions that Christophe was to be kept +waiting. Salome replied in the same way that she could not imagine that he +would be so foolish as to miss a man whom he had gone to meet. But the old +man did not stay to argue with her; without losing a moment he hobbled out +of doors again and went off to look for Christophe armed with the very +vague clues given him by his neighbors. + +Christophe had been offended at finding nobody and not even a word of +excuse. Not knowing what to do until the next train he went and walked +about the town and the fields, which, he thought very pretty. It was +a quiet reposeful little town sheltered between gently sloping hills; +there were gardens round the houses, cherry-trees and flowers, green +lawns, beautiful shady trees, pseudo-antique ruins, white busts of bygone +princesses on marble columns in the midst of the trees, with gentle +and pleasing faces. All about the town were meadows, and hills. In the +flowering trees blackbirds whistled joyously, for many little orchestras +of flutes gay and solemn. It was not long before Christophe's ill-humor +vanished; he forgot Peter Schulz. + +The old man rushed vainly through the streets questioning people; he went +up to the old castle on the hill above the town, and was coming back in +despair when, with his keen, far-sighted eyes, he saw some distance away a +man lying in a meadow in the shade of a thorn. He did not know Christophe; +he had no means of being sure that it was he. Besides, the man's back +was turned towards him and his face was half hidden in the grass. Schulz +prowled along the road and about the meadow with his heart beating: + +"It is he ... No, it is not he..." + +He dared not call to him. An idea struck him; he began to sing the last +bars of Christophe's _Lied_: + +"_Auf! Auf!_..." (Up! Up!...) + +Christophe rose to it like a fish out of the water and shouted the +following bars at the top of his voice. He turned gladly. His face was red +and there was grass in his hair. They called to each other by name and ran +together. Schulz strode across the ditch by the road; Christophe leaped the +fence. They shook hands warmly and went back to the house laughing and +talking loudly. The old man told how he had missed him. Christophe, who a +moment before had decided to go away without making any further attempt to +see Schulz, was at once conscious of his kindness and simplicity and began +to love him. Before they arrived they had already confided many things to +each other. + +When they reached the house they found Kunz, who, having learned that +Schulz had gone to look for Christophe, was waiting quietly. They were +given _café au lait_. But Christophe said that he had breakfasted at an +inn. The old man was upset; it was a real grief to him that Christophe's +first meal in the place should not have been in his house; such small +things were of vast importance to his fond heart. Christophe, who +understood him, was amused by it secretly, and loved him the more for it. +And to console him he assured him that he had appetite enough for two +breakfasts; and he proved his assertion. + +All his troubles had gone from his mind; he felt that he was among true +friends and he began to recover. He told them about his journey and his +rebuffs in a humorous way; he looked like a schoolboy on holiday. Schulz +beamed and devoured him with his eyes and laughed heartily. + +It was not long before conversation turned upon the secret bond that +united the three of them: Christophe's music. Schulz was longing to hear +Christophe play some of his compositions; but he dared not ask him to do +so. Christophe was striding about the room and talking. Schulz watched him +whenever he went near the open piano; and he prayed inwardly that he might +stop at it. The same thought was in Kunz. Their hearts beat when they saw +him sit down mechanically on the piano stool, without stopping talking, and +then without looking at the instrument run his fingers over the keys at +random. As Schulz expected hardly had Christophe struck a few arpeggios +than the sound took possession of him; he went on striking chords and still +talking; then there came whole phrases; and then he stopped talking and +began to play. The old men exchanged a meaning glance, sly and happy. + +"Do you know that?" asked Christophe, playing one of his _Lieder_. + +"Do I know it?" said Schulz delightedly. Christophe said without stopping, +half turning his head: + +"Euh! It is not very good. Your piano!" The old man was very contrite. He +begged pardon: + +"It is old," he said humbly. "It is like myself." Christophe turned round +and looked at the old man, who seemed to be asking pardon for his age, took +both his hands, and laughed. He looked into his honest eyes: + +"Oh!" he said, "you are younger than I." Schulz laughed aloud and spoke of +his old body and his infirmities. + +"Ta, ta, ta!" said Christophe, "I don't mean that; I know what I am saying. +It is true, isn't it, Kunz?" + +(They had already suppressed the "_Herr_.") + +Kunz agreed emphatically. + +Schulz tried to find the same indulgence for his piano. "It has still some +beautiful notes," he said timidly. + +And he touched them-four or five notes that were fairly true, half an +octave in the middle register of the instrument, Christophe understood that +it was an old friend and he said kindly,--thinking of Schulz's eyes: + +"Yes. It still has beautiful eyes." + +Schulz's face lit up. He launched out on an involved eulogy of his old +piano, but he dropped immediately, for Christophe had begun to play again. +_Lieder_ followed _Lieder_; Christophe sang them softly. With tears in +his eyes Schulz followed his every movement. With his hands folded on his +stomach Kunz closed his eyes the better to enjoy it. From time to time +Christophe turned beaming towards the two old men who were absolutely +delighted, and he said with a naïve enthusiasm at which they never thought +of laughing: + +"Hein! It is beautiful I... And this! What do you say about this?... And +this again!... This is the most beautiful of all.... Now I will play you +something which will make your hair curl...." + +As he was finishing a dreamy fragment the cuckoo clock began to call. +Christophe started and shouted angrily. Kunz was suddenly awakened and +rolled his eyes fearfully. Even Schulz did not understand at first. Then +when he saw Christophe shaking his fist at the calling bird and shouting +to someone in the name of Heaven to take the idiot and throw it away, the +ventriloquist specter, he too discovered for the first time in his life +that the noise was intolerable; and he took a chair and tried to mount it +to take down the spoil-sport. But he nearly fell and Kunz would not let him +try again; he called Salome. She came without hurrying herself, as usual, +and was staggered to find the clock thrust into her hands, which Christophe +in his impatience had taken down himself. + +"What am I to do with it?" she asked. + +"Whatever you like. Take it away! Don't let us see it again!" said Schulz, +no less impatient than Christophe. + +(He wondered how he could have borne such a horror for so long.) + +Salome thought that they were surely all cracked. + +The music went on. Hours passed. Salome came and announced that dinner was +served. Schulz bade her be silent. She came again ten minutes later, then +once again, ten minutes after that; this time she was beside herself and +boiling with rage while she tried to look unperturbed; she stood firmly +in, the middle of the room and in spite of Schulz's desperate gestures she +asked in a brazen voice: + +"Do the gentlemen prefer to eat their dinner cold or burned? It does not +matter to me. I only await your orders." + +Schulz was confused by her scolding and tried to retort; but Christophe +burst out laughing. Kunz followed his example and at length Schulz laughed +too. Salome, satisfied with the effect she had produced, turned on her +heels with the air of a queen who is graciously pleased to pardon her +repentant subjects. + +"That's a good creature!" said Christophe, getting up from the piano. "She +is right. There is nothing so intolerable as an audience arriving in the +middle of a concert." + +They sat at table. There was an enormous and delicious repast. Schulz had +touched Salome's vanity and she only asked an excuse to display her art. +There was no lack of opportunity for her to exercise it. The old friends +were tremendous feeders. Kunz was a different man at table; he expanded +like a sun; he would have done well as a sign for a restaurant. Schulz +was no less susceptible to good cheer; but his ill health imposed more +restraint upon him. It is true that generally he did not pay much heed to +that; and he had to pay for it. In that event he did not complain, if he +were ill at least he knew why. Like Kunz he had recipes of his own handed +down from father to son for generations. Salome was accustomed therefore +to work for connoisseurs. But on this occasion, she had contrived to +include all her masterpieces in one menu; it was like an exhibition of the +unforgettable cooking of Germany, honest and unsophisticated, with all +the scents of all the herbs, and thick sauces, substantial soups, perfect +stews, wonderful carp, sauerkraut, geese, plain cakes, aniseed and caraway +seed bread. Christophe was in raptures with his mouth full, and he ate like +an ogre; he had the formidable capacity of his father and grandfather, +who would have devoured a whole goose. But he could live just as well for +a whole week on bread and cheese, and cram when occasion served. Schulz +was cordial and ceremonious and watched him with kind eyes, and plied +him with all the wines of the Rhine. Kunz was shining and recognized him +as a brother. Salome's large face was beaming happily. At first she had +been deceived when Christophe came. Schulz had spoken about him so much +beforehand that she had fancied him as an Excellency, laden with letters +and honors. When she saw him she cried out: + +"What! Is that all?" + +But at table Christophe won her good graces; she had never seen anybody so +splendidly do justice to her talent. Instead of going back to her kitchen +she stayed by the door to watch Christophe, who was saying all sorts of +absurd things without missing a bite, and with her hands on her hips she +roared with laughter. They were all glad and happy. There vas only one +shadow over their joy: the absence of Pottpetschmidt. They often returned +to it. + +"Ah! If he were here! How he would eat! How he would drink! How he would +sing!" + +Their praises of him were inexhaustible. + +"If only Christophe could see him!... But perhaps he would be able to. +Perhaps Pottpetschmidt would return in the evening, on that night at +latest...." + +"Oh! I shall be gone to-night," said Christophe. + +A shadow passed over Schulz's beaming face. + +"What! Gone!" he said in a trembling voice. "But you are not going." + +"Oh, yes," said Christophe gaily. "I must catch the train to-night." + +Schulz was in despair. He had counted on Christophe spending the night, +perhaps several nights, in his house. He murmured: + +"No, no. You can't go!..." + +Kunz repeated: + +"And Pottpetschmidt!..." + +Christophe looked at the two of them; he was touched by the dismay on their +kind friendly faces and said: + +"How good you are!... If you like I will go to-morrow morning." + +Schulz took him by the hand. + +"Ah!" he said. "How glad I am! Thank you! Thank you!" + +He was like a child to whom to-morrow seems so far, so far, that it will +not bear thinking on. Christophe was not going to-day; to-day was theirs; +they would spend the whole evening together; he would sleep under his roof; +that was all that Schulz saw; he would not look further. + +They became merry again. Schulz rose suddenly, looked very solemn, and +excitedly and slowly proposed the toast of their guest, who had given +him the immense joy and honor of visiting the little town and his humble +house; he drank to his happy return, to his success, to his glory, to every +happiness in the world, which with all his heart he wished him. And then +he proposed another toast "to noble music,"--another to his old friend +Kunz,--another to spring,--and he did not forget Pottpetschmidt. Kunz in +his turn drank to Schulz and the others, and Christophe, to bring the +toasts to an end, proposed the health of dame Salome, who blushed crimson. +Upon that, without giving the orators time to reply, he began a familiar +song which the two old men took up; after that another, and then another +for three parts which was all about friendship and music and wine; the +whole was accompanied by loud laughter and the clink of glasses continually +touching. + +It was half-past three when they got up from the table. They were rather +drowsy. Kunz sank into a chair; he was longing to have a sleep. Schulz's +legs were worn out by his exertions of the morning and by standing for his +toasts. They both hoped that Christophe would sit at the piano again and go +on playing for hours. But the terrible boy, who was in fine form, first +struck two or three chords on the piano, shut it abruptly, looked out of +the window, and asked if they could not go for a walk until supper. The +country attracted him. Kunz showed little enthusiasm, but Schulz at once +thought it an excellent idea and declared that he must show their guest the +walk round the _Schönbuchwälder_. Kunz made a face; but he did not protest +and got up with the others; he was as desirous as Schulz of showing +Christophe the beauties of the country. + +They went out. Christophe took Schulz's arm and made him walk a little +faster than the old man liked. Kunz followed mopping his brow. They talked +gaily. The people standing at their doors watched them pass and thought +that _Herr Professor_ Schulz looked like a young man. When they left the +town they took to the fields. Kunz complained of the heat. Christophe was +merciless and declared that the air was exquisite. Fortunately for the two +old men, they stopped frequently to argue and they forgot the length of the +walk in their conversation. They went into the woods. Schulz recited verses +of Goethe and Mörike. Christophe loved poetry, but he could not remember +any, and while he listened he stepped into a vague dream in which music +replaced the words and made him forget them. He admired Schulz's memory. +What a difference there was between the vivacity of mind of this poor rich +old man, almost impotent, shut up in his room for a great part of the year, +shut up in his little provincial town almost all his life,--and Hassler, +young, famous, in the very thick of the artistic movement, and touring over +all Europe for his concerts and yet interested in nothing and unwilling to +know anything! Not only was Schulz in touch with every manifestation of the +art of the day that Christophe knew, but he knew an immense amount about +musicians of the past and of other countries of whom Christophe had never +heard. His memory was a great reservoir in which all the beautiful waters +of the heavens were collected. Christophe never wearied of dipping into it, +and Schulz was glad of Christophe's interest. He had sometime? found +willing listeners or docile pupils, but he had never yet found a young and +ardent heart with which he could share his enthusiasms, which sometimes so +swelled in him that he was like to choke. + +They had become the best friends in the world when unhappily the old man +chanced to express his admiration for Brahms. Christophe was at once coldly +angry; he dropped Schulz's arm and said harshly that anyone who loved +Brahms could not be his friend. That threw cold water on their happiness. +Schulz was too timid to argue, too honest to lie, and murmured and tried to +explain. But Christophe stopped him: + +"Enough?" + +It was so cutting that it was impossible to reply. There was an icy +silence. They walked on. The two old men dared not look at each other. Kunz +coughed and tried to take up the conversation again and to talk of the +woods and the weather; but Christophe sulked and would not talk and only +answered with monosyllables. Kunz, finding no response from him, tried to +break the silence by talking to Schulz; but Schulz's throat was dry, he +could not speak. Christophe watched him out of the corner of his eyes +and he wanted to laugh; he had forgiven him already. He had never been +seriously angry with him; he even thought it brutal to make the poor old +man sad; but he abused his power and would not appear to go back on what he +had said. They remained so until they left the woods; nothing was to be +heard but the weary steps of the two downcast old men; Christophe whistled +through his teeth and pretended not to see them. Suddenly he could bear it +no longer. He burst out laughing, turned towards Schulz and gripped his +arm: + +"My dear good old Schulz!" he said, looking at him affectionately. "Isn't +it beautiful? Isn't it beautiful?" + +He was speaking of the country and the fine day, but his laughing eyes +seemed to say: + +"You are good. I am a brute. Forgive me! I love you much." + +The old man's heart melted. It was as though the sun had shone again +after an eclipse. But a short time passed before he could utter a word. +Christophe took his arm and went on talking to him more amiably than ever; +in his eagerness he went faster and faster without noticing the strain upon +his two companions. Schulz did not complain; he did not even notice his +fatigue; he was so happy. He knew that he would have to pay for that day's +rashness; but he thought: + +"So much the worse for to-morrow! When _he_ is gone I shall have plenty of +time to rest." + +But Kunz, who was not so excited, followed fifteen yards behind and looked +a pitiful object. Christophe noticed it at last. He begged his pardon +confusedly and proposed that they should lie down in a meadow in the shade +of the poplars. Of course Schulz acquiesced without a thought for the +effect it might have on his bronchitis. Fortunately Kunz thought of it for +him; or at least he made it an excuse for not running any risk from the +moisture of the grass when he was in such a perspiration. He suggested that +they should take the train back to the town from a station close by. They +did so. In spite of their fatigue they had to hurry, so as not to be late, +and they reached the station just as the train came in. + +At the sight of them a big man threw himself out of the door of a carriage +and roared the names of Schulz and Kunz, together with all their titles and +qualities, and he waved his arms like a madman. Schulz and Kunz shouted in +reply and also waved their arms; they rushed to the big man's compartment +and he ran to meet them, jostling the people on the platform. Christophe +was amazed and ran after them asking: + +"What is it?" + +And the others shouted exultantly: + +"It is Pottpetschmidt!" + +The name did not convey much to him. He had forgotten the toasts at +dinner. Pottpetschmidt in the carriage and Schulz and Kunz on the step were +making a deafening noise, they were marveling at their encounter. They +climbed into the train as it was going. Schulz introduced Christophe. +Pottpetschmidt bowed as stiff as a poker and his features lost all +expression; then when the formalities were over he caught hold of +Christophe's hand and shook it five or six times, as though he were trying +to pull his arm out, and then began to shout again. Christophe was able to +make out that he thanked God and his stars for the extraordinary meeting. +That did not keep him from slapping his thigh a moment later and crying out +upon the misfortune of having had to go away--he who never went away--just +when the _Herr Kapellmeister_ was coming. Schulz's telegram had only +reached him that morning an hour after the train went; he was asleep when +it arrived and they had not thought it worth while to wake him. He had +stormed at the hotel people all morning. He was still storming. He had sent +his patients away, cut his business appointments and taken the first train +in his haste to return, but the infernal train had missed the connection on +the main line; Pottpetschmidt had had to wait three hours at a station; he +had exhausted all the expletives in his vocabulary and fully twenty times +had narrated his misadventures to other travelers who were also waiting, +and a porter at the station. At last he had started again. He was fearful +of arriving too late ... But, thank God! Thank God!... + +He took Christophe's hands again and crushed them in his vast paws with +their hairy fingers. He was fabulously stout and tall in proportion; he had +a square head, close cut red hair, a clean-shaven pock-marked face, big +eyes, large nose, thin lips, a double chin, a short neck, a monstrously +wide back, a stomach like a barrel, arms thrust out by his body, enormous +feet and hands; a gigantic mass of flesh, deformed by excess in eating and +drinking; one of those human tobacco-jars that one sees sometimes rolling +along the streets in the towns of Bavaria, which keep the secret of that +race of men that is produced by a system of gorging similar to that of the +Strasburg geese. He listened with joy and warmth like a pot of butter, and +with his two hands on his outstretched knees, or on those of his neighbors, +he never stopped talking, hurling consonants into the air like a catapult +and making them roll along. Occasionally he would have a fit of laughing +which made him shake all over; he would throw back his head, open his +mouth, snorting, gurgling, choking. His laughter would infect Schulz and +Kunz and when it was over they would look at Christophe as they dried their +eyes. They seemed to be asking him: + +"Hein!... And what do you say?" + +Christophe said nothing; he thought fearfully: + +"And this monster sings my music?" + +They went home with Schulz. Christophe hoped to avoid Pottpetschmidt's +singing and made no advances in spite of Pottpetschmidt's hints. He was +itching to be heard. But Schulz and Kunz were too intent oh showing their +friend off; Christophe had to submit. He sat at the piano rather +ungraciously; he thought: + +"My good man, my good man, you don't know what is in store for you; have a +care! I will spare you nothing." + +He thought that he would hurt Schulz and he was angry at that; but he +was none the less determined to hurt him rather than have this Falstaff +murdering his music. He was spared the pain of hurting his old friend: the +fat man had an admirable voice. At the first bars Christophe gave a start +of surprise. Schulz, who never took his eyes off him, trembled; he thought +that Christophe was dissatisfied; and he was only reassured when he saw his +face grow brighter and brighter as he went on playing. He was lit up by +the reflection of Christophe's delight; and when the song was finished and +Christophe turned round and declared that he had never heard any of his +songs sung so well, Schulz found a joy in all sweeter and greater than +Christophe's in his satisfaction, sweeter and greater than Pottpetschmidt's +in his triumph; for they had only their own pleasure, and Schulz had that +of his two friends. They went on with the music. Christophe cried aloud; he +could not understand how so ponderous and common a creature could succeed +in reading the idea of his _Lieder_. No doubt there were not exactly all +the shades of meaning, but there was the impulse and the passion which he +had never quite succeeded in imparting to professional singers. He looked +at Pottpetschmidt and wondered: + +"Does he really feel that?" + +But he could not see in his eyes any other light than that of satisfied +vanity. Some unconscious force stirred in that solid flesh. The blind +passion was like an army fighting without knowing against whom or why. The +spirit of the _Lieder_ took possession of it and it obeyed gladly, for it +had need of action; and, left to itself, it never would have known how. + +Christophe fancied that on the day of the Creation the Great Sculptor +did not take very much trouble to put in order the scattered members of +his rough-hewn creatures, and that He had adjusted them anyhow without +bothering to find out whether they were suited to each other, and so every +one was made up of all sorts of pieces; and one man was scattered among +five or six different men; his brain was with one, his heart with another, +and the body belonging to his soul with yet another; the instrument was +on one side, the performer on the other. Certain creatures remained like +wonderful violins, forever shut up in their cases, for want of anyone with +the art to play them. And those who were fit to play them were found all +their lives to put up with wretched scraping fiddles. He had all the more +reason for thinking so as he was furious with himself for never having been +able properly to sing a page of music. He had an untuned voice and could +never hear himself without disgust. + +However, intoxicated by his success, Pottpetschmidt began to "put +expression" into Christophe's _Lieder_, that is to say he substituted his +own for Christophe's. Naturally he did not think that the music gained by +the change, and he grew gloomy. Schulz saw it. His lack of the critical +faculty and his admiration for his friends would not have allowed him of +his own accord to set it down to Pottpetschmidt's bad taste. But his +affection for Christophe made him perceptive of the young man's finest +shades of thought; he was no longer in himself, he was in Christophe; +and he too suffered from Pottpetschmidt's affectations. He tried hard +to stop his going down that perilous slope. It was not easy to silence +Pottpetschmidt. Schulz found it enormously difficult, when the singer had +exhausted Christophe's repertory, to keep him from breaking out into the +lucubrations of mediocre compositions at the mention of whose names +Christophe curled up and bristled like a porcupine. + +Fortunately the announcement of supper muzzled Pottpetschmidt. Another +field for his valor was opened for him; he had no rival there; and +Christophe, who was a little weary with his exploits in the afternoon, made +no attempt to vie with him. + +It was getting late. They sat round the table and the three friends watched +Christophe; they drank in his words. It seemed very strange to Christophe +to find himself in the remote little town among these old men whom he had +never seen until that day and to be more intimate with them than if they +had been his relations. He thought how fine it would be for an artist if he +could know of the unknown friends whom his ideas find in the world,--how +gladdened his heart would be and how fortified he would be in his strength. +But he is rarely that; every one lives and dies alone, fearing to say what +he feels the more he feels and the more he needs to express it. Vulgar +flatterers have no difficulty in speaking. Those who love most have to +force their lips open to say that they love. And so he must be grateful +indeed to those who dare to speak; they are unconsciously collaborators +with the artist.--Christophe was filled with gratitude for old Schulz. He +did not confound him with his two friends; he felt that he was the soul +of the little group; the others were only reflections of that living fire +of goodness and love. The friendship that Kunz and Pottpetschmidt had for +him was very different. Kunz was selfish; music gave him a comfortable +satisfaction like a fat cat when it is stroked. Pottpetschmidt found in +it the pleasure of tickled vanity and physical exercise. Neither of them +troubled to understand him. But Schulz absolutely forgot himself; he loved. + +It was late. The two friends went away in the night. Christophe was left +alone with Schulz. He said: + +"Now I will play for you alone." + +He sat at the piano and played,--as he knew how to play when he had some +one dear to him by his side. He played his latest compositions. The old +man was in ecstasies. He sat near Christophe and never took his eyes from +him and held his breath. In the goodness of his heart he was incapable of +keeping the smallest happiness to himself, and in spite of himself he said: + +"Ah! What a pity Kunz is not here!" + +That irritated Christophe a little. + +An hour passed; Christophe was still playing; they had not exchanged a +word. When Christophe had finished neither spoke a word. There was silence, +the house, the street, was asleep. Christophe turned and saw that the +old man was weeping; he got up and went and embraced him. They talked in +whispers in the stillness of the night. The clock ticked dully in the next +room. Schulz talked in a whisper, with his hands clasped, and leaning +forward; he was telling Christophe, in answer to his questions, about his +life and his sorrow; at every turn he was ashamed of complaining and had to +say: + +"I am wrong ... I have no right to complain ... Everybody has been very +good to me...." + +And indeed he was not complaining; it was only an involuntary melancholy +emanating from the dull story of his lonely life. At the most sorrowful +moments he wove into it professions of faith vaguely idealistic and very +sentimental which amazed Christophe, though it would have been too cruel to +contradict him. At bottom there was in Schulz not so much a firm belief as +a passionate desire to believe--an uncertain hope to which he clung as to +a buoy. He sought the confirmation of it in Christophe's eyes. Christophe +understood the appeal in the eyes of his friend, who clung to him with +touching confidence, imploring him,--and dictating his answer. Then he +spoke of the calm faith or strength, sure of itself, words which the old +man was expecting, and they comforted him. The old man and the young had +forgotten the years that lay between, them; they were near each other, like +brothers of the same age, loving and helping each other; the weaker sought +the support of the stronger; the old man took refuge in the young man's +soul. + +They parted after midnight; Christophe had to get up early to catch the +train by which he had come. And so he did not loiter as he undressed. The +old man had prepared his guests room as though for a visit of several +months. He had put a bowl of roses on the table and a branch of laurel. He +had put fresh blotting paper on the bureau. During the morning he had had +an upright piano carried up. On the shelf by the bed he had placed books +chosen from among his most precious and beloved. There was no detail that +he had not lovingly thought out. But it was a waste of trouble: Christophe +saw nothing. He flung himself on his bed and went sound asleep at once. + +Schulz could not sleep. He was pondering the joy that he had had and the +sorrow he must have at the departure of his friend. He was turning over +in his mind the words that had been spoken. He was thinking that his dear +Christophe was sleeping near him on the other side of the wall against +which his bed lay. He was worn out, stiff all over, depressed; he felt that +he had caught cold during the walk and that he was going to have a relapse; +but he had only one thought: + +"If only I can hold out until he has gone!" And he was fearful of having a +fit of coughing and waking Christophe. He was full of gratitude to God, and +began to compose verses to the song of old Simeon: "_Nunc dimittis ..._" +He got up in a sweat to write the verses down and sat at his desk until +he had carefully copied them out with an affectionate dedication, and his +signature, and the date and hour. Then he lay down again with a shiver and +could not get warm all night. + +Dawn came. Schulz thought regretfully of the dawn of the day before. But he +was angry with himself for spoiling with such thoughts the few minutes of +happiness left to him; he knew that on the morrow he would regret the time +fleeting then, and he tried not to waste any of it. He listened, eager +for the least sound in the next room. But Christophe did not stir. He lay +still just as he had gone to bed; he had not moved. Half-past six rang and +he still slept. Nothing would have been easier than to make him miss the +train, and doubtless he would have taken it with a laugh. But the old man +was too scrupulous to use a friend so without his consent. In vain did he +say to himself: + +"It will not be my fault. I could not help it. It will be enough to say +nothing. And if he does not wake in time I shall have another whole day +with him." + +He answered himself: + +"No, I have no right." + +And he thought it his duty to go and wake him. He knocked at his door. +Christophe did not hear at first; he had to knock again. That made the old +man's heart thump as he thought: "Ah! How well he sleeps! He would stay +like that till mid-day!..." + +At last Christophe replied gaily through the partition. When he learned the +time he cried out; he was heard bustling about his room, noisily dressing +himself, singing scraps of melody, while he chattered with Schulz through +the wall and cracked Jokes while the old man laughed in spite of his +sorrow. The door opened; Christophe appeared, fresh, rested, and happy; he +had no thought of the pain he was causing. In reality there was no hurry +for him to go; it would have cost him nothing to stay a few days longer; +and it would have given Schulz so much pleasure! But Christophe could not +know that. Besides, although he was very fond of the old man, he was glad +to go; he was worn out by the day of perpetual conversation, by these +people who clung to him in desperate fondness. And then he was young, he +thought there would be plenty of time to meet again; he was not going to +the other ends of the earth!--The old man knew that he would soon be much +farther than the other ends of the earth, and he looked at Christophe for +all eternity. + +In spite of hit extreme weariness he took him to the station. A fine cold +rain was falling noiselessly. At the station when he opened his purse +Christophe found that he had not enough money to buy his ticket home. He +knew that Schulz would gladly lead him the money, but he would not ask him +for it.... Why? Why deny those who love you the opportunity--the happiness +of doing you a service?... He would not out of discretion--perhaps out of +vanity. He took a ticket for a station on the way, saying that he would do +the rest of the journey on foot. + +The time for leaving came. They embraced on the footboard of the carriage. +Schulz slipped the poem he had written during the night into Christophe's +hand. He stayed on the platform below the compartment. They had nothing +more to say to each other, as usual when good-byes are too long drawn out, +but Schulz's eyes went on speaking, they never left Christophe's face until +the train went. + +The carriage disappeared round a curve. Schulz was left alone. He went back +by the muddy path; he dragged along; suddenly he felt all his weariness, +the cold, the melancholy of the rainy day. He was hardly able to reach home +and to go upstairs again. Hardly had he reached his room than he was seized +with an attack of asthma and coughing. Salome came to his aid. Through his +involuntary groans, he said: + +"What luck!... What luck that I was prepared for it...." He felt very ill. +He went to bed. Salome fetched the doctor. In bed he became as limp as a +rag. He could not move; only his breast was heaving and panting like a +million billows. His head was heavy and feverish. He spent the whole day in +living through the day before, minute by minute; he tormented himself, and +then was angry with himself for complaining after so much happiness. With +his hands clasped and his heart big with love he thanked God. + + * * * * * + +Christophe was soothed by his day and restored to confidence in himself by +the affection that he had left behind him,--so he returned home. When he +had gone as far as his ticket would take him he got out blithely and took +to the road on foot. He had sixty kilometers to do. He was in no hurry and +dawdled like a school-boy. It was April. The country was not very far on. +The leaves were unfolding like little wrinkled hands at the ends of the +Hack branches; the apple trees were in flower, and along the hedges the +frail eglantine smiled. Above the leafless forest, where a soft greenish +down was beginning to appear, on the summit of a little hill, like a trophy +on the end of a lance, there rose an old Romanic castle. Three black clouds +sailed across the soft blue sky. Shadows chased over the country in spring, +showers passed, then the bright sun shone forth again and the birds sang. + +Christophe found that for some time he had been thinking of Uncle +Gottfried. He had not thought of the poor man for a long time, and he +wondered why the memory of him should so obstinately obsess him now; he was +haunted by it as he walked along a path along a canal that reflected the +poplars; and the image of his uncle was so actual that as he turned a great +wall he thought he saw him coming towards him. + +The sky grew dark. A heavy downpour of rain and hail fell, and thunder +rumbled in the distance. Christophe was near a village; he could see its +pink walls and red roofs among the clumps of trees. He hurried and took +shelter under the projecting roof of the nearest house. The hail-stones +came lashing down; they rang out on the tiles and fell down into the street +like pieces of lead. The ruts were overflowing. Above the blossoming +orchards a rainbow flung its brilliant garish scarf over the dark blue +clouds. + +On the threshold a girl was standing knitting. She asked Christophe to +enter. He accepted the invitation. The room into which he stepped was used +as a kitchen, a dining-room, and a bed-room. At the back a stew-pot hung +over a great fire. A peasant woman who was cleaning vegetables wished +Christophe good-day, and bade him go near the fire to dry himself. The girl +fetched a bottle of wine and gave him to drink. She sat on the other side +of the table and went on knitting, while at the same time she looked after +two children who were playing at testing each other's eyes with those +grasses which are known in the country as "thiefs" or "sweeps." She began +to talk to Christophe. It was only after a moment that he saw that she was +blind. She was not pretty. She was a big girl, with red cheeks, white +teeth, and strong arms, but her features were irregular; she had the +smiling, rather expressionless air of many blind people, and also their +mania for talking of things and people as though they could see them. At +first Christophe was startled and wondered if she were making fun of him +when she said that he looked well and that the country was looking very +pretty. But after looking from the blind girl to the woman who was cleaning +the vegetables, he saw that nobody was surprised and that it was no +joke--(there was nothing to joke about indeed).--The two women asked +Christophe friendly questions as to whither he was going and whence he had +come. The blind girl joined in the conversation with a rather exaggerated +eagerness; she agreed with, or commented on, Christophe's remarks about the +road and the fields. Naturally her observations were often wide of the +mark. She seemed to be trying to pretend that she could see as well as he. + +Other members of the family came in: a healthy peasant of thirty and his +young wife. Christophe talked to them all, and watched the clearing sky, +waiting for the moment to set out again. The blind girl hummed an air while +she plied her knitting needles. The air brought back all sorts of old +memories to Christophe. + +"What!" he said. "You know that." (Gottfried had taught her it.) + +He hummed the following notes. The girl began to laugh. She sang the first +half of the phrases and he finished them. He had just got up to go and look +at the weather and he was walking round the room, mechanically taking stock +of every corner of it, when near the dresser he saw an object which made +him start. It was a long twisted stick, the handle of which was roughly +carved to represent a little bent man bowing. Christophe knew it well, he +had played with it as a child. He pounced on the stick and asked in a +choking voice: + +"Where did you get this?... Where did you get it?" The man looked up and +said: + +"A friend left it here--an old friend who is dead." + +Christophe cried: + +"Gottfried?" + +They all turned and asked: + +"How do you know ...?" + +And when Christophe told them that Gottfried was his uncle, they were all +greatly excited. The blind girl got up; her ball of wool rolled across the +room; she stopped her work and took Christophe's hands and said in a great +state of emotion: + +"You are his nephew?" + +They all talked at once. Christophe asked: + +"But how ... how do you come to know him?" The man replied: + +"It was here that he died." + +They sat down again, and when the excitement had gone down a little, the +mother told, as she went on with her work, that Gottfried used to go to the +house for many years; he always used to stay there on his way to and fro +from his journeys. The last time he came--(it was in last July)--he seemed +very tired, and when he took off his pack it was some time before he could +speak a word, but they did not take any notice of it because they were used +to seeing him like that when he arrived and knew that he was short of +breath. He did not complain either. He never used to complain; he always +used to find some happiness in the most unpleasant things. When he was +doing some exhausting work he used to be glad thinking how good it would be +in bed at night, and when he was ill he used to say how good it would be +when he was not ill any longer.... + +"And, sir, it is wrong to be always content," added the woman, "for if you +axe not sorry for yourself, nobody will pity you. I always complain...." + +Well, nobody had paid any attention to him. They had even chaffed him about +looking so well and Modesta--(that was the blind girl's name)--who had just +relieved him of his pack had asked him if he was never going to be tired of +running like a young man. He smiled in reply, for he could not speak. He +sat on the seat by the door. Everybody went about their work, the men to +the fields, the woman to her cooking. Modesta went near the seat, she stood +leaning against the door with her knitting in her hands and talked to +Gottfried. He did not reply; she did not ask him for any reply and told +him everything that had happened since his last visit. He breathed with +difficulty and she heard him trying hard to speak. Instead of being anxious +about him she said: + +"Don't speak. Just rest. You shall talk presently.... How can people tire +themselves out like that!..." + +And then he did not talk or even try to talk. She went on with her story +thinking that he was listening. He sighed and said nothing. When the +mother came a little later she found Modesta still talking and Gottfried +motionless on the seat with his head flung back facing the sky; for some +minutes Modesta had been talking to a dead man. She understood then that +the poor man had been trying to say a few words before he died but had not +been able to; then with his sad smile he had accepted that and had closed +his eyes in the peace of the summer evening.... + +The rain had ceased. The daughter-in-law went to the stables, the son took +his mattock and cleared the little gutter in front of the door which the +mud had obstructed. Modesta had disappeared at the beginning of the story. +Christophe was left alone in the room with the mother, and was silent +and much moved. The old woman, who was rather talkative, could not bear +a prolonged silence; and she began to tell him the whole history of her +acquaintance with Gottfried. It went far back. When she was quite young +Gottfried loved her. He dared not tell her, but it became a joke; she made +fun of him, everybody made fun of him,--(it was; the custom wherever he +went)--Gottfried used to come faithfully every year. It seemed natural +to him that people should make fun of him, natural that she should have +married and been happy with another man. She had been too happy, she had +boasted too much of her happiness; then unhappiness came. Her husband +died suddenly. Then his daughter,--a fine strong girl whom everybody +admired, who was to be married to the son of the richest farmer of the +district,--lost her sight as the result of an accident. One day when she +had climbed to the great pear tree behind the house to pick the fruit the +ladder slipped; as she fell a broken branch struck a blow near the eye. +At first it was thought that she would escape with a scar, but later, she +had had unceasing pains in her forehead; one eye lost its sight, then the +other; and all their remedies had been useless. Of course the marriage was +broken off; her betrothed had vanished without any explanation, and of all +the young men who a month before had actually fought for a dance with her, +not one had the courage--(it is quite comprehensible)--to take a blind girl +to his arms. And so Modesta, who till then had been careless and gay, had +fallen into such despair that she wanted to die. She refused to eat; she +did nothing but weep from morning to evening, and during the night they +used to hear her still moaning in her bed. They did not know what to do, +they could only join her in her despair; and she only wept the more. +At last they lost patience with her moaning; then they scolded her and +she talked of throwing herself into the canal. The minister would come +sometimes; he would talk of the good God, and eternal things, and the merit +she was gaining for the next world by bearing her sorrows, but that did not +console her at all. One day Gottfried came. Modesta had never been very +kind to him. Not that she was naturally unkind, but she was disdainful, +and besides she never thought; she loved to laugh, and there was no malice +in what she said or did to him. When he heard of her misfortune he was as +overwhelmed by it as though he were a member of the family. However he did +not let her see it the first time he saw her. He went and sat by her side, +made no allusion to her accident and began to talk quietly as he had always +done before. He had no word of pity for her; he even seemed not to notice +that she was blind. Only he never talked to her of things she could not +see; he talked to her about what she could hear or notice in her blindness; +and he did it quite simply as though it were a natural thing; it was as +though he too were blind. At first she did not listen and went on weeping. +But next day she listened better and even talked to him a little.... + +"And," the woman went on, "I do not know what he can have said to her. For +we were hay-making and I was too busy to notice her. But in the evening +when we came in from the fields we found her talking quietly. And after +that she went on getting better. She seemed to forget her affliction. But +every now and then she would think of it again; she would weep alone or try +to talk to Gottfried of sad things; but he seemed not to hear, or he would +not reply in the same tone; he would go on talking gravely or merrily of +things which soothed and interested her. At last he persuaded her to go +out of the house, which she had never left since her accident. He made her +go a few yards round the garden at first, and then for a longer distance +in the fields. And at last she learned to find her way everywhere and to +make out everything as though she could see. She even notices things to +which we never pay any attention, and she is interested in everything, +whereas before she was never interested in much outside herself. That +time Gottfried stayed with us longer than usual. We dared not ask him to +postpone his departure, but he stayed of his own accord until he saw that +she was calmer. And one day--she was out there in the yard,--I heard her +laughing. I cannot tell you what an effect that had on me. Gottfried looked +happy too. He was sitting near me. We looked at each other, and I am not +ashamed to tell you, sir, that I kissed him with all my heart. Then he said +to me: + +"'Now I think I can go. I am not needed any more.' + +"I tried to keep him. But he said: + +"'No. I must go now. I cannot stay any longer.' + +"Everybody knew that he was like the Wandering Jew: he could not stay +anywhere; we did not insist. Then he went, but he arranged to come here +more often, and every time it was a great joy for Modesta; she was always +better after his visits. She began to work in the house again; her brother +married; she looks after the children; and now she never complains and +always looks happy. I sometimes wonder if she would be so happy if she had +her two eyes. Yes, indeed, sir, there are days, when I think that it would +be better to be like her and not to see certain ugly people and certain +evil things. The world is growing very ugly, it grows worse every day.... +And yet I should be very much afraid of God taking me at my word, and for +my part I would rather go on seeing the world, ugly as it is...." + +Modesta came back and the conversation changed. Christophe wished to go +now that the weather was fair again, but they would not let him. He had to +agree to stay to supper and to spend the night with them. Modesta sat near +Christophe and did not leave him all the evening. He would have liked to +talk intimately to the girl whose lot filled him with pity. But she gave +him no opportunity. She would only try to ask him about Gottfried. When +Christophe told her certain things she did not know, she was happy and a +little jealous. She was a little unwilling to talk of Gottfried herself; +it was apparent that she did not tell everything, and when she did tell +everything she was sorry for it at once; her memories were her property, +she did not like sharing them with another; in her affection she was as +eager as a peasant woman in her attachment to her land; it hurt her to +think that anybody could love Gottfried as much as she. It is true that +she refused to believe it; and Christophe, understanding, left her that +satisfaction. As he listened to her he saw that, although she had seen +Gottfried and had even seen him with indulgent eyes, since her blindness +she had made of him an image absolutely different from the reality, and she +had transferred to the phantom of her mind all the hunger for love that was +in her. Nothing had disturbed her illusion. With the bold certainty of the +blind, who calmly invent what they do not know, she said to Christophe: + +"You are like him." + +He understood that for years she had grown used to living in a house with +closed shutters through which the truth could not enter. And now that +she had learned to see in the darkness that surrounded her, and even to +forget the darkness, perhaps she would have been afraid of a ray of light +filtering through the gloom. With Christophe she recalled a number of +rather silly trivialities in a smiling and disjointed conversation in which +Christophe could not be at his ease. He was irritated by her chatter; he +could not understand how a creature who had suffered so much had not become +more serious in her suffering, and he could not find tolerance for such +futility; every now and then he tried to talk of graver things, but they +found no echo; Modesta could not--or would not--follow him. + +They went to bed. It was long before Christophe could sleep. He was +thinking of Gottfried and trying to disengage him from the image of +Modesta's childish memories. He found it difficult and was irritated. His +heart ached at the thought that Gottfried had died there and that his body +had no doubt lain in that very bed. He tried to live through the agony +of his last moments, when he could neither speak nor make the blind girl +understand, and had closed his eyes in death. He longed to have been able +to raise his eyelids and to read the thoughts hidden under them, the +mystery of that soul, which had gone without making itself known, perhaps +even without knowing itself! It never tried to know itself, and all its +wisdom lay in not desiring wisdom, or in not trying to impose its will on +circumstance, but in abandoning itself to the force of circumstance, in +accepting it and loving it. So he assimilated the mysterious essence of +the world without even thinking of it. And if he had done so much good to +the blind girl, to Christophe, and doubtless to many others who would be +forever unknown, it was because, instead of bringing the customary words of +the revolt of man against nature, he brought something of the indifferent +peace of Nature, and reconciled the submissive soul with her. He did good +like the fields, the woods, all Nature with which he was impregnated. +Christophe remembered the evenings he had spent with Gottfried in the +country, his walks as a child, the stories and songs in the night. He +remembered also the last walk he had taken with his uncle, on the hill +above the town, on a cold winter's morning, and the tears came to his eyes +once more. He did not try to sleep, so as to remain with his memories. He +did not wish to lose one moment of that night in the little place, filled +with the soul of Gottfried, to which he had been led as though impelled by +some unknown force. But while he lay listening to the irregular trickling +of the fountain and the shrill cries of the bats, the healthy fatigue of +youth mastered his will, and he fell asleep. + +When he awoke the sun was shining: everybody on the farm was already at +work. In the hall he found only the old woman and the children. The young +couple were in the fields, sand Modesta had gone to milk. They looked for +her in vain. She was nowhere to be found. Christophe said he would not wait +for her return. He did not much want to see her, and he said that he was in +a hurry. He set out after telling the old woman to bid the others good-bye +for him. + +As he was leaving the village at a turn of the road he the blind girl +sitting on a bank under a hawthorn hedge. She got up as she heard him +coming, approached him smiling, took his hand, and said: + +"Come." + +They climbed up through meadows to a little shady flowering field filled +with tombstones, which looked down on the village. She led him to a grave +and said: + +"He is there." + +They both knelt down. Christophe remembered another grave by which he had +knelt with Gottfried, and he thought: + +"Soon it will be my turn." + +But there was no sadness in his thought. A great peace was ascending from +the earth. Christophe leaned over the grave and said, in a whisper to +Gottfried: + +"Enter into me!..." + +Modesta was praying, with her hands clasped and her lips moving in silence. +Then she went round the grave on her knees, feeling the ground and the +grass and the flowers with her hands. She seemed to caress them, her quick +fingers seemed to see. They gently plucked the dead stalks of the ivy and +the faded violets. She laid her hand on the curb to get up. Christophe saw +her fingers pass furtively over Gottfried's name, lightly touching each +letter. She said: + +"The earth is sweet this morning." + +She held out her hand to him. He gave her his. She made him touch the moist +warm earth. He did not loose her hand. Their locked fingers plunged into +the earth. He kissed Modesta. She kissed him, too. + +They both rose to their feet. She held out to him a few fresh violets she +had gathered, and put the faded ones into her bosom. They dusted their +knees and left the cemetery without a word. In the fields the larks were +singing. White butterflies danced about their heads. They sat down in a +meadow a few yards away from each other. The smoke of the village was +ascending direct to the sky that was washed by the rain. The still canal +glimmered between the poplars. A gleaming blue mist wrapped the meadows and +woods in its folds. + +Modesta broke the silence. She spoke in a whisper of the beauty of the day +as though she could see it. She drank in the air through her half-open +lips; she listened for the sounds of creatures and things. Christophe also +knew the worth of such music. He said what she was thinking and could not +have said. He named certain of the cries and imperceptible tremors that +they could hear in the grass, in the depths of the air. She said: + +"Ah! You see that, too?" + +He replied that Gottfried had taught him to distinguish them. + +"You, too?" she said a little crossly. + +He wanted to say to her: + +"Do not be jealous." + +But he saw the divine light smiling all about them: he looked at her blind +eyes and was filled with pity. + +"So," he asked, "it was Gottfried taught you?" + +She said "Yes," and that they gave her more delight than ever before.... +She did not say before "what." She never mentioned the words "eyes" or +"blind." + +They were silent for a moment. Christophe looked at her in pity. She felt +that he was looking at her. He would have liked to tell her how much he +pitied her. He would have liked her to complain, to confide in him. He +asked kindly: + +"You have been very unhappy?" + +She sat dumb and unyielding. She plucked the blades of grass and munched +them in silence. After a few moments,--(the song of a lark was going +farther and farther from them in the sky),--Christophe told her how he +too had been unhappy, and how Gottfried had helped him. He told her all +his sorrows, his trials, as though he were thinking aloud or talking to +a sister. The blind girl's face lit up as he told his story, which she +followed eagerly. Christophe watched her and saw that she was on the point +of speaking. She made a movement to come near him and hold his hand. He +moved, too--but already she had relapsed into her impassiveness, and when +he had finished, she only replied with a few banal words. Behind her broad +forehead, on which there was not a line, there was the obstinacy of a +peasant, hard as a stone. She said that she must go home to look after her +brothers children. She talked of them with a calm smile. + +He asked her: + +"You are happy?" + +She seemed to be more happy to hear him say the word. She said she was +happy and insisted on the reasons she had for being so: she was trying to +persuade herself and him that it was so. She spoke of the children, and the +house, and all that she had to do.... + +"Oh! yes," she said, "I am very happy!" Christophe did not reply. She rose +to go. He rose too. They said good-bye gaily and carelessly. Modesta's hand +trembled a little in Christophe's. She said: + +"You will have fine weather for your walk to-day." And she told him of +a crossroads where he must not go wrong. It was as though, of the two, +Christophe were the blind one. + +They parted. He went down the hill. When he reached the bottom he +turned. She was standing at the summit in the same place. She waved her +handkerchief and made signs to him as though she saw him. + +There was something heroic and absurd in her obstinacy in denying her +misfortune, something which touched Christophe and hurt him. He felt how +worthy Modesta was of pity and even of admiration,--and he could not have +lived two days with her. As he went his way between flowering hedges he +thought of dear old Schulz, and his old eyes, bright and tender, before +which so many sorrows had passed which they refused to see, for they would +not see hurtful realities. + +"How does he see me, I wonder?" thought Christophe. "I am so different from +his idea of me! To him I am what he wants me to be. Everything is in his +own image, pure and noble like himself. He could not bear life if he saw it +as it is." + +And he thought of the girl living in darkness who denied the darkness, and +tried to pretend that what was was not, and that what was not was. + +Then he saw the greatness of German idealism, which he had so often loathed +because in vulgar souls it is a source of hypocrisy and stupidity. He saw +the beauty of the faith which Begets a world within the world, different +from the world, like a little island in the ocean.--But he could not bear +such a faith for himself, and refused to take refuge upon such an Island +of the Dead. Life! Truth! He would not be a lying hero. Perhaps that +optimistic lie which a German Emperor tried to make law for all his +people was indeed necessary for weak creatures if they were to live. And +Christophe would have thought it a crime to snatch from such poor wretches +the illusion which upheld them. But for himself he never could have +recourse to such subterfuges. He would rather die than live by illusion. +Was not Art also an illusion? No. It must not be. Truth! Truth! Byes wide +open, let him draw in through every pore the all-puissant breath of life, +see things as they are, squarely face his misfortunes,--and laugh. + + * * * * * + +Several months passed. Christophe had lost all hope of escaping from the +town. Hassler, the only man who could have saved him, had refused to help +him. And old Schulz's friendship had been taken from him almost as soon as +it had been given. + +He had written once on his return, and he had received two affectionate +letters, but from sheer laziness, and especially because of the difficulty +he had expressing himself in a letter, he delayed thanking him for his kind +words. He put off writing from day to day. And when at last he made up +his mind to write he had a word from Kunz announcing the death of his old +friend. Schulz had had a relapse of his bronchitis which had developed +into pneumonia. He had forbidden them to bother Christophe, of whom he was +always talking. In spite of his extreme weakness and many years of illness, +he was not spared a long and painful end. He had charged Kunz to convey +the tidings to Christophe and to tell him that he had thought of him up to +the last hour; that he thanked him for all the happiness he owed him, and +that his blessing would be on Christophe as long as he lived. Kunz did not +tell him that the day with Christophe had probably been the reason of his +relapse and the cause of his death. + +Christophe wept in silence, and he felt them all the worth of the friend +he had lost, and how much he loved him, and he was grieved not to have +told him more of how he loved him. It was too late now. And what was left +to him? The good Schulz had only appeared enough to make the void seem +more empty, the night more black after he ceased to be. As for Kunz and +Pottpetschmidt, they had no value outside the friendship they had for +Schulz and Schulz for them. Christophe valued them at their proper worth. +He wrote to them once and their relation ended there. He tried also to +write to Modesta, but she answered with a commonplace letter in which she +spoke only of trivialities. He gave up the correspondence. He wrote to +nobody and nobody wrote to him. + +Silence. Silence. From day to day the heavy cloak of silence descended upon +Christophe. It was like a rain of ashes falling on him. It seemed already +to be evening, and Christophe was losing his hold on life. He would not +resign himself to that. The hour of sleep was not yet come. He must live. + +And he could not live in Germany. The sufferings of his genius cramped by +the narrowness of the little town lashed him into injustice. His nerves +were raw: everything drew blood. He was like one of those wretched wild +animals who perished of boredom in the holes and cages in which they were +imprisoned in the _Stadtgarten_ (town gardens). Christophe used often to go +and look at them in sympathy. He used to look at their wonderful eyes, in +which there burned--or every day grew fainter--a fierce and desperate fire. +Ah! How they would have loved the brutal bullet which sets free, or the +knife that strikes into their bleeding hearts! Anything rather than the +savage indifference of those men who prevented them from either living or +dying! + +Not the hostility of the people was the hardest for Christophe to bear, but +their inconsistency, their formless, shallow natures. There was no knowing +how to take them. The pig-headed opposition of one of those stiff-necked, +bard races who refuse to understand any new thought were much better. +Against force it is possible to oppose force--the pick and the mine +which hew away and blow up the hard rock. But what can be done against +an amorphous mass which gives like a jelly, collapses under the least +pressure, and retains no imprint of it? All thought and energy and +everything disappeared in the slough. When a stone fell there were hardly +more than a few ripples quivering on the surface of the gulf: the monster +opened and shut its maw, and there was left no trace of what had been. + +They were not enemies. Dear God! if they only had been enemies! They +were people who had not the strength to love or hate, or believe or +disbelieve,--in religion, in art, in politics, in daily life; and all +their energies were expended in trying to reconcile the irreconcilable. +Especially since the German victories they had been striving to make a +compromise, a revolting intrigue between their new power and their old +principles. The old idealism had not been renounced. There should have been +a new effort of freedom of which they were incapable. They were content +with a forgery, with making it subservient to German interests. Like the +serene and subtle Schwabian, Hegel, who had waited until after Leipzig +and Waterloo to assimilate the cause of his philosophy with the Prussian +State--their interests having changed, their principles had changed too. +When they were defeated they said that Germany's ideal was humanity. Now +that they had defeated others, they said that Germany was the ideal of +humanity. When other countries were more powerful, they said, with Lessing, +that "_patriotism is a heroic weakness which it is well to be without_" and +they called themselves "_citizens of the world_." Now that they were in the +ascendant, they could not enough despise the Utopias "_à la Française_." +Universal peace, fraternity, pacific progress, the rights of man, natural +equality: they said that the strongest people had absolute rights against +the others, and that the others, being weaker, had no rights against +themselves. It was the living God and the Incarnate Idea, the progress of +which is accomplished by war, violence, and oppression. Force had become +holy now that it was on their side. Force had become the only idealism and +the only intelligence. + +In truth, Germany had suffered so much for centuries from having idealism +and no fame that she had every excuse after so many trials for making +the sorrowful confession that at all costs Force must be hers. But what +bitterness was hidden in such a confession from the people of Herder and +Goethe! And what an abdication was the German victory, what a degradation +of the German ideal! Alas! There were only too many facilities for such an +abdication in the deplorable tendency even of the best Germans to submit. + +"_The chief characteristic of Germany_," said Moser, more than a century +ago, "_is obedience_." And Madame de Staël: + +"_They have submitted doughtily. They find philosophic reasons for +explaining the least philosophic theory in the world: respect for power +and the chastening emotion of fear which changes that respect into +admiration._" + +Christophe found that feeling everywhere in Germany, from the highest +to the lowest--from the William Tell of Schiller, that limited little +bourgeois with muscles like a porter, who, as the free Jew Börne says, "_to +reconcile honor and fear passes before the pillar of dear Herr Gessler, +with his eyes down so as to be able to say that he did not see the hat; +did not disobey_,"--to the aged and respectable Professor Weisse, a man of +seventy, and one of the most honored mea of learning in the town, who, when +he saw a _Herr Lieutenant_ coming, would make haste to give him the path +and would step down into the road. Christophe's blood boiled whenever he +saw one of these small acts of daily servility. They hurt him as much as +though he had demeaned himself. The arrogant manners of the officers whom +he met in the street, their haughty insolence, made him speechless with +anger. He never would make way for them. Whenever he passed them he +returned their arrogant stare. More than once he was very near causing a +scene. He seemed to be looking for trouble. However, he was the first to +understand the futility of such bravado; but he had moments of aberration, +the perpetual constraint which he imposed on himself and the accumulation +of force in him that had no outlet made him furious. Then he was ready to +go any length, and he had a feeling that if he stayed a year longer in the +place he would be lost. He loathed the brutal militarism which he felt +weighing down upon him, the sabers clanking on the pavement, the piles of +arms, and the guns placed outside the barracks, their muzzles gaping down +on the town, ready to fire. Scandalous novels, which were then making a +great stir, denounced the corruption of the garrisons, great and small: +the officers were represented as mischievous creatures, who, outside +their automatic duties, were only idle and spent their time in drinking, +gambling, getting into debt, living on their families, slandering one +another, and from top to bottom of the hierarchy they abused their +authority at the expense of their inferiors. The idea that he would one +day have to obey them stuck in Christophe's throat. He could not, no, he +could never bear it, and lose his own self-respect by submitting to their +humiliations and injustice.... He had no idea of the moral strength in some +of them, or of all that they might be suffering themselves: lost illusions, +so much strength and youth and honor and faith, and passionate desire for +sacrifice, turned to ill account and spoiled,--the pointlessness of a +career, which, if it is only a career, if it has not sacrifice as its end, +is only a grim activity, an inept display, a ritual which is recited +without belief in the words that are said.... + +His country was not enough for Christophe. He felt in himself that unknown +force which wakes suddenly, irresistibly, in certain species of birds, at +definite times, like the ebb and flow of the tides:--the instinct of the +great migrations. As he read the volumes of Herder and Fichte which old +Schulz had left him, he found souls like his own, not "_sons of the soil_" +slavishly bound to the globe, but "_spirits, sons of the sun_" turning +invincibly to the light wheresoever it comes. + +Whither should he go? He did not know. But instinctively his eyes turned to +the Latin South. And first to France--France, the eternal refuge of Germany +in distress. How often had German thought turned to France, without ceasing +to slander her! Even since seventy, what an attraction emanated from the +town which had been shattered and smoking under the German guns! The most +revolutionary and the most reactionary forms of thought and art had found +alternately and sometimes at once example and inspiration there. Like so +many other great German musicians in distress, Christophe turned towards +Paris.... What did he know of the French? Two women's faces and some chance +reading. That was enough for him to imagine a country of light, of gaiety, +of courage, and even of a little Gallic boasting, which does not sort ill +with the bold youth of the heart. He believed it all, because he needed to +believe it all, because, with all his soul, he would have liked it to be +so. + + * * * * * + +He made up his mind to go. But he could not go because of his mother. + +Louisa was growing old. She adored her son, who was her only joy, and she +was all that he most loved on earth. And yet they were always hurting each +other. She hardly understood Christophe, and did not try to understand him. +She was only concerned to love him. She had a narrow, timid, dull mind, and +a fine heart; an immense need of loving and being loved in which there was +something touching and sad. She respected her son because he seemed to her +to be very learned; but she did all she could to stifle his genius. She +thought he would stay all his life with her in their little town. They +had lived together for years, and she could not imagine that he would not +always be the same. She was happy: why should he not be happy, too? All her +dreams for him soared no higher than seeing him married to some prosperous +citizen of the town, hearing him play the organ at church on Sundays, and +never having him leave her. She regarded her son as though he were still +twelve years old. She would have liked him never to be more than that. +Innocently she inflicted torture on the unhappy man who was suffocated in +that narrow world. + +And yet there was much truth--moral greatness--in that unconscious +philosophy of the mother, who could not understand ambition and saw all the +happiness of life in the family affections and the accomplishment of humble +duties. She was a creature who wished to love and only to love. Sooner +renounce life, reason, logic, the material world, everything, rather +than love! And that love was infinite, suppliant, exacting: it gave +everything--it wished to be given everything; it renounced life for love, +and it desired that renunciation from others, from the beloved. What a +power is the love of a simple soul! It makes it find at once what the +groping reasoning of an uncertain genius like Tolstoy, or the too refined +art of a dying civilization, discovers after a lifetime--ages--of bitter +struggle and exhausting effort! But the imperious world which was seething +in Christophe had very different laws and demanded another wisdom. + +For a long time he had been wanting to announce his determination to his +mother. But he was fearful of the grief it would bring to her, and just +as he was about to speak he would lose his courage and put it off. Two or +three times he did timidly allude to his departure, but Louisa did not take +him seriously:--perhaps she preferred not to take him seriously, so as to +persuade him that he was talking in jest. Then he dared not go on; but he +would remain gloomy and thoughtful, or it was apparent that he had some +secret burden upon his soul. And the poor woman, who had an intuition as to +the nature of that secret, tried fearfully to delay the confession of it. +Sometimes in the evening, when they were sitting, silent, in the light of +the lamp, she would suddenly feel that he was going to speak, and then in +terror she would begin to talk, very quickly, at random, about nothing in +particular. She hardly knew what she was saying, but at all costs she must +keep him from speaking. Generally her instinct made her find the best means +of imposing silence on him: she would complain about her health, about +the swelling of her hands and feet, and the cramps in her legs. She would +exaggerate her sickness: call herself an old, useless, bed-ridden woman. He +was not deceived by her simple tricks. He would look at her sadly in dumb +reproach, and after a moment he would get up, saying that he was tired, and +go to bed. + +But all her devices could not save Louisa for long. One evening, when she +resorted to them once more, Christophe gathered his courage and put his +hand on his mother's and said: + +"No, mother. I have something to say to you." Louisa was horrified, but she +tried to smile and say chokingly: + +"What is it, my dear?" + +Christophe stammered out his intention of going. She tried to take it as a +joke and to turn the conversation as usual, but he was not to be put off, +and went on so deliberately and so seriously that there was no possibility +of doubt. Then she said nothing. Her pulse stopped, and she sat there dumb, +frozen, looking at him with terror in her eyes. Such sorrow showed in her +eyes as he spoke that he too stopped, and they sat, both speechless. When +at last she was able to recover her breath, she said--(her lips +trembled)--: + +"It is impossible.... It is impossible...." + +Two large tears trickled down her cheeks. He turned his head away in +despair and hid his face in his hands. They wept. After some time he went +to his room and shut himself up until the morrow. They made no reference to +what had happened, and as he did not speak of it again she tried to pretend +that he had abandoned the project. But she lived on tenterhooks. + +There came a time when he could hold himself in no longer. He had to speak +even if it broke his heart: he was suffering too much. The egoism of his +sorrow mastered the idea of the suffering he would bring to her. He spoke. +He went through with it, never looking at his mother, for fear of being too +greatly moved. He fixed the day for his departure so as to avoid a second +discussion--(he did not know if he could again win the sad courage that was +in him that day). Louisa cried: + +"No, no! Stop, stop!..." + +He set his teeth and went on implacably. When he had finished (she was +sobbing) he took her hands and tried to make her understand how it was +absolutely necessary for his art and his life for him to go away for some +time. She refused to listen. She wept and said: + +"No, no!... I will not...." + +After trying to reason with her, in vain, he left her, thinking that the +night would bring about a change in her ideas. But when they met next day +at breakfast he began once more to talk of his plans. She dropped the piece +of bread she was raising to her lips and said sorrowfully and +reproachfully: + +"Why do you want to torture me?" + +He was touched, but he said: + +"Dear mother, I must." + +"No, no!" she replied. "You must not.... You want to hurt me.... It is a +madness...." + +They tried to convince each other, but they did not listen to each other. +He saw that argument was wasted; it would only make her suffer more, and he +began ostentatiously to prepare for his departure. + +When she saw that no entreaty would stop him, Louisa relapsed into a gloomy +stupor. She spent her days locked up in her room and without a light, when +evening came. She did not speak or eat. At night he could hear her weeping. +He was racked by it. He could have cried out in his grief, as he lay all +night twisting and turning in his bed, sleeplessly, a prey to his remorse. +He loved her so. Why must he make her suffer?... Alas! She would not be the +only one: he saw that clearly.... Why had destiny given him the desire and +strength of a mission which must make those whom he loved suffer? + +"Ah!" he thought. "If I were free, if I were not drawn on by the cruel need +of being what I must be, or else of dying in shame and disgust with myself, +how happy would I make you--you whom I love! Let me live first; do, fight, +suffer, and then I will come hack to you and love you more than ever. How I +would like only to love, love, love!..." + +He never could have been strong enough to resist the perpetual reproach +of the grief-stricken soul had that reproach been strong enough to remain +silent. But Louisa, who was weak and rather talkative, could not keep the +sorrow that was stifling her to herself. She told her neighbors. She told +her two other sons. They could not miss such a fine opportunity of putting +Christophe in the wrong. Rodolphe especially, who had never ceased to be +jealous of his elder brother, although there was little enough reason for +it at the time--Rodolphe, who was cut to the quick by the least praise +of Christophe, and was secretly afraid of his future success, though he +never dared admit so base a thought--(for he was clever enough to feel +his brother's force, and to be afraid that others would feel it, too), +Rodolphe was only too happy to crush Christophe beneath the weight of his +superiority. He had never worried much about his mother, though he knew her +straitened circumstances: although he was well able to afford to help her, +he left it all to Christophe. But when he heard of Christophe's intention +he discovered at once hidden treasures of affection. He was furious at +his proposing to leave his mother and called it monstrous egoism. He was +impudent enough to tell Christophe so. He lectured him loftily like a child +who deserves smacking: he told him stiffly of his duty towards his mother +and of all that she had sacrificed for him. Christophe almost burst with +rage. He kicked Rodolphe out and called him a rascal and a hypocrite. +Rodolphe avenged himself by feeding his mother's indignation. Excited by +him, Louisa began to persuade herself that Christophe was behaving like a +bad son. She tried to declare that he had mo right to go, and she was only +too willing to believe it. Instead of using only her tears, which were her +strongest weapon, she reproached Christophe bitterly and unjustly, and +disgusted him. They said cruel things to each other: the result was that +Christophe, who, till then, had been hesitating, only thought of hastening +his preparations for his departure. He knew that the charitable neighbors +were commiserating his mother and that in the opinion of the neighborhood +she was regarded as a victim and himself as a monster. He set his teeth and +would not go back on his resolve. + +The days passed. Christophe and Louisa hardly spoke to each other. Instead +of enjoying to the last drop their last days together, these two who loved +each other wasted the time that was left--as too often happens--in one of +those sterile fits of sullenness in which so many affections are swallowed +up. They only met at meals, when they sat opposite each other, not looking +at each other, never speaking, forcing themselves to eat a few mouthfuls, +not so much for the sake of eating as for the sake of appearances. +Christophe would contrive to mumble a few words, but Louisa would not +reply; and when she tried to talk he would be silent. This state of things +was intolerable to both of them, and the longer it went on the more +difficult it became to break it. Were they going to part like that? Louisa +admitted that she had been unjust and awkward, but she was suffering too +much to know how to win back her son's love, which she thought she had +lost, and at all costs to prevent his departure, the idea of which she +refused to face. Christophe stole glances at his mother's pale, swollen +face and he was torn by remorse; but he had made up his mind to go, and +knowing that he was going forever out of her life, he wished cowardly to be +gone to escape his remorse. + +His departure was fixed for the next day but one. One of their sad meals +had just come to an end. When they finished their supper, during which they +had not spoken a word, Christophe withdrew to his room; and sitting at his +desk, with his head in his hands--he was incapable of working--he became +lost in thought. The night was drawing late: it was nearly one o'clock in +the morning. Suddenly he heard a noise, a chair upset in the next room. The +door opened and his mother appeared in her nightgown, barefooted, and threw +her arms round his neck and sobbed. She was feverish. She kissed her son +and moaned through her despairing sobs: + +"Don't go! Don't go! I implore you! I implore you! My dear, don't go!... I +shall die.... I can't, I can't bear it!..." + +He was alarmed and upset. He kissed her and said: "Dear mother, calm +yourself, please, please!" + +But she went on: + +"I can't bear it ... I have only you. If you go, what will become of me? I +shall die if you go. I don't want to die away from you. I don't want to die +alone. Wait until I am dead!..." + +Her words rent his heart. He did not know what to say to console her. What +arguments could hold good against such an outpouring of love and sorrow! +He took her on his knees and tried to calm her with kisses and little +affectionate words. The old woman gradually became silent and wept softly. +When she was a little comforted, he said: + +"Go to bed. You will catch cold." + +She repeated: "Don't go!" + +He said in a low voice: "I will not go." + +She trembled and took his hand. "Truly?" she said. "Truly?" + +He turned his head away sadly. "To-morrow," he answered, "I will tell you +to-morrow.... Leave me now, please!..." + +She got up meekly and went back to her room. Next morning she was ashamed +of her despairing outburst which had come upon her like a madness in the +middle of the night, and she was fearful of what her son would say to her. +She waited for him, sitting in a corner of the room. She had taken up some +knitting for occupation, but her hands refused to hold it. She let it fall. +Christophe entered. They greeted each other in a whisper, without looking +at each other. He was gloomy, and went and stood by the window, with his +back to his mother, and he stayed without speaking. There was a great +struggle in him. He knew the result of it already, and was trying to delay +the issue. Louisa dared not speak a word to him and provoke the answer +which she expected and feared. She forced herself to take up her knitting +again, but she could not see what she was doing, and she dropped her +stitches. Outside it was raining. After a long silence Christophe came to +her. She did not stir, but her heart was beating. Christophe stood still +and looked at her, then, suddenly, he went down on his knees and hid his +face in his mother's dress, and without saying a word, he wept. Then she +understood that he was going to stay, and her heart was filled with a +mortal agony of joy--but at once she was seized by remorse, for she felt +all that her son was sacrificing for her, and she began to suffer all that +Christophe had suffered when it was she whom he sacrificed. She bent over +him and covered his brow and his hair with kisses. In silence their tears +and their sorrow mingled. At last he raised his head, and Louisa took his +face in her hands and looked into his eyes. She would have liked to say to +him: + +"Go!" + +But she could not. + +He would have liked to say to her: + +"I am glad to stay." + +But he could not. + +The situation was hopeless; neither of them could alter it. She sighed in +her sorrow and love: + +"Ah! if we could all be born and all die together!" Her simple way filled +him with tenderness; he dried his tears and tried to smile and said: + +"We shall all die together." + +She insisted: + +"Truly you will not go?" + +He got up: + +"I have said so. Don't let us talk about it. There is nothing more to be +said." + +Christophe kept his word; he never talked of going again, but he could not +help thinking of it. He stayed, but he made his mother pay dearly for his +sacrifice by his sadness and bad temper. And Louisa tactlessly--much more +tactlessly than she knew, never failing to do what she ought not to have +done--Louisa, who knew only too well the reason of his grief, insisted on +his telling her what it was. She worried him with her affection, uneasy, +vexing, argumentative, reminding him every moment that they were very +different from each other--and that he was trying to forget. How often +he had tried to open his heart to her! But just as he was about to speak +the Great Wall of China would rise between them, and he would keep his +secrets buried in himself. She would guess, but she never dared invite his +confidence, or else she could not. When she tried she would succeed only in +flinging back in him those secrets which weighed so sorely on him and which +he was so longing to tell. + +A thousand little things, harmless tricks, cut her off from him and +irritated Christophe. The good old creature was doting. She had to talk +about the local gossip, and she had that nurse's tenderness which will +recall all the silly little things of the earliest years, and everything +that is associated with the cradle. We have such difficulty in issuing +from it and growing into men and women! And Juliet's nurse must forever +be laying before us our duty-swaddling clothes, commonplace thoughts, +the whole unhappy period in which the growing soul struggles against the +oppression of vile matter or stifling surroundings! + +And with it all she had little outbursts of touching tenderness--as though +to a little child--which used to move him greatly and he would surrender to +them--like a little child. + +The worst of all to bear was living from morning to night as they did, +together, always together, isolated from the rest of the world. When two +people suffer and cannot help each other's suffering, exasperation is +fatal; each in the end holds the other responsible for the suffering; and +each in the end believes it. It were better to be alone; alone in +suffering. + +It was a daily torment for both of them. They would never have broken free +if chance had not come to break the cruel indecision, against which they +were struggling, in a way that seemed unfortunate--but it was really +fortunate. + +It was a Sunday in October. Four o'clock in the afternoon. The weather was +brilliant. Christophe had stayed in his room all day, chewing the cud of +melancholy. + +He could bear it no longer; he wanted desperately to go out, to walk, to +expend his energy, to tire himself out, so as to stop thinking. + +Relations with his mother had been strained since the day before. He was +just going out without saying good-bye to her; but on the stairs he thought +how it would hurt her the whole evening when she was left alone. He went +back, making an excuse of having left something in his room. The door of +his mother's room was ajar. He put his head in through the aperture. He +watched his mother for a, few moments.... (What a place those two seconds +were to fill in his life ever after!)... + +Louisa had just come in from vespers. She was sitting in her favorite +place, the recess of the window. The wall of the house opposite, dirty +white and cracked, obstructed the view, but from the corner where she sat +she could see to the right through the yards of the next houses a little +patch of lawn the size of a pocket-handkerchief. On the window-sill a +pot of convolvulus climbed along its threads and over this frail ladder +stretched its tendrils which were caressed by a ray of sunlight. Louisa was +sitting in a low chair bending over her great Bible which was open on her +lap, but she was not reading. Her hands were laid flat on the book--her +hands with their swollen veins, worker's nails, square and a little +bent--and she was devouring with loving eyes the little plant and the patch +of sky she could see through it. A sunbeam, basking on the green gold +leaves, lit up her tired face, with its rather blotchy complexion, her +white, soft, and rather thick hair, and her lips, parted in a smile. She +was enjoying her hour of rest. It was the best moment of the week to her. +She made use of it to sink into that state so sweet to those who suffer, +when thoughts dwell on nothing, and in torpor nothing speaks save the heart +and that is half asleep. + +"Mother," he said, "I want to go out. I am going by Buir. I shall be rather +late." + +Louisa, who was dozing off, trembled a little. Then she turned her head +towards him and looked at him with her calm, kind eyes. + +"Yes, my dear, go," she said. "You are right; make use of the fine +weather." + +She smiled at him. He smiled at her. They looked at each other for a +moment, then they said good-night affectionately, nodding and smiling with +the eyes. + +He closed the door softly. She slipped back into her reverie, which her +son's smile had lit up with a bright ray of light like the sunbeam on the +pale leaves of the convolvulus. + +So he left her--forever. + + * * * * * + +An October evening. A pale watery sun. The drowsy country is sinking to +sleep. Little village bells are slowly ringing in the silence of the +fields. Columns of smoke rise slowly in the midst of the plowed fields. A +fine mist hovers in the distance. The white fogs are awaiting the coming of +the night to rise.... A dog with his nose to the ground was running in +circles in a field of beet. Great flocks of crows whirled against the gray +sky. + +Christophe went on dreaming, having no fixed object, but yet instinctively +he was walking in a definite direction. For several weeks his walks round +the town had gravitated whether he liked it or not towards another village +where he was sure to meet a pretty girl who attracted him. It was only an +attraction, but it was very vivid and rather disturbing. Christophe could +hardly do without loving some one; and his heart was rarely left empty; +it always had some lovely image for its idol. Generally it did not matter +whether the idol knew of his love; his need was to love, the fire must +never be allowed to go out; there must never be darkness in his heart. + +The object of this new flame was the daughter of a peasant whom he had met, +as Eliézer met Rebecca, by a well; but she did not give him to drink; she +threw water in his face. She was kneeling by the edge of a stream in a +hollow in the bank between two willows, the roots of which made a sort of +nest about her; she was washing linen vigorously; and her tongue was not +less active than her arms; she was talking and laughing loudly with other +girls of the village who were washing opposite her or the other side of the +stream. Christophe was lying in the grass a few yards away, and, with his +chin resting in his hands, he watched them. They were not put out by it; +they went on chattering in a style which sometimes did not lack bluntness. +He hardly listened; he heard only the sound of their merry voices, mingling +with the noise of their washing pots, and with the distant lowing of the +cows in the meadows, and he was dreaming, never taking his eyes off the +beautiful washerwoman. A bright young face would make him glad for a whole +day. It was not long before the girls made out which of them he was looking +at; and they made caustic remarks to each other; the girl he preferred was +not the least cutting in the observations she threw at him. As he did not +budge, she got up, took a bundle of linen washed and wrung, and began to +lay it out on the bushes near him so as to have an excuse for looking at +him. As she passed him she continued to splash him with her wet clothes +and she looked at him boldly and laughed. She was thin and strong: she had +a fine chin, a little underhung, a short nose, arching eyebrows, deep-set +blue eyes, bold, bright and hard, a pretty mouth with thick lips, pouting a +little like those of a Greek maid, a mass of fair hair turned up in a knot +on her head, and a full color. She carried her head very erect, tittered at +every word she said and even when she said nothing, and walked like a man, +swinging her sunburned arms. She went on laying out hey linen while she +looked at Christophe with a provoking smile--waiting for him to speak. +Christophe stared at her too; but he had no desire to talk to her. At last +she burst out laughing to his face and turned back towards her companions. +He stayed lying where he was until evening fell and he saw her go with her +bundle on her back and her bare arms crossed, her back bent under her load, +still talking and laughing. + +He saw her again a few days later at the town market among heaps of carrots +and tomatoes and cucumbers and cabbages. He lounged about watching the +crowd of women, selling, who were standing in a line by their baskets +like slaves for sale. The police official went up to each of them with +his satchel and roll of tickets, receiving a piece of money and giving a +paper. The coffee seller went from row to row with a basket full of little +coffee pots. And an old nun, plump and jovial, went round the market with +two large baskets on her arms and without any sort of humility begged +vegetables, or talked of the good God. The women shouted: the old scales +with their green painted pans jingled and clanked with the noise of their +chains; the big dogs harnessed to the little carts barked loudly, proud of +their importance. In the midst of the rabble Christophe saw Rebecca.--Her +real name was Lorchen (Eleanor).--On her fair hair she had placed a large +cabbage leaf, green and white, which made a dainty lace cap for her. She +was sitting on a basket by a heap of golden onions, little pink turnips, +haricot beans, and ruddy apples, and she was munching her own apples one +after another without trying to sell them. She never stopped eating. From +time to time she would dry her chin and wipe it with her apron, brush back +her hair with her arm, rub her cheek against her shoulder, or her nose with +the back of her hand. Or, with her hands on her knees, she would go on and +on throwing a handful of shelled peas from one to the other. And she would +look to right and left idly and indifferently. But she missed nothing of +what was going on about her. And without seeming to do so she marked every +glance cast in her direction. She saw Christophe. As she talked to her +customers she had a way of raising her eyebrows and looking at her admirer +over their heads. She was as dignified and serious as a Pope; but inwardly +she was laughing at Christophe. And he deserved it; he stood there a few +yards away devouring her with his eyes, then he went away without speaking +to her. He had not the least desire to do so. + +He came back more than once to prowl round the market and the village where +she lived. She would be about the yard of the farm; he would stop on the +road to look at her. He did not admit that he came to see her, and indeed +he did so almost unconsciously. When, as often happened, he was absorbed by +the composition of some work he would be rather like a somnambulist: while +his conscious soul was following its musical ideas the rest of him would be +delivered up to the other unconscious soul which is forever watching for +the smallest distraction of the mind to take the freedom of the fields. He +was often bewildered by the buzzing of his musical ideas when he was face +to face with her; and he would go on dreaming as he watched her. He could +not have said that he loved her; he did not even think of that; it gave him +pleasure to see her, nothing more. He did not take stock of the desire +which was always bringing him back to her. + +His insistence was remarked. The people at the farm joked about it, for +they had discovered who Christophe was. But they left him in peace; for he +was quite harmless. He looked silly enough in truth; but he never bothered +about it. + + * * * * * + +There was a holiday in the village. Little boys were crushing crackers +between stones and shouting "God save the Emperor!" ("_Kaiser lebe! +Hoch!_"). A cow shut up in the barn and the men drinking at the inn were +to be heard. Kites with long tails like comets dipped and swung in the air +above the fields. The fowls were scratching frantically in the straw and +the golden dung-heap; the wind blew out their feathers like the skirts of +an old lady. A pink pig was sleeping voluptuously on his side in the sun. + +Christophe made his way towards the red roof of the inn of the _Three +Kings_ above which floated a little flag. Strings of onions hung by the +door, and the windows were decorated with red and yellow flowers. He went +into the saloon, filled with tobacco smoke, where yellowing chromos hung on +the walls and in the place of honor a colored portrait of the Emperor-King +surrounded with a wreath of oak leaves. People were dancing. Christophe was +sure his charmer would be there. He sat in a corner of the room from which +he could watch the movement of the dancers undisturbed. But in spite of all +this care to pass unnoticed Lorchen spied him out in his corner. While she +waltzed indefatigably she threw quick glances at him over her partner's +shoulder to make sure that he was still looking at her; and it amused her +to excite him; she coquetted with the young men of the village, laughing +the while with her wide mouth. She talked a great deal and said silly +things and was not very different from the girls of the polite world who +think they must laugh and move about and play to the gallery when anybody +looks at them, instead of keeping their foolishness to themselves. But they +are not so very foolish either; for they know quite well that the gallery +only looks at them and does not listen to what they say.--With his elbows +on the table and his chin in his hands Christophe watched the girl's tricks +with burning, furious eyes; his mind was free enough not to be taken in by +her wiles, but he was not enough himself not to be led on by them; and he +growled with rage and he laughed in silence and shrugged his shoulders in +falling into the snare. + +Not only the girl was watching him; Lorchen's father also had his eyes +on him. Thick-set and short, bald-headed--a big head with a short +nose--sunburned skull with a fringe of hair that had been fair and hung in +thick curls like Dürer's St. John, clean-shaven, expressionless face, with +a long pipe in the corner of his mouth, he was talking very deliberately +to some other peasants while all the time he was watching Christophe's +pantomime out of the corner of his eye; and he laughed softly. After a +moment he coughed and a malicious light shone in his little gray eyes and +he came and sat at Christophe's table. Christophe was annoyed and turned +and scowled at him; he met the cunning look of the old man, who addressed +Christophe familiarly without taking his pipe from his lips. Christophe +knew him; he knew him for a common old man; but his weakness for his +daughter made him indulgent towards the father and even gave him a queer +pleasure in being with him; the old rascal saw that. After talking about +rain and fine weather and some chaffing reference to the pretty girls in +the room, and a remark on Christophe's not dancing he concluded that +Christophe was right not to put himself out and that it was much better to +sit at table with a mug in his hand; without ceremony he invited himself to +have a drink. While he drank the old man went on talking deliberately as +always. He spoke about his affairs, the difficulty of gaining a livelihood, +the bad weather and high prices. Christophe hardly listened and only +replied with an occasional grunt; he was not interested; he was looking at +Lorchen. Christophe wondered what had procured him the honor of the old +man's company and confidences. At last he understood. When the old man had +exhausted his complaints he passed on to another chapter; he praised the +quality of his produce, his vegetables, his fowls, his eggs, his milk, and +suddenly he asked if Christophe could not procure him the custom of the +Palace. Christophe started: + +"How the devil did he know?... He knew him then?" + +"Oh, yes," said the old man. "Everything is known ..." He did not add: + +"... when you take the trouble to make enquiries." + +But Christophe added it for him. He took a wicked pleasure in telling him +that although everything was known, he was no doubt unaware that he had +just quarreled with the Court and that if he had ever been able to flatter +himself on having some credit with the servants' quarters and butchers of +the Palace--(which he doubted strongly)--that credit at present was dead +and buried. The old man's lips twitched imperceptibly. However, he was +not put out and after a moment he asked if Christophe could not at least +recommend him to such and such a family. And he mentioned all those with +whom Christophe had had dealings; for he had informed himself of them at +the market, and there was no danger of his forgetting any detail that might +be useful to him. Christophe would have been furious at such spying upon +him had he not rather wanted to laugh at the thought that the old man would +be robbed in spite of all his cunning (for he had no doubt of the value of +the recommendation he was asking--a recommendation more likely to make him +lose his customers than to procure him fresh ones). So he let him empty +all his bag of clumsy tricks and answered neither "Yes" nor "No." But the +peasant persisted and finally he came down to Christophe and Louisa whom he +had kept for the end, and expressed his keen desire to provide them with +milk, butter and cream. He added that as Christophe was a musician nothing +was so good for the voice as a fresh egg swallowed raw morning and evening; +and he tried hard to make him let him provide him with these, warm from the +hen. The idea of the old peasant taking him for a singer made Christophe +roar with laughter. The peasant took advantage of that to order another +bottle. And then having got all he could out of Christophe for the time +being he went away without further ceremony. + +Night had fallen. The dancing had become more and more excited. Lorchen had +ceased to pay any attention to Christophe; she was too busy turning the +head of a young lout of the village, the son of a rich farmer, for whom all +the girls were competing. Christophe was interested by the struggle; the +young women smiled at each other and would have been only too pleased to +scratch each other. Christophe forgot himself and prayed for the triumph +of Lorchen. But when her triumph was won he felt a little downcast. He was +enraged by it. He did not love Lorchen; he did not want to be loved by her; +it was natural that she should love anybody she liked.--No doubt. But it +was not pleasant to receive so little sympathy himself when he had so much +need of giving and receiving. Here, as in the town, he was alone. All these +people were only interested in him while they could make use of him and +then laugh at him. He sighed, smiled as he looked at Lorchen, whom her joy +in the discomfiture of her rivals had made ten times prettier than ever, +and got ready to go. It was nearly nine. He had fully two miles to go to +the town. + +He got up from the table when the door opened and a handful of soldiers +burst in. Their entry dashed the gaiety of the place. The people began to +whisper. A few couples stopped dancing to look uneasily at the new +arrivals. The peasants standing near the door deliberately turned their +backs on them and began to talk among themselves; but without seeming to do +so they presently contrived to leave room for them to pass. For some time +past the whole neighborhood had been at loggerheads with the garrisons of +the fortresses round it. The soldiers were bored to death and wreaked their +vengeance on the peasants. They made coarse fun of them, maltreated them, +and used the women as though they were in a conquered country. The week +before some of them, full of wine, had disturbed a feast at a neighboring +village and had half killed a farmer. Christophe, who knew these things, +shared the state of mind of the peasant, and he sat down again and waited +to see what would happen. + +The soldiers were not worried by the ill-will with which their entry was +received, and went noisily and sat down at the full tables, jostling the +people away from them to make room; it was the affair of a moment. Most of +the people, went away grumbling. An old man sitting at the end of a bench +did not move quickly enough; they lifted the bench and the old man toppled +over amid roars of laughter. Christophe felt the blood rushing to his head; +he got up indignantly; but, as he was on the point of interfering, he saw +the old man painfully pick himself up and instead of complaining humbly +crave pardon. Two of the soldiers came to Christophe's table; he watched +them come and clenched his fists. But he did not have to defend himself. +They were two tall, strong, good-humored louts, who had followed sheepishly +one or two daredevils and were trying to imitate them. They were +intimidated by Christophe's defiant manner, and when he said curtly: "This +place is taken," they hastily begged his pardon and withdrew to their end +of the bench so as not to disturb him. There had been a masterful +inflection in his voice; their natural servility came to the fore. They saw +that Christophe was not a peasant. + +Christophe was a little mollified by their submission, and was able to +watch things more coolly. It was not difficult to see that the gang were +led by a non-commissioned officer--a little bull-dog of a man with hard +eyes--with a rascally, hypocritical and wicked face; he was one of the +heroes of the affray of the Sunday before. He was sitting at the table next +to Christophe. He was drunk already and stared at the people and threw +insulting sarcasms at them which they pretended not to hear. He attacked +especially the couples dancing, describing their physical advantages or +defects with a coarseness of expression which made his companions laugh. +The girls blushed and tears came to their eyes; the young men ground their +teeth and raged in silence. Their tormentor's eyes wandered slowly round +the room, sparing nobody; Christophe saw them moving towards himself. He +seized his mug, and clenched his fist on the table and waited, determined +to throw the liquor at his head on the first insult. He said to himself: + +"I am mad. It would be better to go away. They will slit me up; and then if +I escape they will put me in prison; the game is not worth the candle. I'd +better go before he provokes me." + +But his pride would not let him, he would not seem to be running away from +such brutes as these. The officer's cunning brutal stare was fixed on him. +Christophe stiffened and glared at him angrily. The officer looked at him +for a moment; Christophe's face irritated him; he nudged his neighbor and +pointed out the young man with a snigger; and he opened his lips to insult +him. Christophe gathered himself together and was just about to fling his +mug at him.... Once more chance saved him. Just as the drunken man was +about to speak an awkward couple of dancers bumped into him and made him +drop his glass. He turned furiously and let loose a flood of insults. His +attention was distracted; he forgot Christophe. Christophe waited for a few +minutes longer; then seeing that his enemy had no thought of going on with +his remarks he got up, slowly took his hat and walked leisurely towards the +door. He did not take his eyes off the bench where the other was sitting, +just to let him feel that he was not giving in to him. But the officer had +forgotten him altogether; no one took any notice of him. + +He was just turning the handle of the door; in a few seconds he would have +been outside. But it was ordered that he should not leave so soon. An angry +murmur rose at the end of the room. When the soldiers had drunk they had +decided to dance. And as all the girls had their cavaliers they drove away +their partners, who submitted to it. But Lorchen was not going to put up +with that. It was not for nothing that she had her bold eyes and her firm +chin which so charmed Christophe. She was waltzing like a mad thing when +the officer who had fixed his choice upon her came and pulled her partner +away from her. She stamped with her foot, screamed, and pushed the soldier +away, declaring that she would never dance with such a boor. He pursued +her. He dispersed with his fists the people behind whom she was trying to +hide. At last she took refuge behind a table; and then protected from him +for a moment she took breath to scream abuse at him; she saw that all her +resistance would be useless and she stamped with rage and groped for the +most violent words to fling at him and compared his face to that of various +animals of the farm-yard. He leaned towards her over the table, smiled +wickedly, and his eyes glittered with rage. Suddenly he pounced and jumped +over the table. He caught hold of her. She struggled with feet and fists +like the cow-woman she was. He was not too steady on his legs and almost +lost his balance. In his fury he flung her against the wall and slapped her +face. He had no time to do it again; some one had jumped on his back, and +was cuffing him and kicking him back into the crowd. It was Christophe who +had flung himself on him, overturning tables and people without stopping to +think of what he was doing. Mad with rage, the officer turned and drew his +saber. Before he could make use of it Christophe felled him with a stool. +The whole thing had been So sudden that none of the spectators had time to +think of interfering. The other soldiers ran to Christophe drawing their +sabers. The peasants flung themselves at them. The uproar became general. +Mugs flew across the room; the tables were overturned. The peasants woke +up; they had old scores to pay off. The men rolled about on the ground and +bit each other savagely. Lorchen's partner, a stolid farm-hand, had caught +hold of the head of the soldier who had just insulted him and was banging +it furiously against the wall. Lorchen, armed with a cudgel, was striking +out blindly. The other girls ran away screaming, except for a few wantons +who joined in heartily. One of them--a fat little fair girl--seeing a +gigantic soldier--the same who had sat at Christophe's table--crushing in +the chest of his prostrate adversary with his boot, ran to the fire, came +back, dragged the brute's head backwards and flung a handful of burning +ashes into his eyes. The man bellowed. The girl gloated, abused the +disarmed enemy, whom the peasants now thwacked at their ease. At last the +soldiers finding themselves on the losing side rushed away leaving two of +their number on the floor. The fight went on in the village street. They +burst into the houses crying murder, and trying to smash everything. The +peasants followed them with forks, and set their savage dogs on them. A +third soldier fell with his belly cleft by a fork. The others had to fly +and were hunted out of the village, and from a distance they shouted as +they ran across the fields that they would fetch their comrades and come +back immediately. + +The peasants, left masters of the field, returned to the inn; they were +exultant; it was a revenge for all the outrages they had suffered for so +long. They had as yet no thought of the consequences of the affray. They +all talked at once and boasted of their prowess. They fraternized with +Christophe, who was delighted to feel in touch with them. Lorchen came and +took his hand and held it for a moment in her rough paw while she giggled +at him. She did not think him ridiculous for the moment. + +They looked to the wounded. Among the villagers there were only a few teeth +knocked out, a few ribs broken and a few slight bruises and scars. But it +was very different with the soldiers. They were seriously injured: the +giant whose eyes had been burned had had his shoulder half cut off with a +hatchet; the man whose belly had been pierced was dying; and there was the +officer who had been knocked down by Christophe. They were laid out by the +hearth. The officer, who was the least injured of the three, had just +opened his eyes. He took a long look at the ring of peasants leaning over +him, a look filled with hatred. Hardly had he regained consciousness of +what had happened than he began to abuse them. He swore that he would be +avenged and would settle their hash, the whole lot of them; he choked with +rage; it was palpable that if he could he would exterminate them. They +tried to laugh, but their laughter was forced. A young peasant shouted to +the wounded man: + +"Hold your gab or I'll kill you." + +The officer tried to get up, and he glared at the man who had just spoken +to him with blood-shot eyes: + +"Swine!" he said. "Kill me! They'll cut your heads off." + +He went on shouting. The man who had been ripped up screamed like a +bleeding pig. The third was stiff and still like a dead man. A crushing +terror came over the peasants. Lorchen and some women carried the wounded +men to another room. The shouts of the officer and the screams of the dying +man died away. The peasants were silent; they stood fixed in the circle as +though the three bodies were still lying at their feet; they dared not +budge and looked at each other in panic. At last Lorchen's father said: + +"You have done a fine piece of work!" + +There was an agonized murmuring; their throats were dry. Then they began +all to talk at once. At first they whispered as though they were afraid of +eavesdroppers, but soon they raised their voices and became more vehement; +they accused each other; they blamed each other for the blows they had +struck. The dispute became acrid; they seemed to be on the point of going +for each other. Lorchen's father brought them to unanimity. With his arms +folded he turned towards Christophe and jerked his chin at him: + +"And," he said, "what business had this fellow here?" + +The wrath of the rabble was turned on Christophe: + +"True! True!" they cried. "He began it! But for him nothing would have +happened." + +Christophe was amazed. He tried to reply: + +"You know perfectly that what I did was for you, not for myself." + +But they replied furiously: + +"Aren't we capable of defending ourselves? Do you think we need a gentleman +from the town to tell us what we should do? Who asked your advice? And +besides who asked you to come? Couldn't you stay at home?" + +Christophe shrugged his shoulders and turned towards the door. But +Lorchen's father barred the way, screaming: + +"That's it! That's it!" he shouted. "He would like to cut away now after +getting us all into a scrape. He shan't go!" + +The peasants roared: + +"He shan't go! He's the cause of it all. He shall pay for it all!" + +They surrounded him and shook their fists at him. Christophe saw the circle +of threatening faces closing in upon him; fear had infuriated them. He said +nothing, made a face of disgust, threw his hat on the table, went and sat +at the end of the room, and turned his back on them. + +But Lorchen was angry and flung herself at the peasants. Her pretty face +was red and scowling with rage. She pushed back the people who were +crowding round Christophe: + +"Cowards! Brute beasts!" she cried. "Aren't you ashamed? You want to +pretend that he brought it all on you! As if they did not see you all! As +if there was a single one of you who had not hit out his hand as he +could!... If there had been a man who had stayed with his arms folded while +the others were fighting I would spit in his face and call him: Coward! +Coward!..." + +The peasants, surprised by this unexpected outburst, stayed for a moment in +silence; they began to shout again: + +"He began it! Nothing would have happened but for him." + +In vain did Lorchen's father make signs to his daughter. She went on: + +"Yes. He did begin it! That is nothing for you to boast about. But for him +you would have let them insult you. You would have let them insult you. You +cowards! You funks!" + +She abused her partner: + +"And you, you said nothing. Your heart was in your mouth; you held out your +bottom to be kicked. You would have thanked them for it! Aren't you +ashamed?... Aren't you all ashamed? You are not men! You're as brave as +sheep with your noses to the ground all the time! He had to give you an +example!--And now you want to make him bear everything?... Well, I tell +you, that shan't happen! He fought for us. Either you save him or you'll +suffer along with him. I give you my word for it!" + +Lorchen's father caught her arm. He was beside himself and shouted: + +"Shut up! Shut up!... Will you shut up, you bitch!" + +But she thrust him away and went on again. The peasants yelled. She shouted +louder than they in a shrill, piercing scream: + +"What have you to say to it all? Do you think I did not see you just now +kicking the man who is lying half dead in the next room? And you, show me +your hands!... There's blood on them. Do you think I did not see you with +your knife? I shall tell everything I saw if you do the least thing against +him. I will have you all condemned." + +The infuriated peasants thrust their faces into Lorchen's and bawled at +her. One of them made as though to box her ears, but Lorchen's lover seized +him by the scruff of the neck and they jostled each other and were on the +point of coming to blows. An old man said to Lorchen: + +"If we are condemned, you will be too." + +"I shall be too," she said, "I am not so cowardly as you." + +And she burst out again. + +They did not know what to do. They turned to her father: + +"Can't you make her be silent?" + +The old man had understood that it was not wise to push Lorchen too far. He +signed to them to be calm. Silence came. Lorchen went on talking alone; +then as she found no response, like a fire without fuel, she stopped. After +a moment her father coughed and said: + +"Well, then, what do you want? You don't want to ruin us." + +She said: + +"I want him to be saved." + +They began to think. Christophe had not moved from where he sat; he was +stiff and proud and seemed not to understand that they were discussing him; +but he was touched by Lorchen's intervention. Lorchen seemed not to be +aware of his presence; she was leaning against the table by which he was +sitting, and glaring defiantly at the peasants, who were smoking and +looking down at the ground. At last her father chewed his pipe for a little +and said: + +"Whether we say anything or not,--if he stays he is done for. The sergeant +major recognized him; he won't spare him. There is only one thing for him +to do--to get away at once to the other side of the frontier." + +He had come to the conclusion it would be better for them all If Christophe +escaped; in that way he would admit his guilt, and when he was no longer +there to defend himself it would not be difficult to put upon him the +burden of the affair. The others agreed. They understood each other +perfectly.--Now that they had come to a decision they were all in a hurry +for Christophe to go. Without being in the least embarrassed by what they +had been saying a moment before they came up to him and pretended to be +deeply interested in his welfare. + +"There is not a moment to lose, sir," said Lorchen's father. "They will +come back. Half an hour to go to the fortress. Half an hour to come +back.... There is only just time to slip away." + +Christophe had risen. He too had been thinking. He knew that if he stayed +he was lost. But to go, to go without seeing his mother?... No. It was +impossible. He said that he would first go back to the town and would still +have time to go during the night and cross the frontier. But they protested +loudly. They had barred the door just before to prevent his going; now they +wanted to prevent his not going. If he went back to the town he was certain +to be caught; they would know at the fortress before he got there; they +would await him at home.--He insisted. Lorchen had understood him: + +"You want to see your mother?... I will go instead of you." + +"When?" + +"To-night." + +"Really! You will do that?" + +"I will go." + +She took her shawl and put it round her head. + +"Write a letter. I will take it to her. Come with me. I will give you some +ink." + +She took him into the inner room. At the door she turned, and addressing +her lover: + +"And do you get ready," she said. "You must take him. You must not leave +him until you have seen him over the frontier." + +He was as eager as anybody to see Christophe over into France and farther +if possible. + +Lorchen went into the next room with Christophe. He was still hesitating. +He was torn by grief at the thought that he would not be able to embrace +his mother. When would he see her again? She was so old, so worn out, so +lonely! This fresh blow would be too much for her. What would become of her +without him?... But what would become of him if he stayed and were +condemned and put in prison for years? Would not that even more certainly +mean destitution and misery for her? If he were free, though far away, he +could always help her, or she could come to him.--He had not time to see +clearly in his mind. Lorchen took his hands--she stood near him and looked +at him; their faces were almost touching; she threw her arms round his neck +and kissed his mouth: + +"Quick! Quick!" she whispered, pointing to the table, He gave up trying to +think. He sat down. She tore a sheet of squared paper with red lines from +an account book. + +He wrote: + +"My DEAR MOTHER: Forgive me. I am going to hurt you much. I cannot do +otherwise. I have done nothing wrong. But now I must fly and leave the +country. The girl who brings you this letter will tell you everything. I +wanted to say good-bye to you. They will not let me. They say that I should +be arrested. I am so unhappy that I have no will left. I am going over the +frontier but I shall stay near it until you have written to me; the girl +who brings you my letter will bring me your reply. Tell me what to do. I +will do whatever you say. Do you want me to come back? Tell me to come +back! I cannot bear the idea of leaving you alone. What will you do to +live? Forgive me! Forgive me! I love you and I kiss you...." + +"Be quick, sir, or we shall be too late," said Lorchen's swain, pushing the +door open. + +Christophe wrote his name hurriedly and gave the letter to Lorchen. + +"You will give it to her yourself?" + +"I am going," she said. + +She was already ready to go. + +"To-morrow," she went on, "I will bring you her reply; you must wait for me +at Leiden,--(the first station beyond the German frontier)--on the +platform." + +(She had read Christophe's letter over his shoulder as he wrote.) + +"You will tell me everything and how she bore the blow and everything she +says to you? You will not keep anything from me?" said Christophe +beseechingly. + +"I will tell you everything." + +They were not so free to talk now, for the young man was at the door +watching them: + +"And then, Herr Christophe," said Lorchen, "I will go and see her sometimes +and I will send you news of her; do not be anxious." + +She shook hands with him vigorously like a man. + +"Let us go!" said the peasant. + +"Let us go!" said Christophe. + +All three went out. On the road they parted. Lorchen went one way and +Christophe, with his guide, the other. They did not speak. The crescent +moon veiled in mists was disappearing behind the woods. A pale light +hovered over the fields. In the hollows the mists had risen thick and milky +white. The shivering trees were bathed in the moisture of the air.--They +were not more than a few minutes gone from the village when the peasant +flung back sharply and signed to Christophe to stop. They listened. On the +road in front of them they heard the regular tramp of a troop of soldiers +coming towards them. The peasant climbed the hedge into the fields. +Christophe followed him. They walked away across the plowed fields. They +heard the soldiers go by on the road. In the darkness the peasant shook his +fist at them. Christophe's heart stopped like a hunted animal that hears +the baying of the hounds. They returned to the road again, avoiding the +villages and isolated farms where the barking of the dogs betrayed them to +the countryside. On the slope of a wooded hill they saw in the distance the +red lights of the railway. They took the direction of the signals and +decided to go to the first station. It was not easy. As they came down into +the valley they plunged into the fog. They had to jump a few streams. Soon +they found themselves in immense fields of beetroot and plowed land; they +thought they would never be through. The plain was uneven; there were +little rises and hollows into which they were always in danger of falling. +At last after walking blindly through the fog they saw suddenly a few yards +away the signal light of the railway at the top of an embankment. They +climbed the bank. At the risk of being run over they followed the rails +until they were within a hundred yards of the station; then they took to +the road again. They reached the station twenty minutes before the train +went. In spite of Lorchen's orders the peasant left Christophe; he was in a +hurry to go back to see what had happened to the others and to his own +property. + +Christophe took a ticket for Leiden and waited alone in the empty +third-class waiting room. An official who was asleep on a seat came and +looked at Christophe's ticket and opened the door for him when the train +came in. There was nobody in the carriage. Everybody in the train was +asleep. In the fields all was asleep. Only Christophe did not sleep in +spite of his weariness. As the heavy iron wheels approached the frontier he +felt a fearful longing to be out of reach. In an hour he would be free. But +till then a word would be enough to have him arrested.... Arrested! His +whole being revolted at the word. To be stifled by odious force!... He +could not breathe. His mother, his country, that he was leaving, were no +longer in his thoughts. In the egoism of his threatened liberty he thought +only of that liberty of his life which he wished to save. Whatever it might +cost! Even at the cost of crime. He was bitterly sorry that he had taken +the train instead of continuing the journey to the frontier on foot. He had +wanted to gain a few hours. A fine gain! He was throwing himself into the +jaws of the wolf. Surely they were waiting for him at the frontier station; +orders must have been given; he would be arrested.... He thought for a +moment of leaving the train while it was moving, before it reached the +station; he even opened the door of the carriage, but it was too late; the +train was at the station. It stopped. Fire minutes. An eternity. Christophe +withdrew to the end of the compartment and hid behind the curtain and +anxiously watched the platform on which a gendarme was standing motionless. +The station master came out of his office with a telegram in his hand and +went hurriedly up to the gendarme. Christophe had no doubt that it was +about himself. He looked for a weapon. He had only a strong knife with two +blades. He opened it in his pocket. An official with a lamp on his chest +had passed the station master and was running along the train. Christophe +saw him coming. His fist closed on the handle of the knife in his pocket +and he thought: + +"I am lost." + +He was in such a state of excitement that he would have been capable of +plunging the knife into the man's breast if he had been unfortunate enough +to come straight to him and open his compartment. But the official stopped +at the next carriage to look at the ticket of a passenger who had just +taken his seat. The train moved on again. Christophe repressed the +throbbing of his heart. He did not stir. He dared hardly say to himself +that he was saved. He would not say it until he had crossed the +frontier.... Day was beginning to dawn. The silhouettes of the trees were +starting out of the night. A carriage was passing on the road like a +fantastic shadow with a jingle of bells and a winking eye.... With his face +close pressed to the window Christophe tried to see the post with the +imperial arms which marked the bounds of his servitude. He was still +looking for it in the growing light when the train whistled to announce its +arrival at the first Belgian station. + +He got up, opened the door wide, and drank in the icy air. Free! His whole +life before him! The joy of life!... And at once there came upon him +suddenly all the sadness of what he was leaving, all the sadness of what he +was going to meet; and he was overwhelmed by the fatigue of that night of +emotion. He sank down on the seat. He had hardly been in the station a +minute. When a minute later an official opened the door of the carriage he +found Christophe asleep. Christophe awoke, dazed, thinking he had been +asleep an hour; he got out heavily and dragged himself to the customs, and +when he was definitely accepted on foreign territory, having no more to +defend himself, he lay down along a seat in the waiting room and dropped +off and slept like a log. + + * * * * * + +He awoke about noon. Lorchen could hardly come before two or three o'clock. +While he was waiting for the trains he walked up and down the platform of +the little station. Then he went straight on into the middle of the fields; +It was a gray and joyless day giving warning of the approach of winter. The +light was dim. The plaintive whistle of a train stopping was all that broke +the melancholy silence. Christophe stopped a few yards away from the +frontier in the deserted country. Before him was a little pond, a clear +pool of water, in which the gloomy sky was reflected. It was inclosed by a +fence and two trees grew by its side. On the right, a poplar with leafless +trembling top. Behind, a great walnut tree with black naked branches like a +monstrous polypus. The black fruit of it swung heavily on it. The last +withered leaves were decaying and falling one by one upon the still +pond.... + +It seemed to him that he had already seen them, the two trees, the pond +...--and suddenly he had one of those moments of giddiness which open great +distances in the plain of life. A chasm in Time. He knew not where he was, +who he was, in what age he lived, through how many ages he had been so. +Christophe had a feeling that it had already been, that what was, now, was +not, now, but in some other time. He was no longer himself. He was able to +see himself from outside, from a great distance, as though it were some one +else standing there in that place. He heard the buzzing of memory and of an +unknown creature within himself; the blood boiled in his veins and roared: + +"Thus ... Thus .. Thus ..." + +The centuries whirled through him.... Many other Kraffts had passed through +the experiences which were his on that day, and had tasted the wretchedness +of the last hour on their native soil. A wandering race, banished +everywhere for their independence and disturbing qualities. A race always +the prey of an inner demon that never let it settle anywhere. A race +attached to the soil from which it was torn, and never, never ceasing to +love it. + +Christophe in his turn was passing through these same sorrowful +experiences; and he was finding on the way the footsteps of those who had +gone before him. With tears in his eyes he watched his native land +disappear in the mist, his country to which he had to say farewell.--Had he +not ardently desired to leave it?--Yes; but now that he was actually +leaving it he felt himself racked by anguish. Only a brutish heart can part +without emotion from the motherland. Happy or unhappy he had lived with +her; she was his mother and his comrade; he had slept in her, he had slept +on her bosom, he was impregnated with her; in her bosom she held the +treasure of his dreams, all his past life, the sacred dust of those whom he +had loved. Christophe saw now in review the days of his life, and the dear +men and women whom he was leaving on that soil or beneath it. His +sufferings were not less dear to him than his joys. Minna, Sabine, Ada, his +grandfather, Uncle Gottfried, old Schulz--all passed before him in the +space of a few minutes. He could not tear himself away from the dead--(for +he counted Ada also among the dead)--the idea of his mother whom he was +leaving, the only living creature of all those whom he loved, among these +phantoms was intolerable to him. + +He was almost on the point of crossing the frontier again, so cowardly did +his flight seem to him. He made up his mind that if the answer Lorchen was +to bring him from his mother betrayed too great grief he would return at +all costs. But if he received nothing? If Lorchen had not been able to +reach Louisa, or to bring back the answer? Well, he would go back. + +He returned to the station. After a grim time of waiting the train at last +appeared. Christophe expected to see Lorchen's bold face in the train; for +he was sure she would keep her promise; but she did not appear. He ran +anxiously from one compartment to another; he said to himself that if she +had been in the train she would have been one of the first to get out. As +he was plunging through the stream of passengers coming from the opposite +direction he saw a face which he seemed to know. It was the face of a +little girl of thirteen or fourteen, chubby, dimpled, and ruddy as an +apple, with a little turned-up nose and a large mouth, and a thick plait +coiled around her head. As he looked more closely at her he saw that she +had in her hand an old valise very much like his own. She was watching him +too like a sparrow; and when she saw that he was looking at her she came +towards him; but she stood firmly in front of Christophe and stared at him +with her little mouse-like eyes, without speaking a word. Christophe knew +her; she was a little milkmaid at Lorchen's farm. Pointing to the valise he +said: + +"That is mine, isn't it?" + +The girl did not move and replied cunningly: + +"I'm not sure. Where do you come from, first of all?" + +"Buir." + +"And who sent it you?" + +"Lorchen. Come. Give it me." + +The little girl held out the valise. + +"There it is." + +And she added: + +"Oh! But I knew you at once!" + +"What were you waiting for then?" + +"I was waiting for you to tell me that it was you." + +"And Lorchen?" asked Christophe. "Why didn't she come?" + +The girl did not reply. Christophe understood that she did not want to say +anything among all the people. They had first to pass through the customs. +When that was done Christophe took the girl to the end of the platform: + +"The police came," said the girl, now very talkative. "They came almost +as soon as you had gone. They went into all the houses. They questioned +everybody, and they arrested big Sami and Christian and old Kaspar. And +also Mélanie and Gertrude, though they declared they had done nothing, and +they wept; and Gertrude scratched the gendarmes. It was not any good then +saying that you had done it all." + +"I?" exclaimed Christophe. + +"Oh! yes," said the girl quietly. "It was no good as you had gone. Then +they looked for you everywhere and hunted for you in every direction." + +"And Lorchen?" + +"Lorchen was not there. She came back afterwards after she had been to the +town." + +"Did she see my mother?" + +"Yes. Here is the letter. And she wanted to come herself, but she was +arrested too." + +"How did you manage to come?" + +"Well, she came back to the village without being seen by the police, and +she was going to set out again. But Irmina, Gertrude's sister, denounced +her. They came to arrest her. Then when she saw the gendarmes coming she +went up to her room and shouted that she would come down in a minute, that +she was dressing. I was in the vineyard behind the house; she called to me +from the window: 'Lydia! Lydia!' I went to her; she threw down your valise +and the letter which your mother had given her, and she explained where I +should find you. I ran, and here I am." + +"Didn't she say anything more?" + +"Yes. She told me to give you this shawl to show you that I came from her." + +Christophe recognized the white shawl with red spots and embroidered +flowers which Lorchen had tied round her head when she left him on the +night before. The naïve improbability of the excuse she had made for +sending him such a love-token did not make him smile. + +"Now," said the girl, "here is the return train. I must go home. +Good-night." + +"Wait," said Christophe. "And the fare, what did you do about that?" + +"Lorchen gave it me." + +"Take this," said Christophe, pressing a few pieces of money into her hand. + +He held her back as she was trying to go. + +"And then...." he said. + +He stooped and kissed her cheeks. The girl affected to protest. + +"Don't mind," said Christophe jokingly. "It was not for you." + +"Oh! I know that," said the girl mockingly. "It was for Lorchen." + +It was not only Lorchen that Christophe kissed as he kissed the little +milkmaid's chubby cheeks; it was all Germany. + +The girl slipped away and ran towards the train which was just going. She +hung out of the window and waved her handkerchief to him until she was out +of sight. He followed with his eyes the rustic messenger who had brought +him for the last time the breath of his country and of those he loved. + +When she had gone he found himself utterly alone, this time, a stranger +in a strange land. He had in his hand his mother's letter and the shawl +love-token. He pressed the shawl to his breast and tried to open the +letter. But his hands trembled. What would he find in it? What suffering +would be written in it?--No; he could not bear the sorrowful words of +reproach which already he seemed to hear; he would retrace his steps. + +At last he unfolded the letter and read: "My poor child, do not be anxious +about me. I will be wise. God has punished me. I must not be selfish and +keep you here. Go to Paris. Perhaps it will be better for you. Do not worry +about me. I can manage somehow. The chief thing is that you should be +happy. I kiss you. MOTHER. + +"Write to me when you can." + +Christophe sat down on his valise and wept. + + * * * * * + +The porter was shouting the train for Paris. + +The heavy train was slowing down with a terrific noise. Christophe dried +his tears, got up and said: + +"I must go." + +He looked at the sky in the direction in which Paris must be. The sky, dark +everywhere, was even darker there. It was like a dark chasm. Christophe's +heart ached, but he said again: + +"I must go." + +He climbed into the train and leaning out of the window went on looking at +the menacing horizon: + +"O, Paris!" he thought, "Paris! Come to my aid! Save me! Save my thoughts!" + +The thick fog grew denser still. Behind Christophe, above the country he +was leaving, a little patch of sky, pale blue, large, like two eyes--like +the eyes of Sabine--smiled sorrowfully through the heavy veil of clouds and +then was gone. The train departed. Rain fell. Night fell. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, JEAN-CHRISTOPHE, VOL. I *** + +This file should be named 7979-8.txt or 7979-8.zip + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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